Heartbreakers and Heroes

by Box Set

No longer content to be on the sidelines, it was time Zeke got into the game, and he was in it to win it.

  ***

  “Mom, the bus is here,” Andie called, the door already open and her backpack on. She loved riding the bus, loved asserting her independence more. Her little girl didn’t want to stay her baby, she wanted to spread her wings and rush out into the world.

  Chastity made sure to be awake, showered and drinking her coffee when Andie roused for the day. Routines were important, and they always shared a bowl of cereal and a slice of toast each in the morning.

  “Hey, Mr. Thompson!” Andie’s happy voice bounced with simple joy. Charity half-stumbled on her way to the door with her daughter’s sack lunch in hand. Reaching the entranceway, she had a front row view to Zeke’s slow walk toward her front door. Andie snatched the lunch bag and gave her a quick hug before racing past them both. “I’ll see you at practice after school!” Her ponytail bounced behind her as she raced to the corner and onto the bus waiting for her.

  Straightening, Charity glanced at Zeke, waiting for him to stop staring after their daughter. The pensive expression on his face threatened to destroy her. Folding her arms, she told herself to be patient. Maybe he had walked away the night before, but here he was bright and early with the sun. He didn’t look like he’d managed anymore sleep than her.

  Thankfully, it was Monday and her late day at the library. She didn’t have to be in until noon. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yeah.” He faced her once more and nodded. “About a gallon of it.”

  Letting him follow her seemed like the best course. Once he stood in her kitchen, she realized how small the room was. Like the day before, he dressed in a light cotton shirt, a heavier hoodie, and a pair of jeans. His sneakers were older, and looked well used. He was—just a guy. Not a baseball superstar. More, he was Zeke. Though he’d been sporting a baseball cap outside, he tugged it off in the house and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair.

  “You look like hell,” she said, pouring him a cup of coffee before sliding it across the counter to him.

  Setting his cap down, he took the mug in hand and gave her a rueful look. For a split second, the distance in his eyes vanished and hints of the guy she’d loved through high school reappeared. “I’d say you do, too, but my momma frowns on me insulting ladies.” The dry tease earned a chuckle from her, and she shook her head.

  “Yes, she does, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” The coffee was strong. She doctored hers with sugar and creamer, but he didn’t. Instead, he knocked back a long swallow. Trying not to shudder, she drank in the sight of him in her kitchen from the blunt tips of his long fingers to the faint golden hairs on the backs of his tanned hands. The hoodie couldn’t disguise his broad shouldered frame or the muscle definition beneath the stretch of his cotton shirt. “How can you drink it like that?”

  Leaning his elbows on the counter, he shrugged and eyed her. “You get used to all kinds of coffee on the road. The big thing is just to be able to find coffee.”

  “For some reason, I pictured you stopping in at one of those high-priced coffee shops.”

  “Do I look like a gourmet coffee kind of guy to you?” The swiftness of his retort, coupled with the twist of his lips, sent a flush of heat through her. Heat she had no business experiencing.

  “No, but that’s pretty strong. I poured it through twice this morning.”

  “Trouble sleeping?” No judgment lived in his voice, only simple inquiry.

  “You could say that.” Because he was in her kitchen and she needed to do something, she asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, but I could eat again.” He flexed his fingers around the coffee cup. “Can I take you out to breakfast?”

  “How about I make some here?” She had eggs in the fridge and some sausage she’d picked up for a stew later in the week.

  “I don’t need you to cook for me, Char.” The sound of her nickname on his lips stroked her senses. “And I would love to take you out.”

  “Well, there’s only a couple three places we can go,” she said, already turning to the fridge. “The moment we show up, you know people will start talking.”

  “So?” The question halted her. “I don’t care if they talk. You embarrassed to be seen with me?”

  Irritation raked away her pleasure. “No.” She set the eggs down, careful not to slam them. “I still have to live here, and I value you my privacy.”

  “You think I’m going to stand in the town square and start yelling that Andie is mine?”

