“It’s hard to believe anything you have to say,” I forced out through clenched teeth. Would remarrying the one person who put him through hell make my dad actually happy? I couldn’t conceive the notion—but he was a grown man. The pain pulled at my chest, and I rubbed it idly, clenching my jaw.
“I know you are worried about him,” my mom said softly, “but you don’t need to. Your father is a tough old guy. He’s not going to let cancer beat him. He’s too strong.” Her voice cracked at the end, and I looked up, seeing real emotion on her face. Maybe she was really in love with him again.
“Fine,” I finally said. “I’ll come to this engagement party.”
“Wonderful,” she said clapping her hands together. “The wedding will be in the States, of course, but the engagement party will be here. I found this charming garden just outside the city that will be perfect.”
I waved my hand, not caring about the particulars. “Yeah, whatever. But remember I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for him.”
My mom dropped her smile and stood. “That’s fine. You’ll see; I’ll show you I’ve changed.”
She walked to the door and turned to look at me as I got up to follow her. “And from what I hear, you’ve changed a little bit, too. Grown up, perhaps?”
“What?”
“I saw some pictures of you dancing with a young lady in Paris. Is she someone I should meet?”
I thought about Ginny, the night that we had danced by the river, the laughter on her beautiful face, and shook my head. She was no longer in my life.
“No,” I forced out. “She’s no one.”
The curious glint in my mom’s eye didn’t disappear, and I sighed, not wanting to explain what had happened to my mother. She’d be the last person I ever told. Not that I planned on telling anyone. My chest fucking hurt every time I thought about Ginny and the way she had slipped out of my life. I couldn’t do anything about it now, and I wanted to keep those feelings inside, not show just how badly she had affected me.
My mom opened her mouth to say something but decided against it and opened the door instead. Then she reconsidered. “You know, Damon, I’m still your mother, and you can discuss these things with me. I might surprise you; I might even understand.”
“I’m good,” I answered with a shrug, keeping my expression stone cold. She didn’t look like she believed me but nodded and disappeared through the door. I shut it hard and stood there for a moment, taking the time to let it all sink in. My parents were getting remarried. Was the world fucking ending?
13
Ginny
I looked up at the cork-board and sighed, the picture of the Eiffel Tower bringing an unbelievable amount of pain even after a month. The last few days had been particularly draining; the bar was busier than ever, and my mom was being difficult. It almost made me wish that I could turn back the clock, about to be getting on that plane, starting my trip all over again.
Turning away from the postcards, I carried the chair to the waiting empty table. The room was set up for the speed-dating event that evening. It was late afternoon and the bar was dead; the only sound was the TV above the bar top, all tuned in so I could watch Queens and the matches that were scheduled.
At any moment, Damon was going to walk out onto the court, and I was going to fall apart all over again. I missed him, plain and simple. We’d spent only a few days together, but they were enough for me to become truly attached. I’d dreamed about him every night since I’d returned, my body aching for his touch. But more than that, I missed his company, the quiet way he showed me sides of himself that I never thought existed. He was the bad boy sports personality for the cameras and the public, but in private he was so much more than that.
But I had to come to terms with it all. It was over. It had been a fairytale. He hadn’t called or texted, and after the first week, I quit looking for communication from him or jumping every time my phone rang. It was obvious he thought that our time together was nothing more than a fling, and it hurt more than it should’ve.
The door opened and I turned to see Cara and Lucia walk through the door, smiles on their faces. Cara was married to a major-league baseball player, my friend, Luke, a great guy who used to keep a bar stool warm for more time than I cared to admit. Lucia was married to the hottest quarterback to hit Jupiter in forever, but Jacob was the biggest softy, the most down-to-earth guy you could ever meet. She was also pregnant, again! Nora and Nicholas were due to have a new baby brother or sister.
The couples came in the bar regularly, and I enjoyed it every time they did, though at times it was hard to be the fifth wheel.
“Sorry we’re late,” Cara said as they both took seats at the bar, Lucia struggling a tiny bit to get on the stool, her belly in the way. “Has the match started yet?”
