Love of the Game (5 page)

“You're punishing me?”

“Don't have to. You're already punishing yourself by focusing on your discomfort. Just focus on what you're doing, ignore everything else.”

“Like when I'm pitching?”

“Exactly like when you're pitching.”

They exercised together for a while longer, Axel obeying her commands, keeping his eyes closed, and moving with intent and purpose. And when she told him it was time to get on his back for floor stretches, he was surprised to discover thirty minutes had passed.

“We're winding up already?” he asked, surprised by his disappointment that it was almost over.

“Half an hour is long enough for your first yoga session. Roll over onto your stomach.” She demonstrated, rolling over onto her belly, and giving him a great view of her gorgeous rump sheathed in those yoga pants.

He tried his best not to stare, failed utterly.

“Pay attention to your breathing,” she chided. “Not my butt.”

He closed his eyes, but he could still see the shape of her round fanny burned into his retina. He opened one eye, peeked over at her, found her staring at his ass. “Focus, Sphinx.”

“I am,” she said, not looking the least bit guilty for
having been caught ogling his butt. “I'm the therapist, my job is to study your form.”

“If telling yourself that makes you feel better, go right ahead. I know the truth.”

“It is the truth.” Her voice was maddeningly calm. What would it take to get a rise out of her?

“But if I look at you—”

“You're gawking.”

“You make it sound so cheap.”

“Not cheap. Predictable. Now ground your pelvis against the floor, and raise both legs in the air.”

“Have you ever noticed how provocative some of these yoga poses are?” he asked.

“Predictable.”

“I feel so common,” he joked.

She ignored that. “Now raise your arms out in front of you like you're Superman flying off to save Lois Lane from some baddies.”

He raked his gaze over her as her chest lifted up off the floor, while her hipbones stayed firmly rooted against the yoga mat. “For it's hip-hip and away I go,” he teased.

“That's Underdog, not Superman.”

“What's the difference?”

“One's a dog, one's a man . . . oh . . . I see your point.”

“Aha!” Axel crowed. “You do have a sense of humor.”

“And release the pose,” she said mildly, not letting him get to her. “Time for Superman to land.”

“Aah, and just when I was beginning to enjoy the flight.”

“On your back in Savasana.”

“What's that?” He sat up.

“Corpse Pose.”

“Seriously?”

“It's a pose of total relaxation. Of surrender.” She flipped onto her back, legs slightly apart, arms at her sides, palms facing up.

“Vulnerable position,” he commented, still sitting.

“I had trouble with it at first too,” she said. “Just try it.”

“You did?”

“Being vulnerable is not my strong suit,” she admitted.

“And yet here you are, all laid out in Sa-whatever-vana.”

“You're avoiding the process. You've done great today, it's been a successful morning, don't blow it.”

“All right, all right.” He swung around, lay down on the mat next to her, unable to tell her the real reason he didn't want to lie down faceup. What if he got aroused again?

But her eyes were closed and she looked so peaceful, a barely-there smile curling up the corners of her lips. She was right. It had been a good morning.

He rested on the mat, his shoulder muscles feeling tired but no longer aching the way they normally did when he pushed himself with free weights or the machines. It was a peaceful tired, a good kind of tired, and for the first time since his injury, he truly felt hopeful that everything was going to work out.

K
asha lay beside Axel feigning calm. A hundred different thoughts popped in and out of her head. Some yogi she was. Couldn't shut down her mind chatter for a two-minute Savasana.

Snap out of it. Get straight. Breathe.

But whenever she inhaled, she could smell his
scent—slightly musky now from the exercise—and she could feel heat radiating off his body, could hear his breathing too, the deep, masculine sound as he filled his lungs, held it for a beat, and then let it go long and smooth.

The sound lulled her, made her feel as if she were being rocked by gentle ocean waves. She realized they were breathing together, and it was not the patient following the therapist, but the other way around. She had fallen into
his
breathing pattern.

Alarmed, she held her breath.

And then he held his too.

Ah good, back in charge. Today had gone well. A little massage. A little yoga. As long as he did what she told him, he was going to have improvement in his range of motion.

That sure of yourself, huh?

Terrific. Doubting herself? No room for that. She had to make this happen. Not only for her sake and for Emma, but for Axel's as well. If he didn't learn how to slow down, he was going to blow his arm out for good, and that would be the end of his dreams.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to study him.

Even at rest, he looked like a man on the verge of springing into action. Maybe it was all those hard-packed muscles glistening in the sun. God, he was gorgeous. If she wasn't his therapist . . .

