by Lee, Roz
* * *
“Hey,” Jeff said when Jason joined him at the kitchen table the next morning. “Glad you could make it.”
Staying in bed held a lot of appeal, but so did a well-cooked meal, even if it came with a lecture. He wasn’t stupid. Megan’s invitation after the game had been couched in terms he couldn’t refuse. Before she was through with him, he would be crisper than the bacon sizzling on the grill.
“I never turn down Megan’s cooking, even if I have to get up at the crack of dawn and drive twenty miles after a late night.” He winked at his sister-in-law, who rewarded him with a scowl and an air kiss.
“You didn’t have to come, hot shot,” she said.
“Let’s not kid ourselves. I know a threat when I hear one.” He gave her credit, she hadn’t even bothered to deny her invitation to breakfast had been anything other than what it was—a chance to rag on him for something. “So, what have I done now?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Jason exchanged a look and a shrug with his brother.
“Well, that’s a first,” Jason said.
He leaned to the side when Megan reached around him and placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.
“Don’t be a smart ass,” she said, returning to the cook top. “You’ve got to do something about this mess.”
Ah, the mess. “We’ve been over this a million times. I don’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever.”
“You could end all the speculation, Jason, and in the process, do something good for a lot of kids going through the same thing you did. If you’d done it years ago, none of this would be happening now.”
Jason sipped his coffee, well aware his brother remained silent on the subject. Jeff understood his reluctance to talk about his scars. Though his brother didn’t bear any physical ones, he sported a few of his own from their early years when losing his twin had been a real possibility. A little support would be good right now. “What do you think, bro?”
“I think she’s right.”
Jason jolted, and his coffee mug clattered against the tabletop. He stared open-mouthed at his brother. Well shit. “Don’t tell me she’s holding out on you until I cave.”
“No.” Jeff smiled at his wife. “She has a point, Jase. You know I’ve always supported your decision not to talk about your heart, but that was then. This is now, and the timing is right. You could put an end to the steroid speculation and, in the process, reach a lot of kids and their parents. I think it’s great you talk to a few at the hospital here, but there are plenty of others across the country who could benefit from hearing your story.”
“I talked to Carrie,” Megan said, placing a huge platter filled with bacon and pancakes in front of them.
He ground his teeth. “You did what?”
“I talked to Carrie. She was at the game yesterday.”
“I told you not to contact her. What part of that did you not understand?”
“I didn’t,” she said, helping herself to a generous portion. “She found me at batting practice.”
He wouldn’t have been more stunned if the bacon and pancakes had jumped up and started dancing on the table. “She was at batting practice?”
“Yep. She saw me talking to you and followed me. We talked, and then she stayed for the game. I tried to get her to sit in the family section, but she wouldn’t. Said she didn’t want to distract you.”
A thrill of satisfaction tingled along his nerve endings followed closely by abject terror. “What did you talk about?”
“You, mostly. She loves you. But you already knew that. She wants to help, Jase.”
“I don’t need her kind of help, and she doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even know me.”
Megan sipped her orange juice. “Oh, I’d say she knows you very well…Master.”
Jason choked on a bite of pancake. Holy fucking shit.
“That’s what she calls you. She understands why a man like you doesn’t want the world in his private business, but she agrees with me. You can’t let this media frenzy continue. Have you seen the news this morning? They’re already picking apart your record, adding the asterisk to it as we speak. If you don’t say something soon, there won’t be any way to erase it.”
“It’s time, Jase,” Jeff said. “If you don’t tell the story, I will.”
“Fuck.”
He stood and his chair scraped across the tile floor. “You two think you have it all figured out, don’t you? This is my life. My career. My fucking business, and I won’t say this again. Stay the fuck out of it!”
His gut churned with the new betrayal. Couldn’t they see? Did they not know him at all? Even Jeff—his other half.
He needed to get away. Needed to think. He drove—to where, he had no clue. Anywhere. Away. Alone.
So fucking alone. Just like when he laid in the hospital bed—a kid all alone. Jeff had been at school and his parents had needed to work to pay the hospital bills. They couldn’t be there all the time like some of the other parents. Being alone had been worse than being sick. No one to hold his hand, no one to tell him it was going to be all right. Sure, the doctors and nurses said the words, but they couldn’t very well tell a scared and lonely kid the truth, could they?
Tears blurred his vision. He pulled to the side of the road and turned on the emergency blinkers. If this wasn’t a fucking full-blown flashing light emergency, he didn’t know what was. The people he loved most, the ones he counted on to be there for him were going to sell him out. God, he couldn’t bear it. That frightened kid inside him wailed. No matter how hard he tried to deny him, the child was still there—afraid of losing control of his life again.
He’d been at the mercy of others then. Everyone had a say in what happened to his body—everyone but him. No control. No opinion. Not even a vote. They’d made the decisions and left him alone to contemplate what they meant to him, to his life.
Jeff had been his lifeline. His dream of being a major league baseball player became Jason’s dream. They made plans. Plans Jason had clung to through all the poking and prodding and testing. Even through the surgery, the pain of loneliness had been worse than all the other stuff combined. Jeff would pitch, and Jason would catch for him.
