Love of the Game (27 page)

B
y the end of the weekend Kasha's house had been completely rearranged to suit Emma, and the girl was happy and laughing again. It fully set in how important organization and routine were to Emma.

Duly noted.

They met Molly, Cliff, and the other girls at church on Sunday morning, and Emma sang joyfully in the choir, her clear, pretty voice a standout. Listening to her, Kasha was so proud she thought her heart might burst from her chest.

Emma hugged her good-bye on the church steps and skipped off to the group home van with her foster sisters without looking back.

“You did great.” Molly laid a hand on Kasha's shoulder. “Next time, would you like to take her for a week?”

“Yes,” Kasha said. “I would.”

“I'll call you when I get a chance to check our schedule.”

“Thank you.”

Kasha went back home, and feeling completely wiped out, changed out of her church clothes and fell asleep on the couch. She jerked awake three hours later to the sound of the doorbell. Fumbling groggily, she got to her feet and went to the door.

And there stood Axel grinning at her like he'd won a contest, and she was the prize.

Joy bubbled up inside of her, frothy and light, and she was so damn happy to see him that she feared he wasn't real. That she was still asleep and had conjured him up in her dreams.

“Hey, Sphinx,” he said. “Are you going to stand there staring at me all evening, or are you going to invite me in?”

A
xel had accused her of staring, but he was the one who couldn't look away. They'd been separated for only four days, but it felt like four hundred years to a man in love.

Kasha wore a long blue T-shirt and black leggings. Her feet were bare, her hair floating free like a silky dark curtain, her beautiful face free of makeup. And she was the sexiest damn thing he'd ever seen.

“You're here,” she said in a breathless voice that thrilled him. “You're really here.”

Without waiting to be invited in, he crossed the threshold, swept her into his arms, and kissed her hard and fierce.

She giggled, and the sound undid him. His Kasha was giggling like a carefree girl? The changes in her from the first day they'd met were miraculous. And it made him proud to think he'd had a hand in her transformation.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling back so she could gaze into his eyes.

“Complaining?” he asked.

“Absolutely not.” But the levity vanished from her face, and her tone turned serious as she pressed her palm against his chest. “Everything's okay, right? You didn't . . .” She gulped. “. . . get cut from the team?”

“I didn't get cut,” he assured her.

“Then what are you doing here?”

“You're not happy to see me?”

“I'm ecstatic. Just wondering to what I owe the pleasure.”

“Good news,” he said.

“How good?”

He couldn't read her. “My shoulder is so improved,” he said, feeling the same mix of joy, relief, and, oddly, sadness that he'd felt when Dr. Harrison had broken the news, “that I'll back on the roster.”

“Axel!” she crowed. “That's amazing!”

“You're what's amazing. It wouldn't have happened without you. Without you, I would have gone for the surgery and still been recovering. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” She twined her hands in his hair and pulled his head down for a heartfelt kiss that set his pulse thumped hard against his ribs.

Absorbing the minty taste of her mouth, he inhaled her lavender-sage scent, felt the curvy shape of her firm body in his arms. In the future, as he went back to the mound, moments like this would be few and far between from now until the end of baseball season.

And he was determined not to miss a second of the time they did have together.

“What's wrong,” she said, pulling back to look at him, her lips glistening moist from their kiss. “Something's wrong.”

God, she was intuitive. He couldn't hide anything from her. “I've got some more news for you, but let's sit down.”

“Is it bad? If it's bad, just tell me.”

“It's not bad,” he said. “But it does present some challenges. Let's get comfortable for this discussion.”

She frowned and he could tell she wanted to push
him for answers, but she had so much self-control. “Are you hungry? I could make us something to eat.”

“Don't cook. I want your undivided attention.”

“You're making me nervous.”

“C'mere.” He took both of her hands in his and led her to the couch, a sturdy, blue, sensible couch with comfortable cushions. Once they were seated, he stared deeply into her eyes, into her.

Kasha was watching him, a cautious smile twitching at her lips, and she steepled her fingers. “So, the news?”

“Yeah, the news.” He squeezed her hands, tried to figure out how best to break it.
Just say it.
“I've got . . .” He cleared his throat. “There's been an unexpected development.”

She canted her head. “Yes?”