But she was. No place for unprofessional thoughts in this relationship. He needed her help, and that's what she'd give him. That's
all
she would give.

“What now?” Axel mumbled in a sleepy voice.

“We're going to do a guided meditation called yoga nidra.” She sat up. “To put you in a state of deep relaxation.”

He opened one eye. “What do I have to do?”

“Shh, just keep your eyes closed and listen.” She sat cross-legged on her mat. “The military uses a version of yoga nidra called iRest to help heal servicemen and women with PTSD.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just remember, you've got my career in your hands.”

Yes, that was the nerve-wracking part, but she was confident she could help him. “I'm going to place a special buckwheat pillow over your eyes to block out the light.”

She fetched the pillow from her tote bag, reached over to settle it over his eyes. She tried to do it without touching him, but he shifted slightly, and her fingertips brushed against his forehead.

Singed. Dammit!

Axel sucked in his breath at the same time she jerked away and lost her balance, falling backward onto her mat.

Thank God, he couldn't see her. She righted herself and brushed a dusting of perspiration from her upper lip with the back of her hand. She could not keep reacting so viscerally every time she touched the man.

“Kasha?” he murmured.

“Still here.” She cleared her throat, and found herself smiling. “Sink down into the mat. Feel the earth supporting your body.”

Her own body grew heavy, leaden, as it often did during meditation, but this was different somehow, as if she were tuning in to his rhythms, experiencing the sensations with him.

And in those sensations, she blossomed, and grew.

This was nuts. Absolutely nuts. She was imaging a connection that wasn't there. He was a client. She
was his therapist. So what if he was a hunk? It was a line that could not be crossed.

She guided him through the meditation, modulating her voice low and tranquil, hiding her emotional turmoil with soft words, and soon he was breathing slowly and deeply, snoring slightly, completely and utterly relaxed, maybe for the first time since he was a child.

The magic of yoga nidra; it had the power to still the most turbulent mind. Considering the crazy way Axel made her feel, maybe it was time she started practicing the technique on herself.

K
asha had no more than walked into her house after her day with Axel than her cell phone rang. It was the lawyer.

“Hello Mr. Johnson,” she said.

“Got your message,” Howard Johnson replied. “I know the six weeks are up, and you still want to pursue custody of Emma. But while that's admirable, before you take that final step, I think it wise for you to first spend some time with your sister outside the group home setting.”

“Why?”

“To fully understand what you're up against.”

“I appreciate your concern.” She kicked off her shoes at the back door, savored the feel of the cool tile under her bare feet. “I'm in the medical profession, and I'm well aware of Emma's challenges.”

“Being aware of the challenges and living with them on a daily basis are two different things. You are essentially taking on a parental role.”

“I know that.”

“She's a child in an adult's body.”

“I can handle it.” Kasha trailed into her bedroom.

“Even so,” the lawyer said. “I encourage you to take this extra step. Let me put the wheels in motion, and make arrangements for you to take Emma home with you for an overnight stay and see how you two click outside of a controlled environment.”

Kasha blew out her breath, took out her earrings,
and set them on the top of her dresser. “I'd really rather just get this process started. I know I want her.”

“Do you have a bedroom set up for Emma? Have you hired someone to look after her while you're at work?”

“Not at the moment, but neither one of those should take me long to set up. I can handle those details while you're drawing up the paperwork.”

“Your job is in Dallas. You're going to have to move there eventually. Have you thought about how such a move will affect Emma?”

“There will be more opportunities for Emma in the city,” Kasha said. She had thought about it a lot. In Dallas there would be services for Emma that didn't exist in Stardust. It was another reason she'd taken the job with the Gunslingers. “It will be an adjustment, but we can weather it.”

“Your heart is in the right place, Ms. Carlyle. But have you considered whether or not Emma will be happy living with you? As excited as you both are to have found each other, you are virtually strangers.”

Kasha sank down on the end of her bed. More than anything in the world she wanted to share her life with Emma, her only living blood relative. And only part of it was making amends for her biological parents' sins.

But the lawyer had a point. In the end, she wanted what was best for Emma, not herself. She had to make sure she was doing this for the right reasons.

“You make a good case,” she admitted. “Please make arrangements for me to take Emma for a few days.”

“Smart decision,” Howard Johnson said. “I'll move forward with that, and we can get together
with Emma's foster parents for a time that's convenient for both of you.”

Kasha hung up, and paced her bedroom.

It was time to tell her adoptive parents about Emma. Dread over digging up ancient history had her avoiding this conversation for too long. She needed their guidance as she went forward with gaining custody of her half sister, and the longer she waited to break the news, the more hurt they would be that she hadn't confided in them from the beginning.