When he’d gotten home from the hospital, Jeff had a specially padded chest protector and a mask waiting for him to go with the catcher’s mitt Jason had kept with him at the hospital. He still had that mitt—the one he held onto like other kids on his floor had held teddy bears and favorite blankets. They said he even took it into surgery with him, but he couldn’t remember that part. All he knew was he’d had it before, and when he woke up after, it was still in the crook of his arm. They’d probably lied to him, but at the time, he’d been pretty proud of himself for hanging on to it. Control. One little thing he could control.
Control was an illusion. He had no fucking control over anything. He couldn’t stop his family from telling his story. In a way, it was Jeff’s story, too. But that didn’t mean he could open Jason’s private pain up to the world without discussing it with him first.
He reached deep for some scrap of control. Inhaling deeply, he counted slow, forcing the breath and a measure of anger out. Again. Each breath was easier than the one before until he was calm enough to think rationally.
He always known he would eventually have to tell his story. Megan and Jeff were right, now was the time. There were hundreds of kids across the country who might find strength in his story, strength they needed to fight for life, and still others who were using steroids or thinking about using. If he could convince any of them to change their course, it might give purpose to his childhood pain—something besides driving him to grasp for control at every opportunity.
First things, first. He glanced in the rearview mirror, checked over his shoulder, and pulled back onto the road. He was going to do it, but he was going to do it his way, or not at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Jason entered his brother’s kitchen t
hrough the backdoor. Jeff was nowhere in sight, but his blabbermouth sister-in-law was still there.
“What did you tell her?” he asked.
“You know, one of these days you’re going to walk in like that and see something you don’t want to see.” Megan bent to set a plate in the dishwasher.
Jason grabbed the plate, slipped it into place, and held out his hand for another. “Let’s not go there. You cooked, so why isn’t your husband cleaning? Should you be doing this much stuff?”
“I’m pregnant, not dying, Jase.”
“Sit down,” he ordered. “I’ll finish this.”
She gave him a look he was becoming too familiar with—one that meant she didn’t have to take orders from him.
“Don’t give me that look. Just sit down and let me do this. It’s the only apology you’re going to get for the way I left here a few minutes ago.”
Megan maneuvered onto a barstool. “Okay, since you put it that way.”
He loaded the dishwasher and filled the sink with soapy water. “Tell me what’s going on in that devious brain of yours so I can tell you what’s really going to happen.”
“Jason—”
“Stop,” he said, turning to lean against the counter. “No lectures. I’ll tell my story, but I’m going to do it my way. So, tell me what you and Carrie were planning.”
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Finish the dishes first. You yelled at me, Jason. The way I figure it, you owe me a lot more than a clean kitchen.”
“Maybe. It depends on how much meddling you’ve already done.”
She pointed her index finger downward and twirled it around. He got the message, turning to complete the job he’d started.
“I suggested she write an article about kids with PDA. I may have suggested she interview a few specific kids and their families that I know of who’ve been through heart valve surgery…you know, to get their point of view. I may also have suggested she ask them if anyone had offered them insight or encouragement along the way.”
He stopped, hands buried beneath suds, and closed his eyes. “That’s all?”
Silence.
“Tell me,” he said.
“It’s nothing.”
He fisted his hands. Damn it. Whenever he used that tone of voice on Carrie, she would do anything for him, so why didn’t it work on Megan?
“Okay, don’t go all dominant on me,” she backpedaled. “I told her the Mustangs would help her get the article out there since she no longer has a job.”
Jason dropped his chin to his chest. He locked his elbows and braced against the counter.
“Jeff’s talking to Doyle right now…to arrange it.”
“Wait.” He spun toward her. “What do you mean she doesn’t have a job?”
“She argued with her editor about the article. They refused to pull it, so she quit.”
Jason turned back around, clutching the granite rim around the sink. Fuck. Just when he didn’t think this situation could get any worse. He squeezed his eyes shut. “She asked them to pull the article?”
“That’s what she said. You can ask her the details, but she was very upset that they wouldn’t listen to her.”
He peeled his fingers loose and scrubbed the cast iron griddle. Next, the frying pan. He worked in silence, washing, drying, putting them away. This much he could control. Nothing more. Every other fucking thing in his life was out of his control. Unacceptable.
“She shouldn’t have written it in the first place,” he said, drying the last pan.
“No, she realizes that. You do realize McCree used her, don’t you?” she persisted. “He was going to make the accusation, one way or another. If not through her, then some other reporter. None of this is her fault. He had no way of knowing she had a personal relationship with you.”
Jason rinsed the sink then wiped the sides and bottom clean with the dishcloth. Megan was right. Carrie got caught in McCree’s web of lies. If not her, then someone else. But knowing that didn’t make it easier to accept what was happening to him. His life was caught in a vortex, spinning out of control, and the only way to stop it was to grab hold and stop it himself.
