Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Taking another deep breath for courage, Cara finally turned the car off and got out. Cold wind whipped her long hair into her face, ripped through the jacket she was wearing over her scrubs. She could have gone home to change after she got off work but decided it wasn't worth the hassle. She didn't want Travis to think she had taken time to dress up for him—not that she would have. But a sweatshirt and jeans would have been warmer.

  She took another deep breath when she entered the shop, inhaling the scents of fresh ground coffee and warm cinnamon. The interior of the shop was warm, maybe even a little humid, and she was suddenly glad she hadn't gone home to change. In five minutes, she'd be peeling off the coat and probably sweating, cursing the heat and wishing it was cooler inside. Was that simply hormones? Maybe. Or maybe it was nothing more than nerves.

  She stood in line, finally ordering a hot tea—decaffeinated, just in case. Then she moved toward the tables, her eyes scanning the large room, looking for an empty spot. There were some comfortable seating arrangements in the two far corners, with overstuffed chairs instead of hard seats, but it looked like they were already taken. That was a shame, because they both would have been perfect, set far enough apart from the crowds to allow a little bit of privacy.

  She sighed in disappointment then headed to a small table between a group of moms with young kids and a businessman doing work on a laptop. Not the best location but it would have to work. Maybe another table would open up, or maybe even those corner seating arrangements. She was early, she still had time.

  Cara had just pulled out one of the chairs and was ready to sit when she heard her name being called. She hesitated, frowning, wondering if maybe she was hearing things. What were the chances of running into someone she knew here? Probably better than she thought.

  But not today. Please not today.

  "Cara!"

  She looked up again, frowning as her gaze scanned the room. The breath froze in her lungs, just for a second as her heart tripped in her chest. Travis was standing, motioning to her from his spot in the corner—right by one of those comfortable seating sections.

  But that wasn't why her heart was stammering. No, it was the sight of him, standing there with the sun reflecting off his lean body, that made the breath hitch in her chest. Tall, lean. The bulky sweatshirt he was wearing hid his broad shoulders and wide chest, hid the well-defined muscles she knew lay underneath.

  She remembered tracing those muscles with her finger, with her mouth and tongue as she kissed her way down his body. Remembered playing with the light spattering of hair that covered his chest and dipped down in a faint line, leading the way to nirvana. Remembered being mesmerized by the way those muscles bunched and flexed under hot skin as he held himself over her, plunging into her, driving her into wild oblivion.

  She nearly dropped the cup of tea as memories washed over her. How long did she stand there, ogling him as he called her name? Probably too long—certainly long enough to look like she had temporarily lost her mind.

  She forced her gaze away from him, forced herself to take a few calming breaths before she pushed the chair back in and made her way over. Slow, each step carefully placed—instead of running toward him and throwing herself into his arms like she wanted.

  This meeting was a mistake. Her reaction was enough to make her realize that. Run into his arms? Why? It made no sense. She certainly hadn't felt this way the other day, when she had tracked him down to give him the news.

  Liar.

  That had been exactly what she wanted to do the other day: run into his arms. Ask him to hold her. Ask him to tell her everything would be okay. But she hadn't, not then. She'd been too emotional, too confused. Hurt. Afraid. Still reeling from the news, herself.

  Convinced she was alone. Convinced she would be handling this herself.

  That was another reason this meeting was a mistake: it gave her a false sense of hope. Made her think that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought she was.

  And how senseless was that? He owed her nothing, not really. It had been one night. Nothing more than a one-night-stand. Yes, they were both responsible. On a visceral level, she understood that. But she also knew the reality was far different.

  She ruthlessly pushed that little glimmer of hope to the far reaches of her heart and made her way over to Travis. The expression on his face made her hesitate again, but only for a brief second. She had only imagined the way he had shifted, as if he was moving toward her for a hug. Had only imagined the brief flare of interest in his eyes.

