Making a Comeback

by Kristina Mathews

  Chapter 10

  Cooper had made it all the way to his bathroom before he realized he still had Olivia’s backpack. It felt too comfortable carrying it for her. Hell, being with Annabelle and her daughters felt too comfortable.

  Except for the tension between him and Annabelle. The kind of tension that could easily be relieved if he hadn’t gotten all freaked out about her technically still being married.

  But even if she wasn’t, getting involved with her would be a bad idea. For all of them.

  He knew he should take the backpack to Olivia, but he, too, needed some space. He needed a shower. He could still smell Annabelle on him from when he held her as she cried.

  Damn. What kind of asshole texted while he was driving through an intersection? And how fast must he have been going to do that much damage to Annabelle’s face?

  Cooper couldn’t stand the way some people didn’t stop to think about the consequences of their actions. Especially not the guy in the mirror. He stood in his bathroom, the steam fogging up the room and he stared at himself. The guy who thought he could get away with it. There were plenty of guys who’d done it. Gone their whole careers on the juice, with carefully timed injections, or elaborate concoctions of counter-measures. One pill makes you taller and another makes you small. Some such shit.

  All he’d wanted was to finish the season. He’d done that. Barely. He’d stayed off the stuff all winter. But he’d been nervous about doing the pitching clinic. He thought if he was going to risk his arm, he wasn’t going to do it for a bunch of kids. He’d do it in spring training, with the team’s doctors nearby. So he’d taken one more dose. Just to be safe.

  Boy was he sorry.

  Stepping into the shower, he knew he needed to stay away from Annabelle. She didn’t need someone like him. Someone who’d been selfish and thoughtless and just arrogant enough to think he was doing the right thing. Just like he’d thought he was doing the right thing by looking after Annabelle and her daughters.

  He should just walk away. But it was damned hard when he lived just next door. And she was so…everything he’d ever wanted.

  Maybe it was time to move on. He could head down to Arizona, and try to find a team willing to take a chance on him. Now that he knew he wasn’t going to have a heart attack if he picked up a baseball, he could risk getting on a mound. Even if he sucked, at least he’d know he’d given it his best effort.

  Switching off the water, he reached for a towel. He dried off, got dressed, and then went downstairs to return the backpack.

  He picked up the pink, princess-covered bag and something inside him twisted in a knot. He didn’t want to stay away from Olivia and Sophie. They both had managed to sneak into his heart. Sophie with her determination and her fearlessness. And Olivia with her cautious, yet trusting nature. They were both so much like Annabelle.

  All three of them were sweet, funny, vulnerable, yet strong. He didn’t want to walk away from them. But he knew it would be for the best.

  He knocked on the door, waited until he heard footsteps, then dropped the backpack on the porch and headed back to his place. It took all the strength he had not to turn around when he heard the door open.

  It took even more when he heard Annabelle whisper, “Thanks.”

  * * * *

  After dinner, baths, and bedtime, Annabelle tried to watch a little TV. But American Idol couldn’t hold her attention. Not when the only voice she longed to hear had been banished from her home. Cooper had returned Olivia’s backpack, but instead of intruding, he’d left it on the porch.

  If only she hadn’t been so stubborn. If only she hadn’t been determined to be independent, she could accept his friendship without wanting more. They could have invited him over for dinner. The girls might have eaten their vegetables and they wouldn’t have spent the meal bickering over who was going to bring what for the one hundredth day of school. They’d rejected every one of her ideas and ended up in tears worried they would fail Kindergarten if they didn’t come up with not one, but two super-duper ideas.

  After switching off the TV, Annabelle poured herself a glass of Chardonnay. She sat at the kitchen table, but the memory of Cooper in her pink apron just made her more anxious. He was a good man. The kind of man who was willing to stand by his principles even if those principles made her ache.

  She grabbed a sweater and threw it on over her nightgown. Taking her barely touched glass of wine, she stepped out on the porch, hoping the night air would clear her head. She needed to take the advice of her daughters’ favorite movie song and “let it go.”

  The minute she stepped outside, she realized her mistake.

  Cooper was on his porch, strumming his guitar and singing a haunting song. She turned around, to go back inside, but she was mesmerized by the sound of his voice.

  So much for getting the man out of her head.

  Instead, she sat in the shadows, listening to him sing, and hoping he couldn’t see her watching him.

  His voice was deep, rich, and had a certain quality that tugged at something deep inside her. His songs made her feel more than she’d felt in a long time. Longing. Yearning. Wanting a connection that was just out of reach.

  And if the passion he brought to his music was even a little bit sincere, he wanted it too.

  She closed her eyes and sipped her wine. She finally got why musicians were so appealing—even the ones who might not be all that physically attractive—they drew out emotion. Made you feel.

  Oh, she was feeling right now. After so many years of merely existing, she was feeling too much. And instead of retreating into her house, she moved closer, still hidden from his view, but she wanted to hear the words to the haunting song he was singing. She wanted to feel a little bit closer to the man who was just out of reach.

