by Box Set
Maybe he’d taken too sober a note with them, but both kids nodded slowly with their wide, rounded eyes absorbing his cynical wisdom. Maybe too much. His phone buzzed in his back pocket.
“How about you two work on your pitches and catching? You’ve got the stronger arm, Andie, so when you work with Puck focus on accuracy, not speed. Use your not dominant hand.”
Charity’s daughter nodded, her light-colored eyes brightening as she grinned. “I can throw pretty well with both.”
So could he. Tugging her hat over her eyes as he stood, he chuckled. “Then focus on building Puck’s skill. Being a part of a team means it’s not just your skills that benefit you, but the skills of your whole team. Cool?”
The doubt in their eyes said they didn’t quite believe him, but their nods promised him they’d try.
“Get to it.” He sent them off before he flipped his phone over to see another missed call from his publicist. That made four from her. Three from his agent. Two more from the managers. His voicemail was likely full. It rang while it was in his hand and he didn’t hit ignore and he didn’t answer it. His publicist again.
Were they out for blood? Probably they thought he’d blown off the trip. The call ended and his phone buzzed again. A text message…Stone is still in a coma. Are you coming?
Glancing away from the message, he sought out Charity in the crowd. One great thing about being back in Sherwood Point—the people knew him. They’d gone a little crazy when he first arrived but, bless them, they all seemed to remember he was the kid from Jackson Street, the senior who’d pulled apart the principal’s car and helped reassemble it in the high school cafeteria. He was a hometown boy and, maybe he was some kind of legend out there, but here…
Here, he was just one of the guys.
Damn, he’d forgotten what it felt like. Staring at the message, he answered one of the few people on the planet he called a real friend.
Not yet. Doing something I should have done a long time ago. Doing what Stone taught me…
The response didn’t take long.
Kill it then. For Stone.
Zeke smiled, sadness a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Looking up, he found Charity watching him from an iced tea station. Her cheeks went pink when their gazes collided. She was handing a cup to another woman, and her left hand was bare. Andie told him her mother wasn’t married—not directly, but not once in all of their tossing the ball had she mentioned her dad. In fact, when he’d straight up asked if her father taught her to pitch, she shrugged and said nope.
When she didn’t elaborate, he didn’t push it. After five minutes with the kid, he already wanted to pound in the face of the guy who’d stolen his potential family. If the douche couldn’t be bothered to step up—he shook off the feeling and glanced at Charity again. Cheeks still flushed, she raised one of the cups and gave him an inquiring look. Was it wishful thinking on his part to hope the blush was for him and not due to the heat? Would she bring him the iced drink if he nodded? His body tightened at the thought of her striding across that field. The t-shirt she wore hugged her curvy frame, the soft blue a gorgeous color for her coffee cream tan, neither too pale nor too dark. She was perfect.
His phone buzzed in his hand then Reverend Tom stood in front of him. The old man, with his bald pate and paunchy gut, had been his first coach. By the time he’d freed himself to look for her, Charity was gone…again.
Dammit.
The rest of the day consisted of more of the same. He paused long enough to eat, but he kept his focus on the kids. They were exhausted but happy when they called it a day. Some even complained, protesting they weren’t exhausted, as their parents collected them. He’d driven across three-quarters of the state, slept in an unfamiliar bed and spent his whole day in a crowd of familiar strangers. Not an unusual occurrence for him in a game season, but he also experienced a sense of satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a long time. Satisfaction tinged with an edge of disappointment.
Disappointment because by the time he looked up from helping with the cleanup, he didn’t see any sign of Charity. A part him—his better angel or maybe the devil incarnate—argued it was for the best. She’d thrown him out of her life all those years ago. His wounded pride and ego allowed her to push him away. Nearly eight years later, what had he been expecting?
He was halfway across the open field toward his truck before he realized a slender figure stood next to it. The fist around his heart began to squeeze. Aware of his musk, he raised an arm to try and let faint breeze cool him down some. Stripping off his baseball cap, he ran his fingers through his short hair. Sweat dribbled along his neck and his shirt seemed to cling to his clammy skin.
When the hell did I become a girl? Shaking off the sudden fit of nerves, he jammed his cap back into place and stopped two feet in front of her. God, she hadn’t changed a bit. Maybe time had added more lushness to her curves, and a wariness to her soft brown eyes which hadn’t been there before, but Charity Lane was just as pretty as she’d been in high school.
The weight of her presence slammed into him like a fastball, painting the corner of the plate and striking him in the chest. Hot on the heels of the hit by a pitch sensation came humor—did his reaction grant him a walk to first base? Clenching her white-knuckled hands together, Charity seemed to vibrate with a restless energy.
“Hi.”
Just when he thought he might muster something to say, the soft breathiness of her greeting cleared the plate before he could swing. Exhaling, he tossed his duffel into the back of the truck. “Hey.” Then because he wasn’t sure he could handle her saying anything more, he added, “I met your daughter… She’s wonderful.”
Smart. Sassy. Talented. Beautiful like her mother. All those words died unspoken, and he gripped the edge of the truck. What he wanted to do was cup Charity’s nape and pull her in for a kiss. One of Stone’s rules said a real man always put his best foot forward. Copping a kiss and feel were neither.