He hauled in a deep breath, let it out long and slow the way she'd taught him. “There's been interest from the Yankees. They were eyeing me for a trade if I came off the DL before the All-Star break.”

“Oh.” Her mouth turned downward. Was she disappointed that he might be headed for New York City? “But how would that work?”

“Trade details can be complicated,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I could go into it, but the rules are crazy.”

“I see.” Her face was blank, unreadable. She was back to being the Sphinx. “Do you have to—” She broke off.

“I don't have a no-trade clause,” he said. “The only way I could refuse the trade is to retire. I know it might sound strange, but I still think I have a few years left—and it's been my dream to play in New York. This could be my only shot at it.”

“I wasn't suggesting you don't take the trade.” She
shook her head vigorously. “This is your big dream and I would never get in the way of that. It complicates things for us, but I was just being selfish.”

“Not selfish, not at all. I . . . we're just getting started but I want you to know I consider you part of my life. I want you to weigh in on the decision.”

“I'll miss you fiercely, but this is the top of the heap. It's what you've worked your entire career. This is for Dylan. You have to go to the Yankees. End of conversation. It's fated!”

“We should talk through all the pros and cons of me going.”

“There's nothing to discuss. Your dream is within your grasp and if you don't go, you'll have to retire. You're not ready for that. And you could resent me forever if I demand that you don't go. This is everything you've worked your whole life for. Close your fingers around the dream, squeeze tight, and hold on with all your might.”

Axel nodded, unable to speak past the knot in his throat. She was the most incredible woman on the face of the earth, willing to put his dreams ahead of her own wants and needs. “But what about us?”

“You'd never forgive yourself if you let this opportunity pass you by,” she said. “At your age, with your shoulder being iffy, it won't come around again.”

True enough. “But there are other opportunities I want to explore.” His gaze locked with hers. “Opportunities that will sustain me a lot longer than baseball.”

“You know this is realistically your last chance to play for the Yankees,” Kasha said. Her practicality was one of the things he loved so much about her. “I won't let you throw it away.”

“But what about us?” Suddenly, Axel felt—
confused. She was right. He'd been working his entire life for this moment. But there was something holding him back, something he'd never felt before. “We've got something going on here. I've never felt this way about anyone.”

“Axel . . .”

“No woman has ever meant so much to me. No one. I love you, Kasha. Nothing is going to change that. We can make this work.”

“Yes, we can talk on the phone, text, and Skype . . . and see each other whenever we can,” she said lightly, as if that was enough. “And there's always the off season. It's only four months away.”

Four months away from her felt like four hundred years.

“This sucks,” he said.

Her shrug was casual, accepting. “This is your job. It's not only what you do, but it's also who you are. I knew that when I made the choice to get involved with you.”

“You could always come with me.” He hoped he didn't sound as desperate as he felt. “We could move in together.”

“Emma in New York City?” Kasha shook her head. “I couldn't do that to her. Plus I just got my old job back. I can't bail on them now.”

But she could bail on him? Axel hardened his chin. Dammit. Maybe it was a little unreasonable, but he wanted her to fight. To demand that he retire. To yell and cry “Foul” and get furious. But that wasn't Kasha's way. She didn't do passionate emotions. He understood why, but he couldn't help feeling she didn't believe that they were worth fighting for.

Axel's head spun, desperate to find a doable solution to their situation. But he couldn't see one. He
couldn't make her pick between him and her family, job, sister, and Stardust.

She was who she was and he loved her for it. He couldn't ask her to change for him. That was like asking her to cut off pieces of herself to fit into his life.

“It's going to be okay,” she said firmly. “Baseball is in your blood. Axel. It's your identity. You told me that you had no idea who you were if you weren't playing baseball.”

“That was before,” he said, squeezing her hand.

“Before what?”

“Before you.”

“Axel,” she said. “I can't be a replacement for baseball. You need a purpose. I can't be everything to you. I have my job, my family . . . Emma.”

“I know,” he said. “After Dylan died, everything I did was about baseball and when I lost that with my shoulder injury . . . well, you pulled me out of a tailspin and I can never repay you for that.”

“Yes you can,” she said, clearing her throat and putting sternness in her voice. “By going back to what you love.”

“Are you saying you're tired of me hanging around?” He tried for a grin but couldn't quite pull it off.

