Making a Comeback

by Kristina Mathews

Finally, Sophie and Olivia nodded off to sleep.

  “Thank you,” Annabelle whispered as they crept out of the girls’ bedroom. “You’ve been terrific. They’re absolutely smitten, you know.”

  “Please. I’m no Prince Charming.” He stood in the hallway, looking uncomfortable. “I’m just a regular guy.”

  “No. You’re more than that.” She wondered how much they’d shared. But she was afraid it would hurt him if he knew she couldn’t remember.

  “Look, I sang a few songs. It’s not like saving lives or something.”

  “You’re too modest.” She wished there was some way to show her gratitude. “Too good to be true.”

  * * * *

  Oh hell. She thought he was one of the good guys. He’d been afraid of that. He really needed to set her straight.

  “You don’t even know me.” He thought for sure she’d have recognized him by now. She had been, by the laws of community property, one of his former owners. Even with his longer hair and beard, she should have recognized him as one of the Goliaths players.

  “Oh no.” She looked horrified. “You’re someone famous, aren’t you? You’re a rock star, or something?”

  “No. I’m not a rock star.” It was all he could do not to laugh. But she sounded so sincere. “I have played with a few bands you’ve probably heard of. Filling in here and there, you know, a couple of charity events, or a last minute replacement when the regular guitarist was sent back to rehab and well…the show must go on.”

  “So what do you do?”

  He’d known the question would come up eventually.

  “I’m a professional beach bum.” He offered a grin that once-upon-a-time made women swoon. “Actually, I’m between jobs at the moment.”

  “Oh.” Her expression changed and she looked disappointed. Or maybe she was embarrassed for him. “I guess that makes two of us.”

  “You’re a beach bum, too?”

  “I am now.” She tried to smile. Half of her face cooperated. But the left side couldn’t quite pull it off. “And I’m also between jobs. I was hoping to resurrect my modeling career, but…”

  She closed her eyes. It must be difficult for her to give up on a dream before she was ready.

  He stood there, wondering what he could do to help. Even as he knew he’d already done too much. He’d already inserted himself into their lives more than was good for any of them.

  “Well…” She let out a sigh and wiped her hands on her thighs. “The guest room is still made up for you.”

  “Thanks.” He had a feeling she didn’t want him there. Or maybe she did. It was hard to read the expression in her blue eyes.

  “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She started for her room.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay up for a while. Maybe watch a little TV.” Try to take his mind off spending another night so close to Annabelle.

  “Sure. Make yourself comfortable.” She hesitated, as if there was something else she wanted to say, and broke eye contact. When she glanced up again, she had a look of confusion on her face. “Did we... I mean, have we ever…”

  He stepped closer. Couldn’t help himself. Gently, he reached up and stroked her right cheek. “No, Annabelle. We’ve never… Trust me, you’d remember if we’d ever gone to bed together.”

  He flashed a teasing grin, acknowledging the sexual tension between them.

  “Oh. Good.” She sounded relieved, and maybe a tiny bit disappointed. She shook her head again, but it wasn’t in disagreement. More like she was trying to shake things loose. Or into place.

  “I am such a jerk.” He would have hit himself upside the head, but that would have been even more insulting. “You really don’t remember.”

  “I remember more than I did yesterday, but no…” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I don’t recall a lot of things.”

  He squeezed his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

  “Do you remember the accident?”

  “No. Not really. Just blood and shattered glass.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t remember much about any of that day. I don’t remember taking the girls to school, or driving to my photo shoot. I do remember someone doing my hair, my makeup. Kind of like snapshots, but it’s like I lost the whole day.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I don’t…” She bit her lower lip. “I don’t even remember how we met.”

  Something in the tone of her voice made him reach for her.

  “I got your mail by mistake.” He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “So I brought it over. We chatted a few minutes, and you invited me in for some chai tea, but I declined.”

  “Why did you decline?”

  “Oh, lots of reasons really.” Most of them selfish. “I didn’t want you to think you could come over anytime and borrow a cup of sugar. I don’t keep sugar in the house.”

  “I see.” She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.

  “Look, Annabelle.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “I know who you are. I have every one of your magazines. I keep them in a drawer next to my bed.”

  “Oh.” Her hand came up to the scarred side of her face.

  “You’ve always been my number one fantasy.” He might as well get it all out. “I wanted to keep it that way. I didn’t want to see you as a real person. With feelings, ideas, and imperfections.”

  “Sorry for ruining your fantasy.” She turned and walked away.

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was getting too close. And he was getting too comfortable here.

  He’d tried to tell her he was no Prince Charming.

  Chapter 5

  Annabelle washed her face and got ready for bed. She avoided looking in the mirror as she smoothed a thin layer of antibiotic ointment over her cuts. She didn’t want to see just how imperfect she’d become.