Why hadn't she confided in them from the beginning?

In the bathroom, she undressed to her underwear and stood examining herself in the mirror. Studied the thin vertical scars carved into the tops of her thighs. Traced them with her finger. Counted them out.

There were a hundred and three of them, each an ugly badge of shame.

Old now.

Silvered.

They'd been there for so long that most days, she barely noticed them. But she was permanently marked by her past. The scars were a constant reminder of where she'd come from, and where she never wanted to return.

And on some level she was terrified of slipping back there. Even though logically she knew she'd come out on the other side of her trauma, a primal fear lurked deep in the recesses of her brain.

“It's okay. You're all right,” she soothed. “You beat it.”

Shaking off the fear, she showered, and dressed and headed over to her parents' house, guiding her Prius over the railroad tracks that crossed Main Street. She
drove past Timeless Treasures, her parents' antiques store, and took a left to round the block.

The closer she got, the higher the guilt tower grew. In this neighborhood the houses were older, mostly frame—Craftsman and farm-style, Victorians and Cape Cods. In the yards sat garden gnomes or metal cutouts of pink flamingos or Texas flags.

It was a good place to grow up, a safe place full of love and caring and community. A long way from where Kasha had spent the first seven years of her life.

Outside her parents' home cars filled the driveway, spilled out onto the street. What were all the vehicles doing here? Were her gregarious parents throwing an impromptu party on a Thursday night?

Sucking in her breath, and her courage, Kasha parked at the curb, drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, and studied the yellow Victorian with white gingerbread trim and a wide, welcoming veranda. The coat of paint was new. The house had been gray when she was growing up, with red trim. The metal roof was new too, her parents investing in it after one too many hailstorms. Poplar trees, tall, thin, and stately, flanked both sides of the house just inside the white picket fence. Underneath each front window was a flowerbox flush with pink and purple petunias.

She did not remember the night she took refuge in this house; that dark night was forever buried in her damaged childhood psyche. But she did remember the day she walked up the sidewalk with Dan and Maggie Carlyle after the adoption was final, enveloped in the open arms and welcoming smiles of her new sisters.

Knuckles rapped against the window, startling her. She jerked her head around to see her other brother-
in-law, Jake Coronado, who was married to her oldest adoptive sister, Jodi, standing there holding a tote bag.

Jake also played for the Gunslingers, and he currently had the highest batting average on the team. “How come you're sitting out here all by your lonesome?”

“How come you're here at all? No game tonight?”

“Travel day. We're playing in Houston tomorrow, so instead of heading out with the team, I came home to spend time with Jodi. I'll leave tonight after the party, and catch up with the team there.”

“What party?” Kasha's chances of getting her parents alone to tell them about Emma dimmed.

“You're not here for Trudy's celebration?” he asked.

“No, I just dropped by to see Mom and Dad. What's Trudy celebrating?”

Trudy was their next-door neighbor, a spunky, tattooed senior citizen who'd once been a Vegas showgirl, but she was now an artist with an appealing folk art style.

“She's having a gallery showing in New York.”

“No kidding?”

“Impressive, huh.”

“Sure enough.” Kasha bobbed her head. “Is Rowdy here too?”

“Naw, too much on his plate. He's already in Houston with the team. But Breeanne's inside.”

Kasha opened the door and got out. “What's in the bag?”

“Jodi forgot the apple pie she made, and I had to circle back to the B&B to get it,” Jake said.

“Pregnesia strikes again.” Kasha chuckled.

“I had no idea pregnancy could make women so
forgetful. But on the upside, when she gets mad at me, she forgets it quickly.” Jake grinned like a naughty schoolboy.

“This too shall pass, and soon you'll have an adorable baby to love and a wife with her elephant memory back.”

“True,” Jake said. “I'm ready for both.”

“Not the least bit nervous about tackling fatherhood?”

“With Jodi as my partner, I'm not scared of anything.” Jake opened the door for Kasha. “She's my heart and soul.”

Okay, it did sound a bit sappy, but Jodi and Jake were amazing together, and Kasha might have been jealous if she weren't so happy that her sister had found her great love.

They walked through the front door together and headed for the kitchen. Jake called out, “I'm back, everyone, apple pie in hand, and look who I found lurking outside.”

“Hi, honey!” Her mother wiped her hands on her apron and came over to give Kasha a vanilla-scented hug. “I'm glad you made it. I roasted a whole cauliflower for you. I found the recipe on the Internet. It got lots of five-star reviews.”