  But she wasn't imagining his discomfort, or the way he shifted ever so slightly, like he wasn't sure what to do now that she was standing here.

  Cara lowered herself into the overstuffed chair, moving around on the cushions to get comfortable, then took a cautious sip of the tea. Travis sat across from her and stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles. A few seconds later, he moved, sat up a little straighter and rested his right ankle on his left knee. One hand held a paper cup while the other curled lightly against his leg.

  Cara moved her gaze away from those strong hands, forced herself to forget how they felt on her bare skin. She couldn't allow herself to remember any of that, not now.

  "You, uh, you wanted to talk?"

  Travis nodded, his gaze not quite meeting hers. Fair enough, because she couldn't quite bring herself to look directly at him, either.

  "How are you doing? Are you feeling okay? Did you need anything?"

  They were loaded questions, with at least a dozen different ways she could answer. How was she doing? She was scared. Alone. Confused. How was she feeling? Besides the occasional bout of morning sickness when she first woke up, she was fine. Did she need anything?

  The list was so long, she didn't even know where to start.

  So she simply offered him a small smile and shrugged. "I'm fine. Still coming to terms with it, I guess. But fine."

  "Good. That's good." He frowned, his smoky gray eyes clouding with concern as he watched her. "Have you, um, have you decided—"

  He stopped, cleared his throat, looked away for a brief second. The tips of his ears turned a little pink, the color slowly seeping into his face and fanning his stubbled cheeks. "Do you know what you're going to do yet?"

  Cara was quiet for a long time, reading into the question. Wondering how to answer. Was this where he insisted on having her terminate the pregnancy? Would he become upset, maybe even a little angry, the same way Anna had? Would he make excuses and pin the blame on her, tell her he wanted nothing to do with the baby?

  She shifted in the chair, her back straightening with determination and false bravado. Her voice was a little cold when she spoke, the tone sharp with an edge that surprised her. "I told you I didn't expect anything from you. I meant that. If you're worried—"

  "I don't want you to get rid of it." The words fell from his mouth in a rush. Cara sat back, tried to pull air into her lungs. Had she just imagined what he said? Were her ears playing tricks on her?

  No. Travis was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands tightly clasped together. Every line of his body was tense, tightly wound, and she had the feeling it was taking every ounce of his control to hold himself still.

  To hold himself together.

  She sagged against the back cushion, her own body suddenly weak and limp. It was a struggle to hold onto the cup, a struggle to take a sip of the tea as she fought to control her wild thoughts.

  "I—I haven't decided yet."

  Travis nodded, the movement short and brittle. A muscle jumped in his jaw and she wondered why. Why did he look upset? Why did he seem unhappy at her brief words?

  Why did he even care?

  His gaze shot to the group of mothers and kids across the room, watching them for a long minute. His eyes softened and she wondered what he was thinking. What he was imagining. She could ask—but part of her was afraid of the answer.

  Then he turned back to her and that softness was gon
e, replaced by a steely determination that surprised her. "It's your decision. I know that. I respect that. But this is my baby, too."

  He looked away, the strong muscles of his throat working as he swallowed. Cara's heart tightened in her chest, squeezing with emotion at the sight of his own distress. And how silly was that? His distress? Why was he distressed? He didn't even need to be here, talking to her. He could have just forgotten about her, pretended she didn't exist. Pretended their single night together had never happened.

  But he hadn't. And he was here.

  And she was helpless to stop the sympathy that welled deep inside her. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, reassure him. In fact, she almost did, actually felt herself leaning toward him. She caught herself at the last moment, curling both hands around the cardboard cup and holding it so tightly, the lid almost popped off.

  He ran a hand through his dark blonde hair then curled his fingers into a fist and dropped his hand to his knee. The emotion she thought she had glimpsed, thought she had felt, was gone. In its place was that steely determination from a few minutes earlier.

  "If—if you decide you don't want the baby, I'll keep it."

