Curt felt odd. He had never seen himself on television before. The camera focused on the sheer terror in Evan’s battered face, and Curt’s heart went out to the boy. He thought of the text that Evan’s mother Mindy had sent him earlier today, thanking him. It made him feel good inside, but still he worried about Evan, and of course, Jordan and Heather.
The TV screen changed to a replay of the press conference, and Curt watched himself on the dais, knowing that he had been thinking about Heather the whole time. He wondered if she had been watching and what she must be thinking of him. He thought about calling her, then glanced at his watch. It was 2:15 A.M. He’d lost track of time with so much going on.
A wave of exhaustion swept over him, and Curt let his eyes close, thinking about her. He wanted to apologize to her, and to Jordan, and to all of them—for the first time ever, he felt guilty after an operation was over, even though by any objective measure, it had been successful. But he didn’t feel successful, he felt like a jerk. He had gotten justice for the murders of Abe and Courtney’s husband, Doug, but justice never was an eye for an eye, not for him. All that was left was death and destruction, leaving him feeling more alone than ever.
Curt drifted to sleep, knowing that it would never be any other way—unless he changed something. And so three nights later, after the hoopla was subsiding and he was returning to a normal schedule, with his new position as yet unspecified, Curt found himself lying on his bed again, looking up Heather’s phone number online in the Boosters’ directory, pressing in the numbers, and waiting while the call rang.
“Hello?” Heather answered, her tone vague, probably because she didn’t recognize the number of his new phone, since he’d turned in his old one as evidence. Still, hearing her voice brought him back to Central Valley, and knowing she was on the other end of the line made him feel different, too. Better, the way he had felt back then.
“Heather, it’s Chris, I mean, Curt.” Curt thought he had gotten used to using his true name again, but evidently not.
“Oh, hi.” Heather’s voice sounded cold, which he had expected.
“I waited a few days but I wanted to call you to say, well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I lied to you about who I was. I hope you understand—”
“I get it.”
“It’s my job. It was my job anyway.”
“I said, I get it.” Heather paused. “Jordan gets it, too. Team player, greater good, seventeen inches. Got it.”
Curt didn’t, but let it go. She sounded unhappy talking to him. “I wanted to apologize to Jordan too, but I didn’t want to contact him without asking your permission first.”
“Fine with me, if you call him.”
“Good, thanks.”
“You should. You lied to him, too.”
Curt felt a pang, hearing the sting in her words. “I’m sorry. I know it must’ve been really strange for you, both of you, to find out I was undercover.”
“It was.”
“Is there anything you want to ask me? I mean, you’re entitled to know the truth.”
Heather didn’t answer except to chuckle, not in a good way.
“I mean I never contacted anybody after an operation before, but this is different.”
Heather didn’t say anything.
Curt felt he should explain further, especially because she was saying so little. “I usually work undercover with drug dealers and thugs, but this time, I was infiltrating good people, like you and Jordan.”
“So?”
“So—” Curt hesitated, unsure what to say next. “So it’s unusual for me, and I know it must be for you too, finding out that I’m not a coach or a teacher.”
“Yes, it was. It was for Jordan too, although mostly he’s concerned about Evan.”
“Sure, right.” Curt had been relieved that both Evan and Courtney were negotiating plea deals to a whole list of charges, since circumstances had shown that they had voluntarily and completely renounced their participation in the conspiracy.
“School is just now getting back to normal.”
“Did you ever get a new job?”
“Actually, yes. I start at ValleyCo as an administrative assistant next week.”
“That’s wonderful!” Curt thought he heard a softening in her voice, or maybe he imagined it. “Well, I was wondering if you ever wanted to have dinner with me.”
“Why would I do that?” Heather asked coldly, which gave him his answer. It had been a terrible idea, calling her. He had lost her, as he feared. But he couldn’t ignore his feelings for her. He’d been thinking about her all the time and he wanted to give it his best shot.
“Heather, I really liked meeting you and getting to know you, and I have more of a normal life now.”
“I have to think about it,” Heather interrupted. “I’m not sure that’s something I want to do.”
“I understand,” Curt said, disappointed, and the sad part was, he really did understand, completely.
“Now, excuse me, I have to go. I have something on the stove.”
“Sure, but can I give you a call again in a few days?”
“Try a month,” Heather said, hanging up.
Curt hung up, defeated.
Luckily, he had a Plan B.
Chapter Sixty-three
Curt waited a month to put Plan B into action, wanting to show Heather that he respected her wishes. He put the time to good use, hammering out his job description with a ridiculous number of bureaucrats and filling out a ton of paperwork, and serving as the de facto assistant to the new head of Philadelphia Field Division, the Rabbi himself, David Levitz. Curt couldn’t have been happier that the Rabbi had finally received the promotion he deserved, and they were both delighted that Alek had gotten kicked upstairs to JTTF, never to be heard from again. At least until the next terrorist attack, which gave them an ulterior motive to keep the country safe.
Curt couldn’t look out the window since the shades were down. Central Valley was finally returning to normal, and the story had just begun to fade from the headlines. He turned down the requests for interviews, as well as offers of movie and book deals. Evan and Courtney had begun serving their sentences—Courtney for twelve years, and Evan for five.
Curt had spoken with Raz, who was doing better than ever, taking over Evan’s position as catcher for Jordan, who was pitching a winning season for the Musketeers. Curt had even gone to a game, and Coach Hardwick had greeted him with a completely unexpected bear hug, thanking Curt for his service and inviting him to come to practice anytime he wanted—even if he had to come late. Curt and Jordan texted each other all the time, and Jordan had helped arrange this date tonight. Or at least, what Curt had hoped would be a date.
“Mr. Abbott, can I get you anything besides the water?” the waitress asked, hovering over him with a smile.