Playing Without Rules: A Baseball Romance Page 14

  He touched her face and brought it toward him. Soft, warm lips brushed hers. “The day you brought Bianca to me was the day I started to believe again. I’d like to go with you to couples counseling if you’ll agree.”

  “Yes, yes. More than anything.” Her cold limbs thawed and her heart dared to beat. Her stomach stirred with butterfly wings and she gazed into his eyes. Could it still be possible? To believe that love could heal their wounds?

  She trembled as he kissed her again. This time deeper.

  “I forgive you, Marcia.”

  “Brock, I forgive you, too.”

  Grabbing the sides of his face, she attacked his mouth, kissing with abandoned passion. He leaned back onto the swing, bringing her on top of him. His arms held her close to his heart, and as the swing swayed back and forth, and back and forth, and the wind chimes proclaimed their joy, Marcia opened her heart and erased every rule but one, that love once found should never be lost.

  Epilogue

  “Will my baby brother play with me in my turtle treehouse?” Bianca smeared her finger over the ultrasound printout.

  “Not right there.” Brock moved her hand from the image of the baby’s genitals. He rocked the porch swing back and forth as the family relaxed after a ball game on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

  He’d made the starting team for the Rattlers and hit the game winning home run. His name had been cleared after Conrad went on TV and confessed to lying about the abuse allegations. He had to, or the commissioner would take the franchise away from his father.

  After Brock went public about his childhood, the fans had rallied around him, and he was asked to be a spokesman for a national abuse survivor’s foundation.

  “I know what that is,” Bianca said, all big-girl-like.

  Brock’s face heated. How the heck would his four-and-a-half year old daughter be acquainted with that? He tugged his collar and breathed in and out. The love he had for Bianca was so intense, he vowed he’d never make it past her teenage years without erecting a fortress with a moat around their home.

  He was definitely going to remove the porch swing before then. He’d better make a note of that.

  Beside him, Marcia giggled. She redirected Bianca’s finger to the profile of the baby’s head. “Doesn’t he look like Caspar the Friendly Ghost?”

  Bianca yanked her hand and dotted the genitals again. “That’s Baby Leonardo. Right there.”

  “Is that what you want to name him?” Pappy asked, sitting on the other side of Bianca.

  Brock glanced at Marcia who made a face. She lifted her shoulders as if she too, couldn’t figure out why Bianca was so interested in the baby’s genitals.

  “We still need a Raphael.” Bianca perused the rest of the strip. “I don’t see him.”

  “We’re not having twins,” Brock said. “One is enough. For now.”

  Bianca’s finger was back on the genital image. She petted it. “My baby brother has a baby turtle in there. Let’s call him Leonardo.”

  Oh! Brock’s chest rose in relief. She thought the image was a baby turtle. Of course, that was exactly what it looked like. Marcia and her father chuckled.

  “How about just Leo?” Marcia suggested.

  “We still need a Raphael. I’m already Donatello and Daddy’s Michelangelo.”

  “Bella Bianca.” Brock hefted her up to his shoulders and carried her off the porch and into the backyard. “How about we climb up to the turtle house and write little Leo’s name inside?”

  “Yay!” Bianca hugged Brock’s head as they walked to the backyard. “This is happy day. I got a Mar-Mar, a Pappy, a Daddy, and a baby brother.”

  “Okay, up you go.” Brock put Bianca on the sturdy planks of wood leading up to the house. He stood ready to catch her, but Bianca nimbly scrambled up the tree and into the wooden structure he’d built for her.

  “Who’s going up next?” Marcia snuggled up to Brock, and he hugged her while Pappy winked and looked up at the clouds.

  “Nanny was right.” Pappy said. “She said you two young ones would be together again.”

  Brock lifted his eyes and felt the sunshine warm his cheeks. His mother had been more than right. They’d both been strong in their own way, and Brock finally had everything he’d always dreamed of—a family to complete the circle and a love to last beyond a lifetime of joy.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  Playing Without Rules deals with the heart wrenching effects of domestic violence and child abuse. I owe my beta readers for their frank and personal observations while reading an early draft. Their comments helped me to refine my story so that it was sensitive to those who had experienced abuse as well as victorious in portraying a son who was determined not to follow in his father’s footsteps.