  Cara's mouth fell open in shock. He wanted her to keep it? No, that wasn't what he said. He said he wanted the baby, that he'd keep it if she didn't want it. Like she could just give birth and walk away.

  Like a baby was nothing more than a possession to be bartered for.

  Anger shot through her, completely unexpected but totally welcome. "Excuse me?"

  "I—I want the baby. If you don't want it. Instead of an abortion, I'll take him. Raise him."

  "You think I could just give my baby away? Just like that?"

  Surprise flashed in his eyes. He slowly blinked it away, his face turning a deep shade of red. "No, that's not what I meant."

  "Then what did you mean?"

  "I just—I meant, if you don't want to keep it, you don't need to have an abortion. There are other options—"

  "So I would be pregnant for nine months and then you'd just take it?"

  "I'd take care of everything while you're pregnant. Your medical bills. Whatever time you miss from work. All of it. I'd handle it."

  "So you would actually pay me to have my baby, just so you could take it when it's born?" She didn't bother to hide the anger from her voice but she didn't think he heard it. Or if he did, he simply ignored it.

  "It's my baby, too." His voice was so quiet, the words were nearly lost in the din of conversation and music surrounding them. But Cara still heard them. And more than the words, she heard the desperation behind them. The hurt. The anxiety and fear.

  The anger burning inside her quickly faded, replaced by her own anxiety and fear. Instead of demanding she terminate the pregnancy, as she had first thought, he was asking her to keep it.

  He wanted her to keep the baby.

  Their baby.

  She took a deep breath, swallowed back the hope threatening to spring to life. This was about the baby, not them. There was no them. That didn't matter, though. Just knowing that she wouldn't have to go through this alone—if she decided to keep the baby—moved a huge weight from her chest. There was still fear. Still anxiety. But the emotions weren't as sharp or as suffocating as they had been even an hour ago.

  Cara rubbed a hand over her eyes and swallowed past the lump in her throat. Did he notice? Probably. Those gray eyes, so hauntingly beautiful, were focused on her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. But he didn't say anything, just sat there and watched her, as if he was silently willing her to say what he wanted to hear.

  "I haven't decided yet. What to do, I mean. I'm—I'm still not sure." And it was the truth, despite what she told Anna the other day. She was almost positive she knew what she wanted...but a small piece of her still worried. Still wondered if it was the right decision. "I have an appointment on Monday morning."

  Travis's shoulders slumped. He blinked and looked away. Then he took a deep breath and turned back to her, nodding. She almost expected him to argue, to talk her out of going. His next words surprised her, though.

  "Would it be okay if I went with you?"

  "You want to go with me? Why?" She narrowed her eyes. "To talk me out of whatever decision I might make?"

  "No. I wouldn't do that. It's your decision, I know that." His gaze didn't quite meet hers but she could still see the sadness in his eyes. "I just—I'd like to be there, is all. To support you. To help you if you need it."

  Cara leaned forward, not questioning herself when she reached over and squeezed his arm. Not to comfort him, but because she was touched by his offer. "It's just an appointment, to discuss my options. You don't need to be there."

  He dropped his hand over hers, threaded their fingers together and squeezed. "I'd still like to go."

  "But why? I don't understand. I told you I didn't expect anything from you."

  His gaze met hers, swirling with emotion she didn't understand. "Because this is my baby, too, Cara. That means I'm responsible for both of you, no matter what you decide. And I'm not going to just walk away and leave you alone."

  She sat there for a long minute, simply watching him. Trying to decide if he was telling the truth. If he was playing a game. If he was too good to be true.

  And trying to ignore the hope that once more flared to life, deep down where she had tried to bury it.

  Chapter Seven

  Torresi was going off the deep-end.

  He stood at the front of the locker room, his face flashing a dangerous red, his green eyes glowing with anger. But he wasn't yelling. This would be so much better, so much easier to take, if he was yelling and screaming. If he was throwing things or having a complete meltdown.

  But he wasn't.