  He could. Of course he could. He would have every right. Pausing in her preparations, she flattened her palms to the counter. “No, Zeke. I don’t think you are going to do that…I never did. You’re too good a guy, and you’re too thoughtful.” Exhaling, she dared to reach across the space separating them and brushed her fingers against his. The contact sent a frisson of electricity arcing through her. “I won’t stand in the way of you getting to know Andie, and I won’t do any of those things, but this between us right now is just between us. I want us to settle it without anyone from the town getting in the way.”

  “Too good a guy.” He twisted his lips as though tasting something unpleasant. “Did you really just tell me I’m too nice a guy?”

  “It’s not an insult. Before we have a fight over whether being a nice guy is a bad thing or not, will you let me cook you breakfast?” He’d shown up, that was the important part. She’d dropped a bomb on him, but here he was the next morning standing in her kitchen. She wanted to do more than make him breakfast, she wanted to hug him then tell him everything would be okay, that they would figure it out. Making him food would have to do; she hadn’t earned any rights to the rest.

  The corners of his mouth tilted upward, a slow, sexy smile she felt all the way to her toes. “If you insist, how can I say no?”

  Accepting his gracious acquiescence, she got a bowl out and began cracking eggs. A half dozen was what he used to like, scrambled with a little cheese. She had some slices she could put into it after they were cooked. After whipping the eggs, she got the sausage going.

  “You remembered.” Was that a hint of awe in his tone?

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, Zeke.” The admission cost her nothing. She’d already ripped open the worst injury to her soul ever suffered. Releasing the burden of the lie purged her. Did they still have problems? Yes. Did she still need to work things out? Yes. Did they still need to tell their daughter? Yes. She would own her part in all of it. Flipping the sausages once, she found the sound of their sizzling soothing. “I hate that I didn’t tell you the truth… Looking back, I can give you all the reasons why the eighteen-year-old-me thought keeping the secret was the best thing for all of us.”

  “How could it ever have been best for us, babe? It meant leaving you to do it all on your own. It meant you had no backup and no support.” Guilt stabbed at her because of the self-loathing she heard in his voice. “It meant…I wasn’t there for you in the middle of the night or when your feet swelled up or to pay the bills so you don’t have to live in this…tiny little apartment.”

  “I like our tiny apartment. It’s not a lot, but it’s mine and I paid for it. You didn’t abandon me, Zeke. I didn’t let you be there. There is a difference.”

  “Not in my book.”

  Only after she got the eggs going, did she angle herself so she could see his face and watch over her cooking at the same time. “Zeke, if I’d said yes to you even when you thought she was someone else’s—your focus would have been on us. Not on your career. Not on your dream.”

  “Dreams are great. The game is great. You’re better, and so is she.”

  Chastised by his flat tone, she frowned. “I get that…now. I made those decisions when I was scared and worried about you and…for four years, I watched your life fall apart, come together again, then you to find motivation and determination.” Whoever said high school was hell must have watched them, or at least experienced one te
nth of the crap he went through. “You worked so hard, and you wanted it so much. I couldn’t be the reason you didn’t follow through, that you didn’t make it to the majors. Look at you! You’re amazing and an inspiration. You’re the kind of athlete parents can be proud their kids look up to…”

  “Were you afraid that—if I stayed, if I didn’t go—I’d turn out like my dad?” The question froze her in place. Worse, the emptiness in his eyes when he asked it cut her to the bone. “Did you really think I’d go bitter and pour myself into a bottle like he did?”

  “God, Zeke, no…I just didn’t want you to have to choose me.”

  “I guess it didn’t matter what I wanted, huh?”

  Chapter 5

  Conversation between him and Charity stuttered to a halt on that sentence. Turning the thought over in his mind, he sighed. Hurting her wasn’t on the agenda. “I’m sorry to snap. I’m having trouble processing all of this.” On the wall behind her hung a framed picture of a toddler in a pale yellow dress and sun bonnet. What the little one held arrested him.

