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She placed the flowers by the two handsome headstones with matching ending dates, the day a drunk driver shattered the cheery minivan with the unsuspecting family inside. Shattered them. She blew each a kiss, just like they kissed her at every greeting, during every bedtime, before every goodbye – except the last. “I should get to Uncle Pat’s. Thank you for listening. I love you.”
And they still loved her. As she walked down the grassy path, underneath sun-strewn trees and dappled memories of a hundred past lives, their voices whispered in the wind. They were always with her.
CHAPTER 2
“Did you kiss Jason Sterling?”
Well, that was a loaded question. The answer was yes, because, well, she did. With enough enthusiasm to make it hell, yes. But perhaps clever wording could convey a no.
By Pat’s expression, that strategy was a no.
Dara stood taller, and suddenly she was back in high school, facing Uncle Pat after staying out a few minutes (or hours) past curfew. She tapped her chin, cycling and recycling failed strategies to convince him she didn’t actually do what they both knew she did. She was no longer a teen, yet the same guilt stung her, at the stark disapproval from the man who raised her.
Pat stated the obvious, “You did.”
Oh, she knew that. But how did he? “Were you spying on me?”
“Certainly not.” Pat puffed up in indignation, but the act didn’t fool her. Her overprotective uncle would happily resort to spying. “My pitching coach recognized you.”
Damn. She’d been so focused on Jason she hadn’t considered whether someone else might also be playing the spy. For her uncle, it was an efficient ploy, keeping tabs on two charges for the price of one. He cleared his throat. “You understand I’m furious.”
No doubt. She held her hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry. I know you want to reform the team image and–”
“To hell with the team image. I care about my niece putting herself in danger. How could you go to an area like that alone? Do you know what could’ve happened?”
Dara stared. He wasn’t going to lecture her for kissing Jason, only for taking a perceived risk? “I’m an adult, Uncle Pat, and am responsible for my own choices. There was nothing to worry about. I’m always careful.”
“So was your mother. It didn’t stop her from ending up–”
Dara gasped, and Pat froze.
The images flashed like a horror movie replay. Driving on that sunny afternoon, her father laughing besides her, her mother grinning in the back. The scent of sunshine and the open road, wide and broad and cutting a path to a brilliant future. Singing a pitchy, sub-par rendition of the newest boy band harmony. Then… the rusty pickup swerving into their lane, slicing into the vehicle like a knife through butter. Her father’s cry, her mother’s scream.
“I’m sorry.” Her uncle exhaled, vanquishing the ghosts and dragging her back to the present. “Just because you’re grown doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you. Promise to be more careful in the future.”
She closed her eyes, opened them to the man who’d taken in an unruly kid with nothing left to lose. He’d known everything about baseball and nothing about grieving children, yet he had done his best. Since that best included unconditional love, she’d made it through. “All right, I promise. It wasn’t anything nefarious. I just wanted to see how Jason acted.”
He frowned. “You were spying on him?”
Exactly. Yes. If the magnifying glass fit. “I was just trying to see if he was still engaging in destructive behavior.”
His grimace deepened. “Just make sure you don’t do anything dangerous.”
Did kissing Jason Sterling count as dangerous?
Oh, yes.
“The guys are here.” Pat straightened, and just like that, her overprotective uncle morphed into a successful Major League Baseball team owner, a man’s man who lived and breathed the grass and clay diamond. He rubbed his hands together. “Ready?”
Not even a little, Dara refused to admit, as she peered through the office window into the locker room. The players strode in, dressed in swagger and street clothing, followed by coaches, assistants and reporters. Then, he appeared, and the world changed. The air grew thinker, hotter, as she sucked it down a tightened throat. As always, Jason Sterling was extraordinarily handsome, dressed simply in khaki pants and a white polo. He stood tall and towering, his muscles outlined by the thin fabric.
Their eyes met. His widened, then narrowed. If he didn’t recognize her before, he did now.
Dara followed Pat into the metal and wood labyrinth. He nodded at the players. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he greeted in a deep rumble. “This is an important game, with the opportunity to prove we can go all the way. There’s a lot to cover during the team meeting but first I’ll take a few questions from the press.”
Dara stood back as reporters inquired about the upcoming game, asking the usual questions about starting lineup, competitive strategies and injury reports. Jason remained professional as he spoke about his sport, showing extensive knowledge about the opposing team. He was notoriously meticulous, pouring over videos before each game to identify opposing players’ strengths and weaknesses. Finally, the session was winding down, and a few reporters threw out non-baseball questions.
The question she always dreaded came. “Have you been in contact with Alan Caine?”
