Chapter 23
As it turned out, Pedro’s solution to getting to LA in three hours was simply driving really, really fast. Emmy half expected
him to manifest a speedboat or a helicopter that would allow them to sidestep the highway, but no. It was simply his black
BMW she currently sat in the back seat of, making good use of the aptly named oh shit handle above the door.
She’d given Beth the front seat because one, she wasn’t about to embark on a desperate grand gesture without her best friend
there for support so of course they’d stopped to pick her up, and two, the instant connection between Pedro and Beth had been
tangible enough to choke a horse, to use Pedro’s words.
Emmy had reported the emergency to Beth and got her instant approval to pick her up from work on the way out of town. First,
they had to clear their departure with Alice. Silas opted to stay behind since he had an obligation that night but asked to
be kept in the loop. Emmy hadn’t felt too bad about telling Alice she needed to leave early. Alice had said many wise things
to her over the years but hold on like hell might have been the most important.
That’s exactly what she was doing—literally gripping the handle in Pedro’s car while he wove in and out of traffic, and holding
on to hope she wasn’t too late with Gabe.
Pedro and Beth sat in the front seat chatting like they were on a date.
When they’d pulled up outside Beth’s office building and she came bouncing out in jeans and a button-down with her hair trailing behind her like a golden flag, Pedro all but leapt out of the car.
He’d come around to open the door for her, and Emmy introduced them.
It was the first time she’d ever seen Pedro speechless, and Beth blushed deeper than with anyone she’d ever swiped right on.
Now Emmy was basically third wheeling from the back seat and listening to them flirt.
The sound made her smile.
She watched the continuous stretch of commercial development pass outside the window as they drove through Orange County.
The rows of houses draped over the rolling hills like tile and stucco blankets in the distance. The mansions wedged into hillsides
like crashed meteors. Sunset was approaching by the time the spires of downtown LA came into view. Despite Pedro driving like
they were in the Grand Prix, they miraculously had not gotten a speeding ticket, crashed, or otherwise caused an issue on
the road, save for a few horns and thrown middle fingers.
Emmy was nearly breathless as they wound the uphill road to the stadium, feeling like she’d run there in all the rushing.
Cars jammed the parking lot, as expected. They’d tuned to the game on the radio and were minutes away from first pitch. Gabe’s
new job meant he’d most likely be in the bullpen, perhaps the dugout. Either way, he’d be more or less on the field in a place
she couldn’t easily get to once the game started.
They parked, and Emmy took deep breaths to calm herself. They’d left straight from their office, so she still wore jeans and
a button-down. Her hair was bound back in a bun, and her ID badge hung on its lanyard around her neck. Pedro and Beth looked
nearly the same, except Beth had stripped down to just her camisole, applied an impressive face of makeup from her limited
emergency purse stash, and tousled her hair into beachy waves. The look had rendered Pedro speechless again, but it was all
part of the plan to get into the stadium.
“Ready?” Beth asked Emmy when they climbed out of the car.
The sun had continued its descent toward the ocean, turning the evening hazy blue.
The smell of fried food, hot dogs, and beer threaded through the air as the pregame entertainment poured out of the stadium: music, cheering, the uninhibited joy of sports.
Emmy felt it all coursing through her veins, pounding in her heart.
“Yes,” she answered Beth.
They wove their way through the parking lot along with other last-minute fans draped in team colors. Before the main gates,
Pedro diverted them toward the employee entrance.
“Showtime,” he said with a wink at Beth.
Beth giggled.
“You guys had better tone it down if she’s supposed to be someone else’s girlfriend,” Emmy playfully scolded.
Pedro smoothed his hair with a flare in his cheeks. Beth scoffed and punched Emmy in the arm.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Emmy said with a laugh.
Sure, they could have easily bought tickets and walked in with the masses, but they needed people to believe they were there
on official business. Otherwise, Emmy had no shot at getting to Gabe. And their concocted “official business” was that she
and Pedro, ID badges in hand, were escorting Beth, a player’s girlfriend, to the game for the evening.
In truth, they were probably supposed to have special passes and be on an approved guest list, but they had none of that.
Instead, they had Pedro Torres’s silver tongue, Beth looking like an artfully tousled glambot dressed down for the ballpark,
and Emmy trying not to nervously hurl over the chances of it all going to shit.