  A bright pink baseball mitt and glove—tiny and delicate, just like her.

  Goddammit, he missed those moments. First steps. First words. First ball.

  By the time she slid the plate, loaded with eggs, sausage and toast, in front of him, he had a grip on his temper. It burned him, the depth of it boiling his insides. An acid, eating away at his soul and one he had to find a way to purge.

  “Do you think there’s even a remote chance you’ll be able to forgive me someday?” Her soft question drew him back from the edge.

  He started to open his mouth to say he already had, but what came out was less definitive. “I want to…but I don’t think it’s my forgiveness you need.” He eyed the cup of coffee she nursed. “Share the food with me?”

  “I had cereal with Andie.” Under his continued stare, she sighed and pulled out a second fork. Only after she took a bite of eggs, did he dig in. The last thing he wanted was food, but Charity made it for him and he’d choke it all down if necessary. They had to make it work. “What do you mean it’s not your forgiveness I need?”

  “You made the choices you made, and I won’t pretend to understand it…but you’re right. You made them when we were eighteen. You’re not that girl anymore.” The sausage had a hint of Cajun spice which burned on his tongue. Liking it, he took another bite.

  “You sound very certain.” Charity refilled their coffee cups. Was it as strange to her as it was to him? The pair of them standing in her little kitchen, as though it were any other day, having coffee and eating breakfast.

  “About what?”

  “That I don’t need your forgiveness, and that we’re not the same.” She sighed, sliding the coffee pot back into its place.

  “You don’t…look, I’m not pleased you kept her from me and me from her. I’m not pleased you put yourself through all of this on your own.” Then he glanced over the half-bar into the living room. It was a tidy little apartment, colorful and full of life. Pictures of Andie were everywhere. He could see her progression through the years. A bat, a glove and a ball sat in a milk crate next to the front door along with a couple of umbrellas. “You built a life for the two of you.” One which didn’t include him. “If you were the same girl who didn’t think I needed to be a father…” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth. “Don’t argue on that point. You thought I needed to chase my dream and, if I was a father, that it would somehow get in the way. You put my happiness ahead of everyone, even my desire.” Hard to be angry with her for that. “So yes, you decided I didn’t need to be a father. I could yell, I could throw things, I could call you names, but I don’t think you were ever malicious, and I don’t want to be a bastard.”

  Abandoning her coffee cup, she circled the island and slid her tiny hand over his. The fierceness of her grip steadied him and quieted the shaking trembling his limbs. “You were never a bastard, Zeke. Every day of my pregnancy, I second guessed myself, but all I saw was that look in your eyes the day they told you your father had died.”

  The day his father died, they’d called him into the office. Charity had been next door in the nurse’s station, for a fever or some other issue. He couldn’t quite remember. The police officer waiting to speak to him had been very calm. The man knew Zeke’s parents well, had been by the house on more than one occasion—usually when his father was on a binge. A sense of helplessness invaded Zeke the moment he’d locked eyes with the cop. Big Tony had invited him into a private office, but he hadn’t needed the speech.

  Somewhere in his gut, he’d known. Known his father had finally done the one thing he couldn’t come back from and he’d asked only one question. “What about my mom?”

  “She’s fine, son.” Big Tony had said. He’d added more words, but to do this day Zeke couldn’t remember what he’d said. His father was dead. Drunk, he’d wrapped his car around a tree. No one else had died, fortunately, only his dad. Everyone expected him to feel grief, to collapse, or to need time. They’d told him he could go home and since it was what they all seemed to think he’d need, he decided to do it.