“I'm saying you have to give your career one last shot, to grab your dream, or you'll always wonder what might have been. Yes, one day you'll have to give up your glove, and you'll find a way to deal with it. But that day is not today. There are a lot of games still left in that arm. You have to pitch again. If not for me . . .” She chuffed in a lungful of air, her gaze slamming hard into his. “. . . for Dylan.”

“And that means I have to leave the Gunslingers,
leave Texas . . .” He stared deeply into her. “Leave you.”

“We'll work through it, Axel. If this relationship is meant to be, we'll find a way to make it work. If it's not . . .” She lifted a shoulder, kept her Sphinx mask firmly in place. “So be it.”

“Kasha—”

“You have to do this, Axel. I won't be the reason you gave up on your dream. Like I said, if you leave the game for me, you'll resent me for it, maybe not now, maybe not for a long time, but one day you will. I'm sorry, but I simply can't let that happen.”

“We're getting ahead of ourselves,” he said. “It's not a done deal yet. Anything could happen. Let's just spend the evening together, and cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Can we have sex now?”

“I thought you'd never ask.” She laughed and kissed him.

They undressed each other slowly right there on the couch in the living room, taking their time, savoring the moment. That was another thing she'd taught him—how to fully appreciate the moment. They had each other right now. That was really all that mattered.

Right now, he told himself. It was enough.

Once they were naked, they studied each other, taking note. They made love soft and easy and for a long time, Axel holding himself back to make it last. They explored and experimented, trying new things, stretching their knowledge of each other's bodies.

With skill and care, he moved over her, a gentle rhythm, in and out like an ocean wave, bathing them both in wonder and sensation.

When Axel could hold out no longer, he let himself go inside her, aware of every exquisite detail.

Several hours later, after they were wrung out and exhausted, they lay in each other's arms, sedated and sated, drunk on the heady magic of their lovemaking.

“What's this,” Axel asked lazily, tracing his knuckles over her bare breasts as they lay in a heap on the living room floor, loving the silky feel of her skin beneath his fingers.

“What's what?” she mumbled, raising her head to see what he was talking about.

“The trunk you're using for a coffee table. It's got a weird saying engraved in the top of it.”

“Oh that.” She flapped her hand. “It's a hope chest.”

“A hope chest?”

“You know. Back in the old days girls would start collecting items for when they got married—linens, dishes, dowry-type stuff. Things they needed to set up housekeeping.”

“Pining for a wedding?” He chuckled. “That sounds far too romantic for you.”

“I'm not pining. Jodi gave it to me after she got married. My sisters think the trunk is magical.”

“Magical?” He snorted a laugh, but when he spied the somber expression on his face, he said, “Oh, you're serious.”

“I don't believe it. My sisters do.”

“What does this saying mean?” he asked, reading what was written on the trunk. “
‘Treasures are housed within, heart's desires granted, but be careful where wishes are cast, for reckless dreams dared dreamed in the heat of passion will surely come to pass.'
”

“Nothing,” she said. “It doesn't mean a darn thing.”

“Five locks, huh?” He ran his hand over the five compartments. “That's different. What's inside?”

“Nothing.” She blushed.

Damn. She wasn't the blushing type, and yet here she was looking embarrassed and chagrinned and secretly delighted. Hmm. Something was up with the trunk.

“Tell me about it,” he said, leaning over to nibble her earlobe. “Do you have hopes in this chest?”

“I didn't,” she murmured. “Until I found the wine. Until I met you.”

“The wine? What wine? Our wine?”

“True Love,” she said, meaning the name of the wine, but the words made him think something else.

True love.

That's what he felt for her. Whenever he looked at her, thought about her, tasted her, touched her, smelled her, his heart swelled in his chest big with hope and desire, with possibilities and tenderness, with joy and excitement, with trust and a steady, quiet certainty that she was the one he'd been waiting for all his life.

“Tell me about it,” he coaxed. He wanted to hear her voice, hear her stories, get inside her world and live there forever.

And so she told him, spinning a strange tale of a magic hope chest that supposedly granted the most heartfelt wishes. “I don't believe it, of course,” she said, but then she told him how Breeanne had bought the trunk at an estate sale, finally got it opened, made a wish for her writing career that had led her to Rowdy and true love.