“You’re her hero.” The words came out broken, almost jagged and sharp. The tumult of emotion underscoring the syllables silenced the chaos roiling inside of him.
“What’s wrong?” Warning bells echoed within him and fresh tension threaded his muscles. He took one step closer, narrowing the distance between them. Tiny white lines tensed around the slender curve of her mouth. The cupid’s bow taut, almost colorless, as she compressed her lips together. Then, forgetting all about the years apart and the uncertain status of their ex-relationship, he focused on the woman the girl he’d adored had become. “Babe, what’s the matter? Is Andie okay?” He’d just seen the kid what…ten, fifteen minutes before?
Charity shuddered. Despite the moist heat still lingering in the air, the sun already began its descent and the breeze carried a promise of cooler weather. “Can we talk?”
Refusing to point out they already were, Zeke nodded once. “Of course. Now? Later? Here? Somewhere else?” Ignoring the sinking sound of desperation in his voice, he kept his attention on her. The convulsive way she swallowed. The worry as she darted a glance around. Noting her unease, he scanned their surroundings. Most of the other vehicles had pulled out. Although a couple of groups were still loading and doing a final pass, they were on the other side of the field and ignoring them. The reverend had even waved as he pulled away. For the most part, they were alone. “Where’s Andie?”
“My mom has her.” That was news to him. He hadn’t noticed Lydia Lane. Probably a good thing. Charity’s mom hadn’t always been fond of him. She seemed to think he would slow her daughter down or that she could do better.
History said Charity had eventually thought the same thing. The sobering reminder stung the old scar of that betrayal. Closing his hand into a fist, he restrained the urge to touch her. Just barely. “Okay, so she’s fine?” Better to make sure.
“Yes.” A tremulous smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Mom will make sure she gets her bath and dinner before bed. She has school tomorrow.”
“I kn
ow.” An inane direction, but he followed her down the winding verbal path. “I’ll be coaching after school.” It meant he could sleep in all week if he wanted. A good deal, really. A mini-vacation as it were, with the afternoons devoted to the kids and the rest of the time for him. Time he needed. Refusing to follow the last thought to its inevitable brick wall of indecision, he jerked his attention back to Charity. “Do you need a ride?”
She hesitated. Vacillation really wasn’t like her. Or at least, it hadn’t been like her? What the hell did he know about the woman she’d become? Seriously? “Actually, do you mind if we take a walk here? There’s a great trail down by the creek and even with the levels up from the rain, it’s shady and safe…and private.”
Telling himself not to make too much out of her choice of words, he nodded once before sidestepping around her and to the cab of his truck. Unlocking it, he opened the door then reached inside and grabbed his jacket. It wasn’t cool now, but she didn’t have one and the sun was descending. Doors locked once more, he pivoted to face her. “After you.”
“Thanks.”
They walked in silence and he made himself stay at her side—in part to keep an eye on their path and in part because he wanted to keep himself from staring at her ass. Not that she didn’t still possess one of the nicest asses… Damn, Zeke. Mind on the game in front of you. She wanted to talk… Or something.
Of course, she said nothing as they walked past the baseball diamonds, and along the stretch of black-topped road to the edge of rocky slope dipping down toward the creek. As their path angled away from the road, he carried his jacket by two fingers over his shoulder. Charity wore no jewelry—no engagement ring. No wedding ring. Not even a class ring. Her ears were bare of any ornamentation, though he could still make out the dimples of where she’d had them pierced.
The long silken fall of her brown hair cascaded to the middle of her back, though the sides seemed shorter or maybe it was all different lengths. Parts seemed to brush along the sides of her breasts, and he jerked his gaze up rather than continue to follow that trail to its inevitable conclusion.
“Are we going to talk or just walk?” Not that he was in any hurry to get away, but the long silence left his nerves strung taut.
“Talk,” she said, folding her arms and glancing at him sideways. It was late January. Winter in most of the country and it was winter here, just milder, warmer and sans all the snow. Still as the sun continued to descend, the temperature dropped with it. Despite her answer, Charity added nothing more.
He gave it another ten steps before he dropped his jacket onto her shoulders. They’d left the road completely and followed the winding trail of the creek. No one else was in earshot, they were alone. “Okay, if we’re going to talk, darlin’, we should talk.” The drawl he’d worked hard to leave behind in his rookie year in the majors rolled out as though it belonged.
Maybe it did. Just like he belonged in Sherwood Point and with…Knock it off. He didn’t need to think about belonging to Charity. He didn’t. She’d told him so. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he eyed the woman as she leaned her head back to stare at the sky. “This a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
Leaving her nervousness alone just wasn’t in his nature. The shivery way she spoke, the jerkiness to her actions and the pallor beneath her warm skin tone—all of it aggravated him on a very primitive level. So he raised his eyebrows. “You never used to have an issue with talking. As I recall, it used to be hard to shut you up.”