  What he’d never admitted to anyone… “Charity, I wasn’t destroyed by my father’s death.” The words came out slow, uneven and forced. Pushing them past over a decade of denial took effort. “I was relieved. I couldn’t tell anyone that…his misery, it poisoned all of us. People make choices, but Dad? Dad’s regrets weren’t that he wasn’t able to do something or that he was denied an opportunity, it was because he was a coward. If he wasn’t absolutely certain he would be good at it, he didn’t do it. That meant he didn’t do anything.” The dam cracked and he threaded his fingers through Charity’s.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but they didn’t fall onto her cheeks. “Zeke…”

  “It’s okay,” he comforted her. It was as automatic to him as breathing. “No one knew because I thought I should be ashamed of my lack of empathy for him. This man who seemed so big and larger than life. This man who told me to be the best, who pushed me at every Charmings game to throw harder, throw better…he wanted the whole world for me. He wanted me to be unbeatable, to take all these risks that he’d never been able to take himself. Not understanding that it was okay to feel relief that relief over his misery ending no matter how horribly was how I was grieving was what…was why I ended up in so much damn trouble and why Mom sent me to Montana that summer.”

  Stone would be proud of him. He’d encouraged Zeke to be honest with those feelings, no matter how hard or painful they seemed. Opening that wound will hurt, it will agonize you because it’s got a lot of scar tissue and infection, but if you can do it. If you can drain it, you’ll also be able to heal.

  “I always thought….”

  “That my dad wanted to die because being a dad was hard?” It came out far harsher than he intended and her flinch chastised him.

  “Yes.” She blew out a shaking breath, then rested her free hand against his chest. “I want to hug you.”

  “Okay.” Welcoming the contact, he tugged her into his arms and held her. It was as though the whole world tilted on its axis, then settled into place. Charity belonged with him—in his arms, in his life—and he belonged in hers. Dreams were great, but life had to be built out of more than dreams. “Why didn’t you ever say anything before?” The words were a whisper against him as he held her close but took care not to crush her. The curvy woman in his arms deserved to be treated like fragile, spun glass—valuable and precious.

  “Because a child shouldn’t be glad their father is dead.” It was a simple fact.

  “You mourned him.”

  “I know I did, and I felt his loss.” He said the words against her hair, rubbing his chin against the softness of it. The soft, floral scent of her invaded his senses. Not too sweet, but just like a hot, early summer day—those first glorious ones when the sun heated everything and color filled the yards and fields. Baseball games were perfect, not too hot, not too cold, and rarely rainy. “Sweethe
art, my dad wasn’t a happy man. Like I said, it wasn’t about the choices he was forced to make, it was about his inability to act. He wanted to dream big, but he didn’t know how to make those dreams a reality. It ate away at him until the only solace he found was in the bottom of a bottle.”

  Another reason he avoided liquor and kept his temper in check. As a boy, folks used to comment on how much like his dad he was. Zeke didn’t want to be his father—he wanted to be the man his father should have been.

  “I should have…”

  Pulling back but not releasing her, he touched a finger to her lips. A mistake, because now all he wanted to do was kiss her. “Should have. Would have. Could have. We can spend all day beating ourselves up about the decisions we made. You chose to push me away and, at the end of the day, I chose to let you.” He’d never really wanted to believe she’d cheated on him. For a time, he’d entertained the idea that she’d been forced or roofied, but Charity wasn’t one to take any kind of assault without fighting back. The only saving grace in the whole situation. “We have to talk about now and tomorrow.”

  “And Andie,” she added then closed her eyes. He traced the line of her lips as she took several deep gulps of air. “If you keep touching me that way,” her breath tickled his fingertips. “It’ll be hard to think about anything.”

  “Not sure whether you want me to stop or want me to kiss you.” Really shouldn’t have gone there. They weren’t ready for that.

  He wasn’t.

  She opened those sweet brown eyes, the pupils so large he imagined he could drown in them. Wanted to dive in and never leave. They weren’t there. Hell, he’d barely had her back in his life for twenty-four hours, and all he wanted to do was turn everything upside down.

  A real man always puts his best foot forward. He knows when it’s time to act. When to take the step he’s been waiting to take…listen to your gut, Zeke. Listen. It knows, even when your heart and your mind are at war.

  His mind said think it through. His heart wanted to jump. His gut needed a plan.