“That stuff…that trash Calista’s spouting about Mace? It’s all a load of hogwash. But you probably already know that.” He hoisted the beer that Mallory brought him, taking a deep drink before putting it down. “So the team’s in first place, now, huh? You must be happy about that. I think that’s the best that—”
“Go back a minute,” Becka said. “What do you mean, it’s hogwash? What’s hogwash? What really happened?”
“Not my place to say. I’m sure Mace told you.”
“No,” Becka said. “I don’t know about what happened with Mace and Calista, at least not his side.”
Stan blinked at her. “Really? I’d figure that’s the first thing you’d ask.”
“I did, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Did you ask because you wanted to hear his side or did you just want to see him try to talk his way out of it?”
“I didn’t…I just thought…” her words trailed off.
“You just thought because it fit all the rest of the hype it was the truth?” he asked gently.
Becka looked down at what was left of her drink as though the answer would appear.
“You’ve been involved with him for weeks, Becka,” Stan said softly. “Haven’t you figured out yet that there’s not a dishonorable bone in his body? If I were you and I cared about the guy, I’d at least want to go see what he had to say about it.” He cut her off before she could speak. “And if he didn’t want to tell me, I’d make him.”
Mallory looked at her. “You know you need to.”
Becka’s gaze flicked between the two of them. She nodded, slowly at first, then faster. “You’re right. You guys are right.” She was on her feet the next moment. “Thanks.”
“Where are you going?” Mallory called.
“Gotta find Loverboy,” Becka returned as she walked out the door.
She missed the wink that passed between Mallory and Stan.
BECKA KNOCKED on Mace’s door, but there was no answer. She knocked again. Silence.
Defeated, she took the elevator down to the lobby and turned to leave. Then she heard the clack of pool balls. She walked toward the sound, rounding the corner to a small, shadowed rec room. A pair of video games flashed light and color. A Ping-Pong table sat silent. And Mace Duvall played pool, alone.
“Mind if I join you?”
He was leaning over the table to get a shot. Only his eyes moved when she spoke. The cue stick shot forward, balls clicked, and the two ball went into the pocket.
He straightened up. “Becka.”
She walked across the room to him, feeling as though she was moving through mud, fighting to keep herself moving. “I need you to talk to me,” she said, her voice shaking a bit. “I need to know what really happened with you and Calista.”
“It’s ancient history.” He turned back to the table and lined up another shot. The balls clacked.
“Not any more it isn’t. It’s part of the present, and the only way to put it to rest is to deal with it.”
He straightened up and looked at her, expressionless. Becka reached out to touch his cheek with her fingertips. “Talk to me,” she said softly. “I’ll listen this time.”
Mace started to line up another shot, focusing on the table.
“Please,” she blurted. “I need to know.”
He looked at her, his eyes shadowed, then nodded slowly. “Seems like I’m always telling you stories these days.”
Becka swallowed. Now was the time to take a risk. “That’s what you do when you’re in love with someone. You share your lives.”
He sucked in a breath. “In lo—”
“Talk to me.”
Mace let the breath out slowly. “All right. Get a cue and we’ll play while I’m telling you.” He grabbed the triangle from where it hung on the light fixture hanging over the table and began setting up the balls as if glad of something to do. “I told you how I got into the business of escorting women to events,” he said, arranging the balls and pulling off the rack. “For a couple of weeks, it went fine. I’d show up at these things, I’d meet a few more people, the press would take their pictures, and the whole thing just sort of snowballed.”
He gestured to Becka to break. Stepping forward, she stroked the cue a few times and slammed the balls all over the table. “Keep going,” she prompted.
Mace aimed a shot that went wide. “It was a whole new world for me.”
“I can imagine.” Becka set up a shot and put one in, grateful to have something to keep her hands busy. She missed the next one.