  Many thanks to : Amber McCallister, Jessica Cassidy, Corissa Palfrey, Chantel Rhondeau, Debbie Rosa, Lindsay Medina, Marie Dee, Temitope Awofeso, Tiffany Kennedy, Brandi Pletcher, Vera Neves, Racquel Reck, Rebecca Austin, Jill Blake, Jade Kerrion, Racquel Reck, Shecki Bernard, and Amanda Clark.

  Thanks also to the members of my Romance In A Month writer’s group for the encouragement and support as I focused on writing this story.

  About the Author

  Rachelle Ayala is a bestselling Asian American author of dramatic romantic suspense and humorous, sexy contemporary romances. Her heroines are feisty and her heroes hot. She writes emotionally challenging stories but believes in the power of love and hope.

  Rachelle is the founder of an online writing group, Romance in a Month, an active member of the California Writer's Club, Fremont Chapter, and a volunteer for the World Literary Cafe. She has won awards in multicultural and historical romance.

  Check out her website at http://rachelleayala.me and find her books at online retailers: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Apple iBookstore, and more.

  Fiction: Michal’s Window, Broken Build, Hidden Under Her Heart, Chance for Love Boxed Set, Knowing Vera, Taming Romeo, Whole Latte Love, Played by Love, Playing the Rookie, A Father for Christmas, Claiming Carlos, Roaring Hot!, Christmas Flirt, Playing Without Rules, Christmas Stray

  Nonfiction: Your Daily Bible Verse, Romance in a Month, 366 Ways to Know Your Character

  Motorcycle racer Teo Alexiou is challenged by his grandmother to come to her birthday party with a real girlfriend. He has plenty of party girls, and he fears getting roped into marriage so he hires an actress to play the part.

  The last thing Amy Suzuki wants is to be a kept woman, but her student loans are piling up and acting gigs are nonexistent. She agrees to Teo’s proposal for one summer, limited to public displays of affection.

  When Teo and Amy find themselves caught in love’s grip, their new desires war with their fears. Teo wants to renegotiate, but Amy insists she’s only with him because she is paid. She would never lose her heart to a man who uses money to buy affection.

  Their game playing explodes when Teo is injured on the track. Teo needs Amy, but how can she be sure of her true feelings when she’s an actress who can portray any emotion on command? Was her role in the reality show skillful acting or true love?

  Buy Roaring Hot

  Click here if you are reading this on a Kindle.

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  Zach Spencer was a world class triathlete before he lost his leg rescuing a friend. Can he and Vera find love, despite their rocky past? Read an excerpt from Knowing Vera

  Excerpt Copyright © 2013 Rachelle Ayala

  All Rights Reserved

  Prologue

  March 1991, San Francisco, CA

  “Papa, are we there yet?” Seven-year-old Vera Custodio yawned and hugged her stuffed bear, Bing-Bing. The lights on the Golden Gate Bridge glowed orange in the night sky. In the distance, a foghorn bellowed like a sick cow.

  Vera watched the rain dribble down the side of the car window. Her stomach growled and she shivered. Mama would have made her put on a jacket.
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br />   “Papa?” She picked crusted blood from her fingernails. “I wanna go home.”

  “Hun-Hun, almost there.” Her father braked and slowed to a stop. Horns blared, and their car shook from the passing traffic.

  “Why are we stopping on the bridge?” Vera tapped the back of the driver’s seat with her toe.

  “There’s a small emergency. Will you be a good girl and stay in the car? Papa has to look at something.” He grabbed a backpack from the passenger seat, opened the door narrowly and stepped into the rain.

  The motor was still running and the twin wiper blades jittered back and forth. Her father crossed in front of the car and lifted the hood. A truck barreled by on the left, its deep horn blasting.