“Oh good. You’re back,” Jeff said, stepping into the kitchen. Jason pulled the drain plug loose. “Doyle says it won’t be a problem. He’ll arrange everything. A press conference, whatever we need. He said he’d have PR contact Carrie to see what she has in mind.”
Water swirled as the drain sucked it down—a metaphor for his life if ever he’d seen one. With one last slurping gulp, the drain consumed the last of the soapy water. Jason squeezed the dishrag dry and hung it over the sink’s center divider. He turned to his brother. “Did it ever fucking occur to you to ask me what I wanted?”
“Well…yeah, but you made it clear this morning that your head was still up your ass, so I nixed that idea. Besides, I knew you’d come around.”
“You’re a controlling son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
Jeff smiled. “We’re identical twins, Jase. What do you think?”
“I think if I didn’t love Megan so much, I’d kill you.”
Jeff sidled up next to his wife and gave her a kiss not meant for polite company to see. “It’s a good thing you love her then, but she’s mine. Go get your own woman.”
Maybe he should. Hell, everyone had a say in his life but him. Maybe it was time to go deep and grab onto what he wanted. “I think I will. Yeah, I think that sounds like a good idea, and I know just where I can find one.”
* * *
The first order of business was research. Carrie surfed the Internet for anything on Patent ductus arteriosis, PDA for short. Even if Megan couldn’t convince Jason to cooperate and save his good name, she might still be able to freelance the article to a newspaper or magazine interested in children’s health issues. She’d just leave out the parts about Jason Holder and the reason he’d have to be insane to use steroids—besides the obvious.
For the first time since she’d walked out of the newspaper’s offices after quitting her job, she had a purpose. Bringing attention to this affliction and the kids who survived with the right care could only be a good thing. Hope for the hopeless. Never mind she was one of them—the hopeless, that is. Hopelessly in love with a man who didn’t want her, didn’t love her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing the constant heartache to go away. Unsuccessful, she shook her head and resumed work. She couldn’t think about what she’d lost. No matter what Megan had claimed, Jason didn’t love her.
It was a nice fantasy to have, and one she’d dreamed of often while waiting for the next summons from her master. But like the girl in the fairy tale, the clock had struck midnight, and what had seemed so perfect, so right, had disappeared in a puff of popcorn and hot dog scented smoke. The difference? Carrie’s Prince Charming wasn’t going to come looking for her.
Maybe something good could come from the mess she’d created. This PDA article could be the beginning of a new freelance writing career. She’d write what she wanted and sell the articles. It wasn’t exactly stable work, but it was work, and anything was better than sitting around wishing she could turn the fairy tale clock back.
For a few short months, she’d lived the life she wanted with a man who’d seen the dark needs of her desire and had taken her there. Then the fairy tale had ended, taking her career and her sex life with it. She didn’t want anyone else, couldn’t imagine giving another man what she had given Jason. Maybe in time….
She shook her head. No, that clock was broken. She couldn’t go back, and she couldn’t go forward. Not like that. Never like that again.
She refused to watch the news for days following his record-breaking homerun. After leaving the stadium, she’d listened to the remainder of the game on the car radio, sickened by the immediate speculation on how the record was achieved. Hearing the speculation, the thinly veiled accusations had galvanized her resolve to try and fix what she’d done.
The doorbell chimed. She blinked,
shifting her focus from her computer screen to the front door. Convinced it had to be a kid selling candy bars or magazines, she ignored it.
The bell chimed two more times.
Persistent bugger, she groused. Get a clue and move on.
“Open up, Carrie.”
She froze, staring at the closed door. It couldn’t be, but she would know that voice anywhere. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and warmth and desire stirred low in her belly.
“I know you’re in there.”
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her brain sent signals to her feet, but they remained beneath the small desk she’d purchased at a flea market.
“Every second I stand out here adds to your punishment, angel. Makes no difference to me how many times I spank you.”
Her feet moved faster than she thought possible. She jerked open the door. “Shh! People will hear you!”
“You think I care?”
God, she’d never seen a sexier sight than Jason Holder in her doorway, one forearm braced on the doorjamb, his hips cocked back just so. She didn’t know which she liked better, Jason in the tight jeans he wore today, or Jason in those clinging baseball pants. He looked mighty fine in both.
“I’m tempted to bare your ass right here in the doorway and give you the spanking you deserve.”
The low, seductive promise in his voice set her internal thermostat to simmer. Her temperature spiked and a familiar heat rushed from her chest to her hairline. She forced her gaze to the floor. “If that’s what you want, Master.”
He pushed away from the doorframe, straightening. “Invite me in, angel. We’ll do this in private.”
She stepped back, closing the door behind him. She folded her shaking hands behind the small of her back and waited. She tracked his feet as he walked to the center of her living room and turned slowly to take it all in. There wasn’t much to see—just an entertainment center with a TV and a few family pictures on one wall, a sofa took up another. Beneath the single window that looked out on the strip of rocky soil between her apartment building and the neighboring one, sat her desk. She cringed when he moved in that direction, realizing she’d left the Internet browser open to a clinical study on PDA and steroid use.