Mace moved from where he’d been standing, staring at her. “I dated one or two of them, nothing serious, and then I met Calista at a gallery opening.” He stepped in to take a shot. “I’d gone my whole life without falling in love and boom, I went like a ton of bricks. Her first movie came out a couple months later, and suddenly she was famous, I mean really famous.” He shook his head as he circled the table. “I think about it now, and it was probably mostly infatuation, because we never had much to talk about, but it felt real, you know?”
Becka nodded.
“Anyway, one morning I came in to find her getting sick, and when I asked her about it, she told me she was pregnant.” He lined up a shot, then glanced up at Becka. “I’d always figured I’d have kids some day, so it was fine. I thought we’d get married. Where I come from, that’s what you do. Calista had different ideas, I found out later.” He stood up, the pool game forgotten. “I was hosting a fundraiser one night. Calista was supposed to go, but she’d said she didn’t feel well, so I ducked out early to check on her. I walked in to find her in bed with some one-hit-wonder actor. We fought and she told me…” He stopped for a moment. “She told me that she’d aborted our child. And that I was trying to smother her and destroy her career by wanting to marry her. When I got angry, she told me she wasn’t even sure it had been my child, that she’d been sleeping with other men the whole time.”
Becka looked at him in horror. “She said it was you who’d done all that,” she breathed.
“No,” he corrected, “she implied it and let everyone else fill in the blanks.”
“I’m so sorry,” Becka whispered.
Mace shrugged. “It pretty much flattened me back then. I used to dream about the kid.” He raked his hair out of his eyes. “It also taught me a lot about people, about the important things. After that, I just did the appearances, none of the dating. No involvement.”
She searched for the right words, knowing there really weren’t any. “It must have been brutal for you.”
“What was brutal was knowing you believed it,” he said quietly.
“But I didn’t, not really,” Becka protested. “I wanted you to tell me your side because I didn’t want to think that you’d have done something like that.”
“I figured there was no point. You should have seen your face. I mean, it was chalk white, with these huge eyes. You’d always believed all the newspaper stuff. I just assumed you’d believed this, too.” He took a slow step toward her, then another. “I’d been in the shower trying to figure out a way to talk to you about what came next. To tell you I loved you.”
Becka caught her breath as she watched him move. “I was working up my nerve to do the same thing.”
They stared at each other.
“And what are you thinking now?” Mace asked softly.
“That I do love you. What are you thinking?”
“That I love you.”
Becka raised her head toward his, thinking he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. “Love isn’t enough, Becka. There’s got to be trust there, too.”
She nodded, understanding. “I went to Mallory’s bar after the game. Stan was there. He seemed surprised that you and I hadn’t talked about what happened. He told me that I should have trusted you enough to ask for your side of the story.”
“That operator.” One corner of Mace’s mouth tugged up into a grin of reluctant admiration. “I had breakfast with Stan this mo
rning. He told me I should have trusted you to believe me instead of just assuming you wouldn’t.”
They looked at each other and laughed.
Mace shook his head. “Stan missed his calling. He should have been a couples’ counselor. He told me something else, by the way. I’m going to be batting coach at the Pawtucket Red Sox next year.” He reached out to brush his knuckles across her cheek. “It’s only an hour away from Lowell. I’ll go on the road with the team, but no more than you will. In the off-season, we can do whatever you want.” He took her hands in his. “I want a future with you, Becka.”
“I want that, too,” she whispered.
They kissed, a slow, gentle touch of mouth to mouth that was more heart to heart. Then Mace backed away.
“Okay, one more game,” he said briskly, pulling balls from the pockets and tossing them in the triangle. “Nine ball. Why don’t we add a little bet, just to make it interesting?”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked, chalking her cue.
“I win, you marry me.”
Her mouth curved. “What happens if I win?”
He held up the two ball. “You win, I marry you.”
Becka gave him a grin full of sunlight and threw her arms around his neck. “Now that’s what I’d call scoring.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-8134-3
SCORING
Copyright © 2003 by Kristin Lewotsky.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
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Table of Contents
Letter to Reader
Books by Kristin Hardy
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Copyright
Scoring Page 22