  “Your name on my lips

  Like a song in my heart

  Annabelle, sweet Annabelle…”

  She froze. He was singing about her. Like he wanted her. Only he didn’t. He’d made that very clear.

  Draining her wine, she made the decision to let him know what his song did to her. She set the empty glass on the porch railing and marched next door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Annabelle demanded.

  “Trying to stay out of your way.” Cooper didn’t look up from his guitar.

  “By singing about me?”

  “It’s how I relieve tension.” He strummed a few chords, his attention on his instrument.

  “Really? I thought you did that by lifting weights or running along the beach.”

  “Nope.” He glanced up at her now, but his eyes were hidden in the shadows. “That’s how I keep in shape. My music keeps me sane.”

  “Yeah? Well, it’s making me crazy.” Her heart was racing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this worked up.

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” He fingered the neck of his guitar, and she couldn’t help but notice his long, strong fingers. Fingers that could no doubt make her body sing. “I’ll take it inside.”

  “Not good enough.” She stepped closer. Close enough to smell his soap or shampoo or aftershave. Whatever it was, it drove her almost as wild as his voice. “I’ll know you’re singing. About me.”

  “Annabelle.” He held his guitar between them, like a shield.

  “Stop. Please.” She inched even closer, placing her finger on his lips. “You’re killing me with your song.”

  “Softly?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just made me think of the Roberta Flack song.” He played a few notes.

  “I’m glad you find all this amusing.” Her blood was starting to boil. How dare he make light of this? He was using his music to… Well, he wasn’t using his music to seduce her, so what was he doing?

  “Am I too loud? You don’t like my voice? What exactly is the problem, Annabelle?”

  “That song. It’s about me.”

  “
Yes. It is.” He set the guitar down and leaned forward.

  “Don’t.” She was shaking, her nerves humming like one of his guitar strings after he’d strummed it.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t sing about me.” She squeezed her fists, digging her perfectly manicured nails into her palms. “Promise you won’t sing that song about me.”

  “I can’t make that promise, Annabelle.” Every time he said her name, it was like a sliver digging ever deeper into her heart. “Every song I sing is about you. Every verse, every note, it’s about you. It’s always been about you.”

  “But why?” She didn’t get it. He wanted her, he didn’t want her. He didn’t want to get too close, yet he never strayed too far away. “You sing about me, yet you don’t want me.”

  “Oh, but I do. I do want you. More than you’ll ever know.”

  Under the glow coming from the streetlight, she could see into his eyes. He meant it. Every word. And he wasn’t any happier about it than she was.

  “Annabelle…” He didn’t say anything more, just pulled her toward him and kissed her. Softly killing her with his lips, his tongue, his breath. He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer, but not close enough.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body against his. He was solid. Strong. Hot. She wanted, no needed to touch and be touched. She couldn’t feel her bruised ribs, couldn’t feel pain in her shoulder. She could only feel the pleasure of his lips on hers, his hands moving down her back, his erection pressing against her belly.

  A soft moan escaped her lips, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. She moved her hands down his shoulders, feeling his biceps, his forearms, then guiding his hands to her hips.

  “Annabelle,” he groaned as he cupped her ass, pulling the soft cotton of her nightgown up.

  She arched into his touch, wanting more. Wanting everything.

  He inched his hand closer to her sweet spot.

  Yes. Please. Now.

  He withdrew his hand and took a step back.

  “I can’t.” His voice was shaky, desperate. “I’m sorry, Annabelle, I just can’t.”

  “Because I’m not divorced.” She smoothed her nightgown down over her trembling thighs. “Or is it because I’m ugly?”

  “No. That’s not…” With the gentlest touch, he brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “I want you, Annabelle. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. Or anything. But I don’t have any protection.”

  “Protection?” At first she didn’t know what he was talking about. “Oh. Like a condom?”

  “I don’t keep them around. I haven’t in quite a while.”

  “I see.” She searched his face for some clue as to why a healthy, sexy, single man wouldn’t keep condoms handy. “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.” Again, the mysterious secret loomed between them. She backed away, wondering if maybe there was something dangerous he was hiding from her.

  “You weren’t in prison were you?”

  “No.” He laughed. “Not prison.”

  “You’re not married yourself are you?”

  “No. Never been married. And I’m not gay.”

  “I didn’t think you were.” The night felt colder now, and she wrapped her sweater tighter around herself. “I should go. I’ll let you get back to your guitar.”

  “Annabelle… I’m sorry.”

  She held up her hands. “Go ahead and sing anything you want. I’ll just close my windows from now on.”

  “Wait.” He looked like he wanted to tell her something else. Something important, but then he shook his head. “Goodnight, Annabelle.”

  “It could have been.” She turned and walked toward her house.

  * * * *

  He needed to tell Annabelle the truth. Tomorrow. If he followed her tonight, he would just end up even more frustrated than he was right now. They both would.

