Love of the Game (19 page)

“Anytime.” He smiled a wistful smile that touched her deep inside.

His dark eyes cradled hers and she felt something slip inside her, melting, breaking loose. It was scary and thrilling and exhilarating. He paused, stared deeply into her.

Then he played his trump card. “If you stay,” he said, “I'll tell you why I didn't want to be alone today.”

C
uriosity won.

“All right,” Kasha agreed, getting her bearings back. She could handle herself.

“Would you like to walk?” He gestured toward the boardwalk that stretched around the lake from the restaurant, to the marina and beyond.

“What?”

“Walk off the food, the wine.”

The magic.

Although Kasha wasn't sure it was possible to walk that off. Or if she even wanted to.

He took out enough money from his wallet for the meal, plus an extra generous tip, left it on the table, and held out his palm.

She couldn't resist sinking her hand in his and allowing him to lead her from the patio dining to the boardwalk, the wooden stairs creaking beneath their feet.

The summery sound stoked something inside her, and in her mind's eye, she saw herself as a long-legged girl in a red and white striped one-piece swimsuit, running giggling over these same whitewashed boards, running ahead of her biological parents as they held hands, and stopped regularly to kiss passionately. Anyone seeing would think them the perfect family.

She breathed in the same briny air, rich with the fragrance of Mexican food, that she'd smelled back
then, and her head spun, dizzy from the vivid memories and shifting of the light as the sun completely sank below the horizon.

“Where did you go?” Axel whispered.

“How did you know I was off in the past?” Puzzled, Kasha stopped, studied him.

He reached out to press the flat of his thumb between her eyebrows. “You were thinking so hard that you were frowning.”

She shook her head, shook out the memories. She wasn't going to unload her baggage on him. The past was gone, and couldn't be changed and she didn't like talking about it. Besides, it was his confession time. “Let's keep walking.”

He didn't pester her for an answer, but he did take her arm again, and even though she should have minded, she didn't. Decorative ambient lanterns guided their way. On the sandy beach below the boardwalk, couples nuzzled on blankets and beach towels.

The muscles in her groin clenched, and Kasha averted her gaze, not wanting to stir up sexy feelings for the man beside her.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly. “For coming out and making a lonely day one of the best days ever. You'll never know how much today has meant to me.”

“I . . .” She gulped, admitted the truth. “It meant a lot to me too.”

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds. Not a full moon, but almost. Along the banks, bullfrogs croaked a chorus, welcoming nightfall. Kasha noticed they were breathing in tandem, inhaling the musky scent of lake and each other.

“Now that I've stolen your day away,” he said, as they strolled toward the end of the boardwalk, “what are your plans for the evening?”

“It's already eight-thirty. Not much of an evening left.” She shook her head, her hair brushing the backs of her arms. She felt a bit wanton with her hair floating loose and free in the breeze.

“You're an early-to-bed kind of woman?”

“Yes. Normally, I'm driving over two hours to get to work at the Gunslingers' facility. I have to leave at five a.m.”

“Wow,” he said. “That's commitment. Why don't you just move to Dallas?”

“I'll move once I get custody of Emma, although I can see that transition is going to take much longer than I anticipated.”

“Yesterday was a setback.”

“Eye-opener. I didn't fully realize how complicated life with Emma would be.”

“But you still want custody of her?”

“Yes, of course. I'm not going to abandon her just because she's got challenges. What kind of person do you take me for?”

“I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know you didn't. I'm probably too sensitive. Those girls yesterday . . . well, you were right. I needed a battle plan.”

“Kids picked on Dylan when he got sick.” Axel's lips evened out in a tight line. “Human nature can be ugly.”

“You handled those girls skillfully.”

“Practice. You'll get there.”

“Slowly.”

“I admire you,” he said.

“What for?”

“Not everyone would be willing to make such personal sacrifices for a sister like Emma. Especially a sister they didn't grow up with.”

“I don't consider her a sacrifice. She's an invitation to joy.”

“You really do love her.”