  Vera unfastened her seatbelt and pressed her nose to the window. Instead of fixing the car, Papa crossed to the pedestrian walkway. He walked past an emergency telephone and leaned over the railing.

  “Wait! Papa!” Vera dashed from the car and chased after him.

  He turned and held a hand out. “I told you to stay in the car.”

  “But Papa, I love you.” Vera clamped her arms around his legs.

  He picked her up and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too. Go back to the car. Remember, you didn’t see anything.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Shhh. It wasn’t real. You had a nightmare. Sit in the car and wait for Mama.”

  “I don’t want to.” Vera held on to her father’s neck. She peered over the rail at the dark water below. Wind whipped her wet hair into her face, blinding her for a moment.

  “Let go.” He pried her arms and dropped her to the sidewalk, then slapped her. “I told you to stay in the car.”

  “Ow, ow!” Vera gasped, not believing he’d hurt her. Hadn’t he told her she was his special girl? That he loved her best?

  He swung a leg over the rail.

  “Papa, I love you!” She grabbed his trousers, her stuffed bear dangling between them.

  Heavy footsteps pounded toward them.

  “Get off that rail,” a man’s voice shouted and rough hands pulled Vera from her father.

  “Papa!”

  “Tell Mama I love her.” He dropped over the edge.

  Chapter 1

  January 2014, San Francisco, California

  I’ve never been in love. Serious like? Yes. But love? Not happening. Doesn’t matter if he’s sinfully hot or responsible for global panty warming. Or even if he’s the sweetest, most gorgeous man on the planet. I can still walk away. I have to.

  Zach Spencer, scion of an Australian wine fortune, ambles slowly from the light-rail platform and waves. His swimmer’s physique, sun-streaked blond hair and audacious grin revs my heart every time. I can’t help but jump to my tippy-toes like one of those silly game show contestants. But today, I’m not going to run into his arms because I have to break up with him.

  He steps toward me, oblivious of the crowd parting at the sight of his artificial leg. The muscular calf on his right leg contrasts sharply with the metallic rod and linkages of the other, ending with an artificial foot.

  Until a few months ago he was a world-class athlete, a contender for the 2016 Olympic Triathlon team, but he lost his lower left leg in a jet ski accident while rescuing my friend Maryanne.

  His magnetic blue eyes lock onto me as he wraps me in a toe-curling hug. Butterflies tickle my stomach and I want to disappear into his arms. How on earth can I end this without hurting him?

  “Ready for the opera?” He guides me through the turnstile.

  I tug at one of his oversized pockets. “Seriously, cargo shorts in winter?”

  “I’m Aussie.” He kisses me with a loud smack.

  “I suppose you’ll tell me it’s summer Down Under. Are all Aussie men so tough?”

  “Dunno, but all Filipinas are gorgeous.” He winks and takes my hand, pulling me up the stairs and onto the crowded street. His smile raises the temperature a few degrees. “Shall we hop on a cable car or have dinner first?”

  “Let’s catch a cab and take a walk on the Golden Gate Bridge. Have you ever been there?” I’m dressed to the nines, spiky stilettos and a metallic sequined dress, but the walk hopefully won’t be long.

  He tucks an errant strand of hair in back of my ear. “No, but I hear guys are always proposing there. I’d have a hard time dropping to one knee …”

  “Stop joking. We’re only friends—with benefits.”

  “True, but we haven’t been very … friendly … lately.” His eyes telegraph bedroom, and his tongue does a quick flick over his teeth. “It’s my fault, of course.”

  I caress the back of his hand with my thumb. “You’ve just recovered from major surgery. I’m glad to see you walking again.”

  “Me, too. Now we can go places and get to know each other. Maybe start dating?”

  A gasp catches in my throat. I never pegged him as the dating type. I suck in a deep breath to calm my speeding heart.

  If only things were different and I hadn’t discovered the truth about our families.

  “I want to show you something.” I pry my fingers from his hand and wave at a taxi.

  The driver pulls over and lowers the window. “Where to?”

  “Golden Gate Bridge.”