  Her appearance had always been the one thing she could count on. The only thing she could control. Sure, she’d been blessed with her blond hair, blue eyes, and a body that fit the current standard of beauty. But she had to work at keeping it up. While her girls were in school, she’d spend a couple of hours on the treadmill, running along the beach, or doing yoga. The alternative would be to not eat, and she didn’t want to set that kind of example for her children. She tried to focus on eating the right kinds of foods, more lean proteins and vegetables, fewer carbs, and keeping her portions small. She didn’t push her diet on her daughters, she wanted them to grow up being able to enjoy food. Not fearing it.

  She had to maintain her highlights. Although born blonde, her hair had darkened over the years. When she was young and carefree, she just had to spend hours in the sun and it would lighten to an almost platinum by mid-July. Now she spent a small fortune on highlights, conditioning treatments, and sun protection to keep her hair color from fading.

  Her skin didn’t stay flawless without creams and serums, scrubs and sunscreen. Always sunscreen. She’d spent so much time and money on keeping her skin perfect.

  A lot of good that did her now.

  She’d never be the girl on the cover of a magazine again. The one her neighbor kept next to his bed.

  She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that.

  He wasn’t the first person to see her only as she presented herself in magazines. She got that. Those images were about fantasy. It was about glamour and glitz and yes, sex. She didn’t want to think about how long it had been since she’d last had sex. Two years? Longer than that?

  She didn’t want to think about sex, but with her hunky neighbor so close, she couldn’t help it. If she didn’t need his help she’d send him home. But even next door was too close.

  Annabelle walked slowly and carefully downstairs to get a glass of water.

  “Is everything okay?” He switched off the basketball game he must not have been really watching.

  “Yes.” She started for the kitchen but then switched course a
nd sat down next to him. Not too close, but close enough to notice his scent. Warm. Masculine. And incredibly sexy. “I was wondering how you ended up bringing the girls to the hospital.”

  “Right place at the right time, I guess.” He shrugged, as if it was no big deal for a near stranger to just step into their lives so suddenly. “I was coming home from my afternoon run. The bus driver wouldn’t let them off without an adult to walk them across the street. They recognized me and I think it was Sophie who persuaded the driver to let them off.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled. It sounded like a Sophie thing, convincing the bus driver that their neighbor was a close friend. “I wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.”

  “I guess they would have gone back and the school would have called your emergency back-ups.”

  “I don’t have anyone local. Except my agent.” Who she needed to call in the morning and let him know she wouldn’t make the next two shoots he’d lined up for her.

  “Well, you’ve got me.”

  “So, you’re over the ‘keeping the fantasy’ problem?” She teased.

  “Yes. I’m glad I got to meet the real you.” There was a genuine quality to his voice. He meant it.

  “Do you really have my magazines next to your bed?” The idea both embarrassed and excited her.

  “Yes.” He squirmed. Just a little.

  “And do you…uh, use them?” She felt a blush heat her face. “I mean, I know you’re not a teenage boy or someone who would have trouble getting a date. But I haven’t seen any women leaving your place since I moved in.”

  “I thought you didn’t remember me.” He smiled, just enough to show he was teasing her.

  “I don’t remember interacting with you much. But I do remember seeing you. Listening to you play your guitar. Watching you run along the beach. Wondering about you.”

  “So you’ve been stalking me?” His grin widened playfully.

  “No.” Her cheeks grew warmer. “I just appreciate the view.”

  She turned away, embarrassed by her admission as well as the fresh scars on the left side of her face.

  “Annabelle.” His voice was gentle yet commanding.

  She turned to face him.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He reached up and swiped a strand of hair that had stuck in the ointment on her face, tucking it behind her ear. His long, strong fingers lingered there, in that delicate spot, before sliding down her jaw line. He lifted her chin just enough to make her look into his eyes. Desire blazed in the green-gold depths before he leaned closer and kissed her.

  His lips were soft, playing hers tentatively, as if he was searching for the right note. But once he found it, he plunged wholeheartedly, finding the rhythm, making her body sing.

  She moved with him, picking up on the unsung music of his lips. Sweet harmony thrummed through her body. His hands rested on her hips as he deepened the kiss. She pressed against him, and he slipped his hands beneath her shirt. He stroked her lightly, her skin on fire as he moved his hands higher and higher. His grip tightened as he moved toward her breasts. His right hand grazed her ribcage and she groaned as pain shot through her.

  “Oh, Annabelle.” He dropped his hands. “I’m so sorry. I hurt you.”

  “It’s okay.” She wanted to deny it, but the bruised ribs throbbed in a way that was as far from sexy as she could imagine. She eased away from him, grimacing at the pain and the embarrassment of leading him on.

  “No. It’s not.” He heaved a heavy sigh and raked his hands through his hair. “I should go.”

  “No. Please. I need you to stay.” She tried to smooth her T-shirt back into place. But it hurt. Almost as much as her heart. She wanted this man. This near-stranger who sang like an angel and kissed like the devil and did her dishes and looked after her daughters. She wanted him, but she couldn’t have him. Not when her body was bruised, and her head was befuddled, and her divorce wasn’t yet final.