Her mouth opened then snapped shut abruptly. Shock seemed to overtake her unease as her eyes widened then she laughed. The magical sound of her amusement stroked him. How he’d missed the musical lilt of it, the way she drenched it with huskiness as though it came up from her soul. Even the hint of a snort at the end of her laugh made him grin. It was a real track of amusement, hearty and refreshing. No girlish titters or giggles, but genuine happiness.
Damn, he’d missed that sound.
“Just for that, I should make you stew in silence while we walk.” The sass was more like her, too.
Pointing out that she had already made him stew in the silence might be counterproductive, so he simply gave her the best, most charming grin he could muster. “Now don’t be mean to me, Charity. Not when we haven’t spoken in so long, and I really have missed the sound of your voice.” He hadn’t meant to admit the last part, yet it slipped free before he could shut the barn door. Not one to back down from his words, he met her gaze and suddenly found himself on uneven ground as tears sheened her eyes.
“Why do you have to be so damn nice?”
Uncertain of whether she meant it as a compliment or an accusation, he went with the former. “I’m just who my momma raised me to be.”
“Yes, she did.” Charity blew out a breath, the swiped a hand across her face. “I should have told you the truth years ago.” She didn’t look at him. “I thought I was making the best decision for both of us, and I can’t defend it, but I also can’t keep lying to you.”
Told him long ago? If she were any other woman…but she’s Charity. “Tell me what?” It came out more guarded than he intended, but dammit, he was all kinds of raw and the indecision, fear and agony in her eyes raked him over the emotional coals. He didn’t know whether he needed to beat the crap out of someone or just hug her. What did she want from him?
“Eight years ago, I told you a lie.”
Everything inside of him went still.
“There’s no easy way to say this…but to admit the truth.”
The thud of his heart struck like the firing of a ball machine.
“Andie…”
Thud.
“…is…”
Thud.
“…yours.”
Strikeout.
***
Shock swept over Zeke’s eyes, like ice skimming their blue surfaces. Somewhere between blurting the words out and staring at the man the boy she’d loved had become, Charity forgot how to breathe. Only when the burn in her chest reminded her, did she suck in a fresh gulp of air, puncturing the thickening silence.
“What?” He didn’t quite snarl the word, but she made no mistake. Anger edged the single syllable.
“Andie…Andrea, I named her Andrea.” Tripping over her words, she wanted to bellow her frustration. The whole point of telling him the truth…well, the point was to tell him the truth. It should be easier, yet with every word she spoke, the emotion seemed to leech away from him. “She’s your daughter.”
He stared at her, and the boy she loved vanished behind unreadable eyes. “Do you need money, Charity?”
Of all the things he could have said, the question didn’t even make her top ten. “What?”
“Do you need money?” He took a step back, and tugged out his wallet. The tired old billfold hadn’t changed one iota—the worn leather torn and frayed on one corner. The wallet had belonged to his father. One of the few items he treasured. It left her heart twisting. Zeke and his father had shared a contentious relationship before the man passed. So much so, his love for the beaten up wallet had always surprised her. “Charity.” The snapped emphasis on the third syllable of her name dragged her attention to the question.
“No, I don’t need money.”
“Then why the hell are you telling me this?” The question jarred her.
“Telling you the truth?” Shock riddled her.
“Oh, so it’s the truth now. I thought the truth was you had an affair. You wanted to marry someone who had plans. You didn’t want to chase a dreamer all over the country. What kind of life was that for a baby?” The rapid-fire statements cut at her. Not because of his tone. No, she deserved his anger. He had a right to it, but because she had given voice to each word had been soaked in bitterness and regret.
Folding her arms, she raised her chin and faced the chilly reception in his manner. “I know what I said then.”
“So, that was then and this is now?” Sarcasm didn’t become him.
“If
you need to yell at me to get it off your chest. Go ahead. I accept my responsibility in keeping this secret.” Part of the reason she’d wanted to talk to him alone.
“Well, aren’t you just fucking generous.” The brutal tone stunned her. Zeke just didn’t talk that way, least of all with her. He flipped open the wallet and fingered through the bills. “I have about five hundred in cash on me, but I’m sure I can get you more. If you need help Charity, just ask. Don’t prostitute yourself or your daughter. She’s worth a hell of a lot more than that, and you used to be.”
“I’m not prostituting anyone…Zeke.”
“No, where is her father? Did he turn into some deadbeat? Dump you at the first sign of a diaper change? Maybe he made it as far as the first tooth. Course, she doesn’t seem to have a high opinion of him.” It was like watching him wind up to the pitch. His temper unfurled like his arm going back only to snap forward. Unlike the very physical action, he didn’t move and barely seemed to breathe. “I missed you, too…but I don’t need this emotional blackmail or whatever game you’re playing. I thought a hell of a lot more of you than this.”
He shook his head, and her throat tightened as though strangling her response. Every time she’d played out this conversation in her head, she’d imagined it going so many ways. Anger—he’d tear into her for keeping their daughter a secret and worse, lying to him about it. Sadness—after all she’d kept them apart. Joy—and it might take a while to get to that last one, but even amidst his fury and confusion when she’d told him another man had been the biological father, he’d still offered to be with her.
Indifference, and worse his dismissiveness? No, those she hadn’t expected such an alien reaction.