“More than you can know,” Kasha murmured, still surprised by the stark fierceness of the feelings that went through her every time she thought about her half sister. She had no idea how she could love Emma so much in such a short amount of time, but she did.

“You've got a huge heart,” he said. “If you ever need any help with Emma, or just want to talk, I'm here.”

“Axel, I can't . . . we can't . . .” She toggled a finger back and forth between them.

“Do what?”

“This.”

“You mean be friends?”

“Friendship is enough for you?” She rested her back against the wooden railing, looked up into his dark eyes, and saw the answer. No. It wasn't enough for him. It wouldn't be enough for her either.

“Kasha . . .” His voice cracked, and his hand tightened on her elbow.

“What was it about today that made you not want to be alone?” she asked, shifting the conversation back to him.

His eyes darkened, troubled. He hesitated a beat. Two. Three. Moistened his lips. Cleared his throat.

The air between them thickened, and it had nothing to do with the East Texas humidity.

“Forget I asked.” She waved a hand like she was shooing a fly. “It's none of my business.”

Suddenly, he blurted, “Today would have been Dylan's tenth birthday.”

Her heart torqued, wrung itself out. “Oh, Axel. I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”

One side of his mouth tilted up in a sad half smile. “Don't feel sorry for me. For eight years I got to be the dad of the most amazing kid in the world. I understand why you want Emma. I really do. Despite the challenges, she'll bring a million blessings into your life. Go get her. You won't ever regret bringing her into your life. I promise you that.”

“The joy of having Dylan was worth the pain of losing him?”

He laughed, the sound surprisingly light and joyful. “Yes, oh yes. Life hurts, Kasha. We can't stop the pain or insulate ourselves from it. But I'm sure you already know that.” He glanced down at her thighs. “That's why you're so afraid to take a chance on us. You're scared of losing it all.”

“You're not scared?” she whispered.

“Hell yes,” he said. “But if we let pain keep us from taking chances, then we're barely alive, and what's the point?”

She stared into him and he stared into her and there was nothing around them but water and sky. They didn't hear the muted conversations of the other beachgoers. They saw nothing but each other, and she knew they weren't talking about Emma and Dylan anymore.

“You're braver than I am,” she said.

“No I'm not. I don't know what happened to you, but I know it was bad.” He dropped his hand, ran a fingertip over the tops of her thighs right where the scars were. “You're incredibly brave.”

She inhaled sharply. “You don't know me.”

“I do know you,” he insisted. “I know you're strong mentally, emotionally, and physically. I know you're kind and loving and hardworking. You've got a wry sense of humor, and you're patient with guys
like me who pull bonehead moves like I did with the rebounder. You've been hurt badly, but you didn't let the past define you. I might not know your history, Kasha Carlyle, but I know you.”

Kasha stopped breathing, stared into those serious eyes that were quickly becoming so essential to her.

The moment stretched long, and longer still.

His fingers remained on her thighs. She could feel his body heat through the material of her sundress. Could hear the lapping of the water against the shore, and the sound of a passing party barge heavy with the sounds of laughter, conversations, and the churn of a slow-moving outboard engine.

Finally, Axel moved to cup her cheek in his palm. “You don't have to tell me anything about your past. I'm not going to ask.”

She didn't know what possessed her. Why she broke. She never talked about her biological parents to people who didn't already know the story.

And rarely even then.

But his eyes were so full of understanding, and she knew in her core that she could trust him. And she wanted, no, correction . . . needed . . . She needed to tell him why she was the way she was.

It wasn't that she couldn't love. But rather because she knew she had the capacity for passion so deep and strong it terrified her. Passion could destroy her.

Just as it had destroyed her parents.

A hundred questions lurked in his eyes, but he asked none of them. He held her with his gaze, cradled her.

“My mother murdered my father,” she said in a voice so calm that Axel did a double take, his eyes widening, body stiffening, nostrils flaring.

“What?” He blinked. “What did you say?”

