chapter 10
At the private airport, the setting sun glinted off the tail of the Citation jet. Chase Stern stood by the back of the car, waiting as men loaded his bags into the plane, his phone out, fingers busy.
“Ready, boss?” the pilot stopped before him, and he glanced up.
“Yeah.” He looked back at the car. “Got everything?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let’s roll.” He stepped toward the plane, his long legs eating up the space, and he was up the steps and into a seat too quickly, his head still playing catch-up with the fact that this was it; he was leaving Los Angeles and headed to New York, to the place he’d dreamed about since he was a kid, to wear a jersey that had, for so long, seemed unattainable.
This would be his future, where he would stay, his jersey hung next to the greats, his number retired, records forever broken and kept in his name.
He glanced out the window, the driver already back in the car, no crowds recording this moment, not a single soul showing up for his exit.
Not that he’d broadcasted the news, but it was in that moment, the airport rolling by, that he realized how few connections he had made in Los Angeles.
Maybe it had been intentional—the push away from others, a part of him knowing it wasn’t a permanent situation, stopping the dig of emotional roots.
Still, as the plane gained speed, the engines roaring beside him, it would have been nice to have someone there to see him off.
He had a brief thought of Emily, and his heart tightened.
Not that she’d have been holding a sign.
No, she’d have been in the seat next to him, catching his eye with a smile and toasting his future before they even lifted off.