Page 87 of The Hanukkah Hoax
He was silent for a moment. “I’m not going to Argentina, Marisa.”
She pushed her hat up higher on her head so she could make sure his lips said what she thought they said. “What?”
“It’s true, my career as a player will be ending, but not because I’m not getting out on my terms.” He took a hesitant step forward and freed one hand from his pocket, but he seemed to think better of reaching for her. “Seeing you so excited going after your dreams and telling stories through your confections, despite the box others put you in for it, got me thinking about what excited me about rugby to begin with and the damn box I wound up in myself.”
The snow wasn’t letting up, nor was it a whipping chilly mess. The sky felt heavy but patient, as if it were holding off the worst of the weather just so Alec could finally say what Marisa had refused to hear for days following the fallout.
“Growing up, I had a neighbor. Robbie. He was the biggest Scotland Rugby Sevens fan. Literally. The man was the size of a small car, and back when Scotland had a team of its own, he was always following the lads. His enthusiasm for the sport was infectious, and I got swept up in it and never looked back. I even traveled to games with him when the team was playing locally, and Cal and I went over to his house to watch what international matches we could. Those were the best games, the ones we all enjoyed from the couch with crisps and Coke. Robbie was just so animated, he would jump up in front of the TV and act out the plays. Had my brother and me laughing our arses off. The bloke did a fair better job at keeping us engaged than any broadcast announcer, that was for certain. So, when I was old enough, I joined the local youth league and never looked back. Rugby has been my life and love, but I see now it was only ever meant to be a part of my story. The rest of it I’ve yet to write, because you’ve made me realize that my true enthusiasm for the game doesn’t just lie on the pitch but in the telling of it as well.”
His exhausted gaze claimed hers, but this time, a spark of hope seemed to smooth out and brighten the haggard lines around his eyes. “I’ve still got so much more to say about the sport I love. So, I needed to make sure things were right with Great Britain before I hopefully move into the New York broadcasting booth at the start of the new season in October.”
Marisa sniffed and shook her head, not sure what she was hearing. “Broadcasting? How?” she squeaked out, emotion choking off her vocal cords and making her words go all whiney.
“The bloke I met at the Ball. Martin Penhaus. You remember him?”
She nodded and dragged her arm beneath her nose. Totally gross, but she was past the point of caring.
“Apparently, he liked what I had to say about gaining viewers through investment in the streaming platforms and meeting fans where they are. I gave him a call, and we had a nice, long chat. Started telling him a few of my favorite rugby stories, both ones I featured in and ones I grew up hearing. He said he’d like to talk to the board at Global Sports Matrix and entertain some ideas about positioning the network to become the premier Rugby Sevens broadcaster for the American market, of course with a few key investments, sponsoring the next tournament, and whatnot. The first of those key investments, he said, would be acquiring eager and noteworthy names to set the network up for success with its initial broadcasts. If his proposal to the board passes in the New Year and he gets approval to move forward, he’d like to sign me on as a lead broadcaster doing analysis and interviews live from the pitch and, more importantly, from the booth in New York. That last bit was a requirement for me, as I’m now in the market for property in the tri-state area. That was one of the reasons I had to fly home, to make arrangements to get my flat in order so it can be listed on the market come the spring.”
Alec took both hands out of his pockets and grabbed Marisa’s, tucking them inside the warmth of his open coat against his chest. To her surprise, she’d fisted them so tightly while holding on through Alec’s speech, her knuckles had begun turning white. He started slowly unfurling her frozen fingers and, like old times, massaged the stiff joints, releasing every knot of tension into the snowy night air.
As she huddled closer to him, relaxing under the memory of his comforting heat, all of Marisa’s anger seemed to lessen and entangle with the torrent of happiness that she felt so damn guilty for leaning into.
In short, she was a goddamn mess, so the only thing she could manage to say was also the least contextually sensible thing. “I know those words weren’t really yours.” Alec stiffened, and realizing how he took her statement, Marisa rushed to clarify things. “The ones in the video, I mean.”
Marisa had to wait the entirety of five Mississippis before his shoulders fell and he spoke again.
“I am so sorry, Marisa. I was such a bloody fool thinking I had any right to step in and fix what you were more than capable of handling. I should have trusted you. Fuck, I do trust you. With all my goddamn heart, I trust you.” He pulled her closer against him, and this time, she was more than happy to slide her hands farther underneath his coat and wrap them around his broad chest.
“Phoebe told me everything. Surprise: neither of us got on Monica’s approved vendor list,” Marisa murmured, hating how the admission of her business’s failure was some of the first words spoken in the New Year already. “She’s not as bad as I thought, though, honestly. I think Phoebe’s more misunderstood than anything.”
“Most people are, which is why there was one other thing I needed to do before I could allow myself to come back to you.”
Marisa looked up at him, confused.
“I wasn’t kidding about what I wrote in that letter. I could stay like this, with you in my arms and be selfishly content for as long as you’ll have me, but if I don’t truly earn your forgiveness and give back what my callousness took from you, then what’s the bloody point?” He pressed his warm lips to her nose and stepped back quickly, as if that small kiss was all he’d permit himself. “Check your email.”
“Why? It’s one in the morning on a holiday. Anything that’s in there can wait.”
“It’s technically one fifteen, and I need you to check it. Please, Marisa.”
It was the please that gave her pause. Never had she heard that type of desperation in his voice, as if the very ground would swallow them both up if she didn’t pull out her phone.
So she satisfied him and looked.
The latest email at the top was one he’d been copied on, but she didn’t recognize the sender’s name. “Who’s Veronica Baker?”
“Martin Penhaus’s wife. She was at the Ball with him. Keep reading.”
A burst of butterflies took flight behind her sternum, fluttering so fast she would likely be airborne in another few seconds unless she did something about it. Nervously, she clicked on the email.
Dear Ms. Silver,
I hope this email finds you well and that you are enjoying a wonderful holiday season. I am Veronica Baker, and my family owns the Baker Arena and Sports Complex, home to the Bergen County Blue Devils Minor League Baseball Team. Our facility also includes the largest indoor ice-skating rink in the county, as well as a field house for regional track and field and gymnastics competitions.
Additionally, I am the wife of Martin Penhaus, and the two of us are quite thrilled to be the newest admirers of Sweetest Heart’s Desire. While in attendance at the Crystal Christmas Ball, I had the good fortune to sample your gingerbread fudge featuring a wonderful picture of the famed rugby player Alec Elms, who was gracious enough to share your contact information with me and who I have also copied on this email.
To be quite frank, I was completely enamored with your confections, specifically the sports-themed fudge, and would love the opportunity to speak with you about bringing your products into the concessions offerings at our facilities. For some time, my family and I have been looking for a way to expand Baker Arena into other markets beyond facility rental space. Whether you intended this or not, your idea of putting Mr. Elms as the face of your business was brilliant. I should like to entertain more of this genius, perhaps in the form of exclusive team-branded candies for licensing and distribution in the arena. Such items could feature seasonal offerings of your designs throughout the year or even designs for regional and high school teams, etc.