When they approached the correct entrance, someone with an earpiece intercepted them. Emmy and Pedro flashed their badges
and got a nod, but the barrel-chested security guard eyed Beth.
“Who’s this?” he asked in a voice lower than the bass line of the song pumping through the stadium.
Pedro tittered like the question was silly.
The security guard arched a brow.
“Sorry,” Pedro said, and cleared his throat. “I’m just surprised you don’t recognize her. This is Brendan Davies’s girlfriend.”
He said the name quietly as if someone overhearing might incite a mob of fans. “We are with the visiting team. We are her
escorts to the game tonight.”
The security guard eyed Beth again. She tossed her hair and gave him a snooty look in return. They’d opted for girlfriend because surely an MLB wife would have a ring of unfathomable carats on her finger, and that was something Beth did not have
stashed in her purse.
On the drive, Emmy had stalked every player’s social media to find a believable candidate who wasn’t already married to someone
famous and/or in a recognizable relationship. Mr.Right Fielder was a perfect option.
“I’m in LA for a shoot. Do you want to see my ID?” Beth said in her best impersonation of an unimpressed influencer.
The security guard shriveled under her icy gaze and stepped aside to let them pass. “Enjoy the game.”
Emmy exhaled the breath that had been lodged in her lungs. “That was amazing. And remarkably easy?” she said once they were
into the hallway and out of earshot.
“You were incredible,” Pedro gushed starry-eyed at Beth.
She flipped her hair with a giggle. “Thanks. So were you. I totally bought it.”
“Okay, well, keep up the act because now we have to get to the field,” Emmy said, and turned toward what she thought was the
right direction. They’d entered a belowdecks catacomb much like the one she and Pedro worked in.
“Well, I’d hazard a guess up is the right move here,” Pedro said, nodding toward an elevator at the hall’s end.
A flurry of voices came their way from around a corner.
They sounded both excited and of ficial, so they scurried into the elevator before they had to interact with anyone who might question their presence.
Soon, they were on the club level weaving in and out of fans loaded down with beers and cocktails and nachos. A few players
remained on the field warming up in the final moments before the first pitch. Emmy could see the performer preparing to sing
the national anthem pacing around by home plate next to a camera crew.
“Where are you, Gabe?” she murmured as she kept walking. She sidestepped a dad in a team jersey with a little boy mounted
on his shoulders.
“Let’s go down,” Pedro said, and pointed at a staircase leading to the field level.
Emmy and Beth followed but they were quickly stopped by another security team member.
“Tickets?” the woman asked.
“Shit,” Emmy quietly hissed, but Pedro wasn’t fazed.
He tilted his chin at an authoritative angle and held up his badge. “We’re with the team.”
The woman looked at it and frowned. “You still need a valid pass to enter this section.”
Beth stepped forward with another flip of her sheet of hair, ready to play the part. Emmy nervously chewed her lip and strained
her eyes to see down to the field. Everyone was still too far away to make out. She scanned for Gabe’s familiar wave of hair,
his arms in tight sleeves, but nearly everyone down there had arms in tight sleeves and was wearing a hat.
“Don’t you know who this is?” Emmy heard Pedro plead while she stepped to the side, looking for an alternative solution.
They were so close to the starting lineups announcement and the national anthem. And then first pitch, and the game would
be in full swing. Emmy’s chance was now. But where was Gabe?
In her desperate scan of the stands and field, she saw a small crew with a camera pointed at an in-game reporter chatting with a pair of fans midway down the seating section.
The live feed was being broadcast on the outfield scoreboard forty feet high.
They were in the middle of some trivia game the whole stadium was cheering on.
An idea struck Emmy at the same time her knees almost gave out. It was desperate and might get her banished from the ballpark
for life, but it would get the job done.
She threw a glance at Pedro and Beth continuing the charade of being important by proxy and decided her idea had a better
shot at success.
“Go big,” she muttered. Before she could talk herself out of it, she shoved around them and hurried down the stairs.
“Hey!” the security member shouted after her.
“Sorry! I won’t be long!” Emmy called over her shoulder. She flew down the stairs, her shoes scraping the gummy concrete,
and all but threw herself at the film crew.
“Last chance to win!” the reporter singsonged at the two beaming fans in front of her.