  He just stood there, staring at every single player while a muscle jumped in his square jaw.

  An itch spread in the middle of Travis's back from the Velcro of his pads. It had been bothering him throughout the entire first period and was worse now, nearly driving him insane with the need to scratch. But he didn't dare move. He was almost afraid to breathe. If he so much as twitched a single muscle, Torresi would nail him to the spot. He knew it. Not because his play had been crap for the first twenty minutes of the game—it had been and he deserved to be nailed, just like everyone else in the room. No, Torresi would nail him simply because he moved.

  And everyone in the room knew it. That's why not a single person was moving. All of them, even Ben, were frozen still like statues. Waiting. Knowing an outburst was coming.

  Just not knowing when.

  The suspense was almost unbearable. Travis wished Coach would just explode and get over it, let them out of their misery. Yell at them for sucking and letting Milwaukee get a three-goal lead.

  How much longer could he hold in his anger? They only had five minutes left before they needed to get back out to the ice. Five minutes. Maybe not even that long.

  The silence was finally broken by a loud crack. Travis jumped, his startled gaze shooting to the metal clipboard now laying in pieces on the floor. He looked over at the wall, not really surprised to see a gouge marring the black and white paint covering the concrete.

  Torresi still didn't say anything. He just looked around the room one more time, his gaze as cold as a glacier, then spun around and stormed out. The tension in the room peaked for one awful second then slowly receded, disappearing as a collective sigh echoed off the walls.

  Travis muttered under his breath then twisted his arm behind him, trying to reach the annoying starp, trying to scratch. He darted to his feet and moved toward Dustin Rios. "Can you fix the strap? Please? I can't handle this anymore."

  Dustin frowned, probably thinking he'd lost his mind, then lifted the back of Travis's jersey. "Fuck, Banky. How the hell did you get this damn thing all twisted?"

  "I don't know. Just fix it. It's digging into me and itching."

  "Yeah, no shit." Dustin tugged on the pads, readjusted the straps, then dr
opped the jersey back in place. Travis hissed a sigh of relief then rolled his shoulders. No rubbing. No itching.

  Finally.

  He reached behind him for a final scratch, froze in the middle of it when he saw Ben staring at him. "What?"

  "You been to the doctor's yet? Make sure that itch isn't from something your baby-mama gave you?"

  Something snapped inside Travis—anger and frustration; impatience and irritation. He lunged toward Ben, his fingers just skimming the front of his jersey. Arms locked around his waist, hauling him backward before he could swing.

  "Knock it the fuck off. Now." Aaron's voice, deep and filled with anger. At Travis? At Ben? He didn't know and he didn't care, not when all he wanted to do was throw off Aaron's hold and go after Ben again.

  "I'm tired of it, Pop. He needs to shut his mouth."

  "Oh, for fuck's sake, Banky, get over it. Christ. You're the one who was so fucking stupid, you knocked a girl up—"

  "It wasn't like that."

  Ben rolled his eyes and kept on talking. "You fucked her. She got pregnant. Not sure how else it could be. And I'm fucking telling you right now, you need to get tested."

  "Cara isn't like that—"

  "Whatever. I'm done." Ben pushed past them, his shoulder knocking into both of them and causing Travis to stumble. He straightened and turned, ready to go after Ben, but Aaron held him back.

  "Let him go, Travis."

  "He shouldn't be saying stuff like that. That's not what happened, not really. He's making it sound like—"

  "I know. You still need to let it go." Aaron reached down for his helmet with a small groan. He held it in the crook of his arm then fixed Travis with a serious look. "But as much as I hate to agree with him, he's right. You should get checked."

  "But she's not—"

  "You're probably right. But is that a chance you want to take?"

  Some of the fight left Travis. They were right and he knew it. But the idea that Cara might have...he couldn't even finish the thought, not with the spurt of jealousy raging through him. He couldn't picture Cara with anyone else. Didn't want to picture her with anyone else.