I took a chance and looked up at the TV for a split second and shook my head. “No, not yet.” I’d spilled everything to them as soon as I got back. Told them all about my time with Damon, and the shock on their faces mirrored what I felt on the inside. They knew all the sordid details, and I was glad I had them today to see Damon on TV for the first time. I’d been avoiding all his previous matches… I’d been too raw to deal with it.
“Oh, there he is!” Lucia squealed, pointing at the TV. “Damn, Ginny, he is hot!”
“He totally looks like Captain America, too.”
“He does not,” I replied, still not able to bring myself to look up.
“Then you’re blind!” Cara interjected. “Come on, sure he does. That blond hair, the almost perfect jaw. That dimple. And god, those muscles.” In another breath her light voice turned more serious. “Ginny, you have to look. We talked about this. It’s just like ripping off a band-aid. Just do it. You can’t avoid how you’re feeling and keep it buried.”
I nodded. We had talked, in depth, about my avoidance. After telling them everything, baring my soul, I’d refused point blank to discuss him anymore. But it was two on one, and the pair of therapists ganged up on me, made me realize what I was doing. It wasn’t healthy to forget it ever happened or to never watch my favorite sport again.
“OK, OK. Don’t I get brownie points for actually turning on the TV in the first place?”
“Yeah, sweetie, you do. That reminds me, I did actually bring cookies.” Lucia dug a Tupperware box out of her bag and offered the cookies inside around. We all took one. “Now be a good girl, bite the cookie, then look at the screen.”
I did what she said and took a bite of the chocolate-hazelnut cookie, let the sugars dissolve on my tongue for a moment, then swallowed. I took a deep breath and looked up at the TV. My heart began to race as I stared at the man who had stolen a piece of my heart and never gave it back. He was hot all right—and yeah, he did have a patriotic, red, white, and blue kinda look to him—but I was more worried about the lack of concentration on his face. He looked miserable out there, and he was only warming up. I hadn’t watched his other matches but had read how poorly he was playing Queens. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d done so well at the French Open, making it all the way to the quarterfinals, but now he was reminiscent of the first day I saw him play. Out of sorts.
“Ginny, you have to admit you had the absolute best holiday ever,” Cara sighed, looking at the TV. “I mean, who goes overseas and literally gets hit by such a hottie?”
I rolled my eyes. “Have you two looked at your husbands lately?” Both of their husbands, Luke and Jacob, were smoking hot.
“Well, of course,” Lucia replied. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t look at and comment on other guys. We’re not blind, you know.”
“Why are you here and not there, Ginny?” Cara said slowly. I knew what she was doing, trying to get me to talk, trying to make realize there was more to life than this bar.
I looked at them with all the seriousness I could muster. “You’re kidding me, right? You know exactly why. Tim is refusing to help out anymore, Mom is worse than ever, and I have to keep the bar open to pay for our l
ivelihood. I can’t just be jet-setting around Europe.”
The two women exchanged quiet, concerned looks before Cara leaned over and took my hand. “Hey, we understand, we really do, but there comes a time and place when you need to start looking out for yourself, Gin. From what you told us, you really enjoyed yourself, and it sounds like Damon did, as well.”
I sighed, the threat of tears burning the backs of my eyes. “It was just a fling. A holiday romance. Nothing more.” We had hit it off really well, but now? I wasn’t so sure he even remembered me. “Surely it’s better for me to realize that than to live in some fantasy land? I’m no therapist, but even I know that.”
I looked up to see a short montage of Damon’s career being shown. There were images of him both on and off the court. And then there was what looked to be a more recent one, him with a young woman on his arm as they walked out of a party. She was tall with blonde hair and she was draped in a dress that probably cost more than my entire bar and its contents. The way that Damon was smiling at her, I had seen that look before. He looked, well, entranced, intrigued, and more importantly, it was a look of affection.
“Oh no,” Cara muttered.
“Who is that?” Lucia asked. “What are they saying?”
I leaned over and hit the volume button, dread filling my body. Who was she? Had he already moved on? Was this the reason he hadn’t reached out? Was it really just a holiday fling?