  “Gonna be cold up there with the wind.” The driver’s gaze centers on Zach’s lower legs. “Special occasion?”

  “Yes,” Zach says at the same time I say, “No.”

  We get into the cab and Zach pulls me so close I have to secure the middle seatbelt.

  “You look serious.” He traces the sides of my cheek. “I know it’s been hard with my injury, the pain killers and physical therapy. Now that I’m back on my feet … er … foot, we can continue where we left off.”

  “Things have changed.” I swallow hard and avoid the puzzled look he gives me. Three months ago, I didn’t know how his mother had died. Three months ago, he was a bed partner, a party playmate, man candy. Then the accident happened, I met his father and figured out the family history.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “I’d rather show you.” Then he’ll understand it’s not his fault, maybe even realize it’s best if we go our separate ways.

  Slowly Zach exhales and releases me from his embrace. The driver weaves through the side streets and takes a turn too fast. I bounce against Zach. His body is stiff, and he stares pointedly out the window. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic, and I consider telling the driver to turn around.

  I wait too long. The taxi arrives at the parking circle in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. Zach swipes his credit card to pay the fare before I can open my purse. Without speaking, he holds the door and helps me from the car.

  I gesture to the driver. “Maybe we should go back.”

  “You want me to wait? I’ll wait.” He bobs his head.

  “It’s her show,” Zach grumbles with his hands in his pockets.

  The driver puts on an uh-oh face and taps the meter. “Take as long as you want.”

  We stroll through the plaza to the bridge. A few diehard tourists pose for pictures, their hair flapping like batwings across their faces. A couple ahead of us leans close, smooching every few steps. They park themselves near a twisted cable and wrap their arms around each other.

  Zach doesn’t offer his hand and I don’t reach for him. I’m studying the road signs and counting the suspension ties, but I have no idea where my father jumped. This is a stupid idea, so I stop and turn toward the waiting taxi.

  “Vera,” Zach shouts above the snapping wind. “Whatever you wanted me to see, get it over with and we’ll go.”

  I follow his surprisingly brisk steps about a quarter of the way onto the bridge. Traffic and wind noises vibrate through the railing, still damp from the earlier drizzle. Stopping at the base of a tower, I pull Zach against the rail with me.

  “My father jumped when I was seven.” I study his face for a reaction.

  His eyebrows rise, and he sucks in a breath. “I had no idea.
I’m sorry.”

  There’s no sign of recognition or a slow dawning of understanding. Instead, he says, “Is this the anniversary of his death?”

  “No. He died in M-March. His name was Rey, and he, he—”

  My voice catches as I start sobbing. Zach’s arms encircle me, and he rubs my back, kissing the top of my head.

  I bury my face into his comforting chest infused with his sporty, sunshiny scent—optimistic. He tries to keep up appearances, although it must kill him to have lost a limb. The Zach I knew before was cocky, at the top of the totem pole—rich, handsome, and oh, so-good-in-bed. Everyone wanted a piece of him—sponsors, race organizers, and women—lots and lots of women.

  He tugs my arm. “Come on, let’s go back to the taxi.”

  “Not yet.” I stare at the tower, burnished a fiery red by the departing sun. “I’m not sure he jumped here. It might have been further out.”

  “It’s upsetting you,” he says. “Why does it matter?”

  “Because it’s my fault. I should have held onto him.”

  “You were there?”

  I nod mutely and wipe my eyes. The wind picks up again and flips my hair in my face.

  “How could it be your fault?” Zach puts a hand on my shoulder. “You were just a kid. He made his own choice.”

  “No, no.” My teeth start chattering. “He … he wouldn’t have jumped if I hadn’t seen …”

  “Seen what?” Zach drops his hands, his head shaking. “Why did he commit suicide in front of you? Didn’t he—”

  Love me? I cover my face and lean over the rail. Of course he loved me.

  Zach caresses my shoulders and hugs me from behind. His breath warms my ear and we stand still. I’m conscious of the rumbling traffic and the sun setting, the wind gusting, the shriek of a seagull, and Zach.