Although her family members were steadfast carnivores, they honored her choice to go meatless. Her mother went out of her way to prepare tasty vegetarian meals for her, and Kasha appreciated the effort. Mom bustled around, pulling things from the oven.

“What can I do to help?” Kasha offered.

“Check to see if everyone has something to drink.” Mom turned the burner off under a pot of black-eyed peas.

Jodi was sitting at the kitchen table drinking lem
onade. Jake hurried over to drop a kiss on his wife's forehead. Jodi wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled his head down for a proper kiss. Jake put his hand on her extended belly, and then they looked at each other as if they'd invented sex.

Kasha turned away, feeling embarrassed for witnessing their private moment. She stepped out onto the back porch to check on the dozen or so guests gathered around her father, who was manning the barbecue grill. They all had drinks in their hands.

“Anyone need a refresher on their drinks?” she called. Everyone shook their heads, so she stepped back inside as her mother was taking the roasted cauliflower from the oven.

“How did you know I was coming over?” Kasha asked.

“I left you a voice message,” Mom said. “Although I didn't hear back from you, I knew you'd want to help Trudy celebrate her big success.”

“I had my phone turned off while I was working with Axel Richmond,” Kasha explained. “And I forgot to check voice mail when I left his house. I didn't even know about Trudy's big news. I was dropping by for . . .” She didn't want to say why she was really dropping by. Not now. Not in front of other people. “. . . a visit.”

“How are things going with Axel?” Jake asked. “Richmond is pretty intense. He's got his demons.”

“No worries there,” Jodi said, resting her head against Jake's shoulder. “At her old job, Kasha's nickname was the Exorcist.”

Kasha sat down across from Jake and Jodi. “Demons? What do you mean?”

Jake shrugged like he wished he hadn't opened his mouth.

“Is there something I should know?” Kasha pushed, even though she normally wouldn't have done so. She was not the type to stick her nose into other people's business, but it was her job to help Axel get back on the mound.

“Axel's working through some personal stuff,” Jake mumbled.

“You mean besides his injury?”

Jake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don't like talking about someone behind their backs.”

“This isn't gossip,” Kasha said. “My only concern is for Axel's welfare. I am his therapist.”

Jake shot Jodi a look, and she nodded. The corners of his mouth skewed, and he let out a reluctant noise. He scratched the top of his head. “It's not a secret, anyone who follows baseball knows about it, but no one on the team discusses it. Out of respect.”

“Respect for what?”

“Dylan.”

Chill bumps crawled up the nape of her neck. “The name Axel has tattooed on his chest.”

“Yes. Dylan is . . . was . . . his son.”

She'd suspected Axel was sensitive about the tattoo, and the angst in Jake's eyes told her Dylan was no longer alive. “Dylan died?”

“Yeah.”

A tug of sympathy, hard and heavy, hit her low in the belly. No wonder Axel pushed himself so hard. It was his way of surviving grief. Her heart sank. “Oh no.”

Jake nodded. “Over two years ago now.”

“What happened?”

“Some kind of rare cancer. Dylan was just eight years old.”

Kasha's knees weakened and she dropped down
into a kitchen chair. She felt dizzy, unanchored by the news. “That's awful.”

“Axel's never really bounced back from it.” Jake tapped his finger restlessly on the table.

“How could you ever come back from something like that?” Jodi asked, and protectively rubbed her belly.

Jake slipped his arm around Jodi's shoulder and pulled her close. She rested her head on his chest, and a grateful smile tipped up her lips.

Kasha pushed aside the twinge of envy that pinched her. “Thank you for telling me, Jake. It does help to know what's going on with Axel.”

“Do be careful,” Jodi cautioned.

“Careful about what?” Kasha canted her head.

“Axel is easy to fall for.”

Kasha blinked at her sister. “Why are you cautioning me about that?”

Jodi shrugged. “He's a good-looking guy. You're single, he's single . . .”

“And I'm a professional who would never blow my career or reputation by crossing a line with a patient.”

“I wasn't suggesting that.” Jodi spread her palms out on the tablecloth. “We just don't want to see you get hurt.”

“I won't,” Kasha said, wondering how Jodi had guessed at her attraction to Axel.

No mystery, she told herself. Axel was hot. He'd make most any available—and some who were not—woman's womb wiggle.

The back door opened and Suki came bouncing in.

The youngest Carlyle sister was a live wire who instantly brightened any room she entered. Petite five-two, Korean by birth, thoroughly American in personality, and she loved stylish fashions. Today she
had on a short beige macramé skirt and black V-neck tank top, and Roman sandals.

“Dad needs more barbecue sauce,” Suki said.