  “You’re so beautiful.” He looked at her, his gaze taking in every inch of her, lingering on her breasts before resting on her face. “You’re so beautiful it hurts. I knew I couldn’t trust myself around you.”

  “My children trust you.” She couldn’t let him walk away so easily. “I trust you with them.”

  “I would never hurt Sophie or Olivia.” There was a desperate honesty in his voice. “But you… God, Annabelle, you’re every fantasy I’ve ever had.”

  “So you do use my magazines?” She laughed. For the last ten years, she’d been trying to convince herself that the idea of strangers getting their kicks while looking at her magazine covers was just a myth. That there weren’t men or boys using her picture to fuel their fantasies. But this man had admitted it.

  “I don’t need the magazines.” He reached a trembling hand to touch her knee, almost as if he was making sure she was real. “Your face is burned into my soul.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve slept with a woman and pretended she was you?”

  “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “You’re right. You don’t.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, letting out a frustrated groan.

  “I should get to bed.” She pushed herself off the couch, but swayed with a rush of dizziness.

  “Let me help you.” Cooper stood, taking her arm and steadying her. “I’m here to help you heal. That’s all. I can’t be anything more.”

  She nodded, somehow knowing he was lying to both of them.

  * * * *

  Too bad he’d never been a Boy Scout, then he’d know how to help a woman up the stairs without wanting something for himself. He tried to think of the last time he’d done something, anything, without expecting something in return. Even his long-standing work with the Harrison Foundation had been more about furthering his career than helping kids. He did the pitching clinics to endear himself to the community and the organization, not because he thought a week spent with him and his teammates would give some poor kid a shot at making it as a ballplayer.

  When he donated large sums of money to various charities, he considered it part of his job. The team and the league had their pet causes and he’d wanted to be seen as a team player. A Goliath on and off the field. The tax write-offs helped, too.

  So, it was hard to convince himself he was helping Annabelle just to be neighborly. He wanted something from her. Wanted it real bad. So it was perfectly fitting to find himself guiding her to her bed, knowing full well he couldn’t join her.

  Penance. That had to be what this was, payback for all the selfish shit he’d pulled in his life. He’d never been a particularly religious man, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some higher plan in delivering the one woman he’d always wanted to the house next door. There was a catch, of course. The pretty packaging came with a warning. Fragile. But wait, there’s more! Two vulnerable little girls, innocent children who’d already been subject to the breakup of their parents’ marriage, a move, and the scare of finding their mother in a hospital bed with tubes in her arms and bandages on her head.

  Annabelle Jones was most certainly payback for all the things in his life that Cooper had gotten so easily. Pretty much everything he’d ever wanted, and a whole lot he didn’t. He’d been given more than his fair share.

  And now, as he tucked Annabelle into her bed, he realized the irony.

  “Can I get you anything?” He was going to give if it killed him.

  “No.” She shook her head, wincing at the effort.

  “Okay, then.” He stood, ready to go to the guest room and stare at the ceiling all night.

  “Wait.” She sat up. “Could you bring me a glass of water?”

  “Sure. No problem.” He inched toward the door.

  “And could you…” Her cheeks tinged pink, making her look almost angelic. “Could you sing to me? Like you did for the girls?”

  “Sure.” Angelic. D
evilish. Either way, she was torture. “Water and a song.”

  He went downstairs for his guitar and a glass of water.

  When he got back to Annabelle’s room, she was already asleep. He set the water glass on the bedside table and watched her for a little longer than was healthy. Kissing her had been a mistake. She’d been hotter and sweeter than any of his fantasies. He’d never get the taste of her out of his system.

  A cry from down the hall startled him. He crept quickly and quietly to the room the twins shared.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Don’t die.” One of the girls cried out in her sleep. He could just make out the image of Olivia tossing and turning in her pink bed.

  “Shhh. It’s okay.” Cooper knelt next to her bed. “Mommy’s sleeping. She’s fine, she’s going to be just fine.”

  Olivia sat up, blinked a few times, and then threw her arms around his neck. “Mommy’s car was on fire.”

  She buried her sobs in his neck.

  “It was just a dream.” He patted her back and spoke gently. “Just a dream, sweetheart.”

  Slowly, her sobs subsided. She sniffled and wiped her nose on his T-shirt. But he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

  “Will you sing me a song?” Olivia asked. She was wide awake and bright eyed now. “Please?”

  “I don’t want to wake your sister.” But he knew he’d give in.

  “It’s okay.” Sophie stirred in her light blue and yellow bed. “I had bad dreams, too.”

  “I know a song you might like.” Cooper positioned himself on the floor between the two beds. He sat cross-legged with his guitar in his lap. He sang softly, in the words of Bob Marley, entreating them not to worry about a thing.

  He sang as many uplifting, hope-affirming songs as he could think of off the top of his head. Mostly classic rock ballads he was sure the six-year-olds had never heard of, but they seemed to enjoy the music. Then, after the girls had fallen asleep, he plucked at a melody that had been playing around in his head. A song that sounded like longing for something just out of reach. He had no lyrics yet, but knew the song would be titled “Annabelle.”