“When I was seven years old,” she went on in a low monotone. No emotion. General. Bland. “My mother shot my father with a nine-millimeter handgun she'd bought at a pawnshop three days earlier, and when she finished she turned the gun on herself. One bullet for Dad. One for her. Bam! Bam!”

The last two words echoed across the lake.

Bam! Bam!

Sorrow twisted his face. “Kasha, no.”

She didn't feel the impact of the shock beneath his words or react to the stark distress on his face. She iced herself up inside, numbed her feelings. Untouchable.

“That's horrifying,” he said.

She went on calmly, as if giving the weather report for a cloudless August day. “My parents fought all the time, cats and dogs. Hot-blooded, the both of them. My mother was Italian and prided herself on how quickly she could lose her temper. As if quickness to anger was a virtue. They were infamous in Stardust.”

“That must have been so scary for you.”

“The police came out to our house at least once a month. But then my parents would make up. Be all lovey-dovey. Have loud, headboard-banging sex. I remember sleeping with my head under the pillow many a night trying to drown out the sound.”

Axel shifted, leaning in closer, but his gaze never left her face; all his attention was on her.

“Tumultuous, people called them. Passionate. And so it went, around and around. They would kiss madly one minute, then an hour later they could be screaming and throwing things at each other.”

“Shit, Kasha.” He looked like someone had punched him hard in the gut after he'd just stuffed on Thanksgiving dinner. He jammed fingers through his
hair, spun around on his heels a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, came back to plant both palms on the dock railing, shoulders down. “Shit.”

“Don't feel sorry for me.” She stiffened her spine. “I didn't tell you this so you'd feel sorry for me.”

“I wish I had a time machine so I could go back in the past and rescue you.”

She laughed a humorless laugh. “Sir Galahad. If you'd saved me, I wouldn't be who I am today.”

“Walled up in your ivory tower?”

That hurt. She flinched, but tried not to let it show on her face.

“Hey,” he said. “I didn't mean that as judgment. We all have our demons. Just meant you hold yourself apart.”

“Aloof.”

“Your word, not mine.”

“It's not that I don't care.”

“I know,” he whispered, coming closer. “It's that you care so much.” His arms went around her waist, comforting and comfortable. “You're just protecting yourself as a byproduct of the volatile environment you grew up in.”

She shrugged. “Plenty of people have it worse. Jodi's biological mom was a drug addict who would go off and leave her home alone for days when she was only four years old. And Breeanne's teenage mom abandoned her at the hospital when she found out Bree had a serious heart condition. And Suki? Her parents disappeared in North Korea and were never seen or heard from again.”

“But their suffering doesn't mitigate yours.”

“Suffering doesn't make me special. Sooner or later, life knocks everyone down. It's how you deal with the knocks and dings that matter. My biologi
cal parents dealt with it badly. They were Roman candles. Heat. Light. Fireworks. Explosions.” She stared over his shoulder because she didn't want to see pity in his eyes, and watched the headlights of cars moving on the road above them.

“How did . . .” He paused.

She could feel his warm breath tickle her ear, and the whispery heat stoke arousal deep inside her core.

“What happened the day your mother . . . um . . .” He paused. “. . . did what she did?”

Before she could form an answer, he held up a palm. “Wait. You don't have to answer that. It's none of my business.”

“No,” she said. “It's okay. I want you to understand me.” Helplessly, she leaned into him, absorbing his body heat, inhaling his reassuring scent. “I don't remember that day at all. The last thing I remember about that spring afternoon was walking home from school past the purple hyacinth in the flowerbed as I climbed the porch steps. I remember they smelled so incredibly sweet I wished I could eat them.”

Funny the things she remembered. Kasha hitched in a breath. “When the front door shut behind me, it closed down my memory of what happened. One minute I was imagining eating sweet purple flowers and the next I was lying on a gurney covered in a green sheet that smelled of anesthetic and staring up at a piercing bright light overhead. I was in the ER at Stardust General Hospital, and Maggie Carlyle was sitting to my left holding my hand, Dan had hold of my right.”