  Why hadn’t he bought a box of condoms when he was at the store? Maybe because he was in denial about being able to stay away from her. Or maybe he thought she’d believed him when he said he couldn’t be with a married woman.

  Either way, he was an idiot.

  She wanted him. That would change when she found out who he was and what he’d done.

  Cooper picked up his guitar. No more would he sit on his porch and play. Not as long as Annabelle lived next door.

  Damn. Shaking his head, he walked into his house. He couldn’t find a comfortable spot to play, even though lyrics were swirling through his mind. About Annabelle. Her sweetness, her softness, her sauciness. She was beautiful and sexy and strong, even though she didn’t always realize it. The way she’d marched over there, begging him not to sing about her. It would be like him begging her not to be so beautiful.

  His music was his way of dealing with the powerful emotions going on inside him. The lust. The longing. And something more. Something that scared him. Scared him even more than the thought of not playing baseball anymore.

  He could see himself settling down with Annabelle and her daughters. Making a family. Possibly even making another baby.

  No. He couldn’t bring a child into this world. Because one day he’d have to look that child in the eye and tell him or her, “Yes, your father did steroids.”

  Chapter 11

  Annabelle’s agent was right on time. She’d carefully applied her makeup, done her hair, and put on one of her most confidence-inspiring outfits. She wore black cropped tuxedo pants, a blue silk wrap top, and silver platform sandals. A chunky necklace and chandelier earrings completed the look.

  “Victor, it’s so good to see you.” She blew air kisses across both cheeks and pretended not to notice when he winced at seeing the large K carved into the left side of her face.

  “Annabelle, you’re lovely as always.” Victor kissed her back on the right cheek only.

  He was shocked by her appearance. He tried to hide it, but it was there.

  “Would you like some coffee? Tea?”

  “I brought your favorite, nonfat chai tea latte.” He probably had a list of all his models’ favorites. It was his job to make each of them feel like they were his most important client. He was good. But no agent would be good enough to get her a job now.

  “Thank you. I’ll grab my purse and we’ll be on our way.” She faked a smile. “I really do appreciate you driving me to this appointment. I hope I’ll be cleared to drive again. I hate having to rely on my friends to get around.”

  She was babbling, she knew it, but couldn’t help it.

  Annabelle followed Victor to his black BMW. It was a convertible, and she had a brief moment of panic just thinking about how exposed she’d be in the open vehicle. She slid into the passenger seat, clicked her seat belt, and reached for her latte. If the worst happened, then she would have matching scars on the right side of her face.

  She and Victor made small talk on the way to her doctor’s appointment. Gossip about people they knew in common, the business, superficial stuff. They didn’t talk about the accident. They didn’t talk about her disfigurement. And they certainly didn’t talk about how her career was over.

  Once they got to the waiting room, Annabelle felt a little self-conscious looking at the glossy magazines on display. People, Glamour, and of course, Sports Illustrated. Nothing more than reminders of the life she used to lead. The life she’d hoped to recreate, but now had to let go of. She wondered if it would have been easier if she’d been back at work for more than one day. If she hadn’t felt the hope and excitement of starting a new job, it wouldn’t be so deflating to lose that job. Maybe once she’d gotten back into the routine—the long hours, hot lights, and the arrogant photographers who believed they could bring out emotions that she’d long ago stopped feeling—she would have been able to let it go more easily.

  Her agent kept himself busy on his smart phone. Good, he was at least getting some work done while she waited to have her stitch
es removed and get the all clear for getting back behind the wheel. For getting her life back.

  She had a hard time focusing on anything. She’d picked up a magazine, one geared more towards home and family than the glamorous life she used to lead. But she wasn’t really interested in organizing her closet, repurposing her clutter, or finding new ways to get her children to eat their vegetables.

  She’d already discovered the secret to that last one. Have her hunky neighbor, Prince Charming in disguise, whip up a fabulous soup.

  God, she needed to get the man out of her system. But the more she tried, the more she found herself unable to put space between them. And every time she tried to rationalize all the reasons she needed to keep her distance, the more she found herself drawn to him.

  He was hiding something. About his past. Something important enough that he, too, tried to keep them from getting too close to each other.

  They were both failing. His secrets, her scars, were no match for the chemistry between them.

  Before she could overthink too much, her name was called. Victor glanced up from his smart phone just long enough to acknowledge that she was leaving the room.

  The first stop was at the scale. Annabelle kicked off her sandals and stepped onto the torture device. She held her breath, and was surprised to find she’d lost five pounds. A lot of good it was going to do her now.

  She followed the nurse into the exam room, sat down, and pushed up her sleeve so she could have her blood pressure read. She tried to relax as the cuff tightened around her upper arm.

  “Looks good.” The nurse flashed an encouraging smile before entering the numbers in her tablet. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

  Annabelle was left alone in the room. At least she didn’t have to disrobe. Most of the damage was visible. She might have to lift her shirt so the doctor could examine her ribs, but they seemed to be healing quite well.