“They aren’t mentioning anything about it,” Lucia said, disappointment on her face. I watched as the screen transitioned back to the court, where Damon was still warming up, every movement of his body reminding me of the night he had me against the wall. I felt, well, I wasn’t sure how I felt. Hurt, yes. Surprised, no. It was expected, surely? He was the bad boy, the man-whore who slept around, a girl on his arm every other night. He was a famous athlete. It was only going to be a matter of time before he moved on. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.
“Aww sweetie,” Lucia said softly, draping her arm over my shoulders. “It doesn’t mean anything. She could be anyone.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Cara chimed in. “Luke is often seen with other women who are part of the organization. It was a hard pill to swallow at first, but I know where his heart belongs, so I don’t even think twice about it. From what you told us, I think Damon would be in the same bucket.”
I shook my head. “I doubt it. He’s a player, just like all the tabloids say.” I grabbed my rag and started to wipe the bar down furiously, angry at myself for even thinking that my time with him could be anything more than just a fling. I had deluded myself, and it had to stop. There was a difference between me and the two women in front of me. They had their famous men wrapped around their fingers. I didn’t. Hell, I didn’t even know much about Damon apart from the little he had told me and what I had looked up online. I wished it was different, but it wasn’t. I didn’t want to give up, but what choice did I have?
I walked to the mailbox, ready to scream. Mom was out of control, yelling at me all morning because she thought she was supposed to be on the train to meet my father. I’d tried my best to explain to her that Dad wasn’t expecting her, as I’d been taught by the therapists to do, but she wasn’t hearing my words and ended up shutting herself up in the bedroom. Thank god, I had been smart enough to remove the locks a long time ago.
Opening the mailbox, I pulled out the wad of mail, flipping through the envelopes with a sigh. Bills, bills, and more bills. That was my life. It seemed like they were starting to multiply in the box, not only for the bar but also for Mom’s care. Her medications weren’t getting any cheaper, nor were the cost of the sitter or the occasional night nurse, but I couldn’t put her in a home. Correction, I couldn’t afford to put her in the home she deserved.
A few years after she was first diagnosed, I’d looked around, checking out some of the facilities in Jupiter. The nice, ritzy ones cost more than the bar could bring in, and I couldn’t bear to put her in anything less. Who would check on her? Who would make sure that she didn’t wander off or that she ate like she was supposed to? The guilt was overwhelming, so in the end keeping her with me was the best option. Where I could look after her properly.
I flipped through the rest of the envelopes, stopping as I found a plain white one with nothing on the front of it.
“Great,” I muttered, opening the flap. It was either a flyer or another one of those angry letters from an unhappy participant of the speed-dating nights. I got them every once and a while, and they weren’t thanking me for my hospitality, more like telling me how I hadn’t solved their dating woes. At least they were keeping their grievances old-school, via snail-mail, and hadn’t taken it to the bar’s social media pages. I could only imagine the fallout from that if it ever happened.
Reaching in, I felt the shock spread through my body as a plane ticket appeared, followed by court-side seats to Wimbledon. Oh my god. Had Damon sent them? I fumbled with the envelope, finding no note accompanying them and held them to my chest. Wimbledon. Damon. I could go to London to join him, see him play again. After all, that was why he sent them, right? He wanted me to go. It was almost too good to be true.
Looking up at the apartment over the bar, I sighed, the roar of my excitement dwindling away to a silent whimper. I couldn’t just up and leave on a whim. Mom still needed me, and Tim couldn’t take any more time out of work to help me out. I couldn’t do it. I had responsibilities.
People were counting on me.
Cara’s words about me taking time out for myself floated through my mind, and I angrily shoved them away. I wanted to, oh I wanted to. I wanted to see Damon. I wanted to travel the world, see every sight I could see. I wanted to feel more passion, more heat. But that wasn’t my life. That couldn’t be my life no matter how much I desperately wanted it to be.
14
Damon
I walked behind the security guard, the sounds of cheers and some boos assaulting my ears the closer we got to the court.
After intense training days with Derek and the team and then winning the quarter-finals at Queens but losing in the semis (I was getting closer to the top with each tournament I played), I was finally ready for Wimbledon.
The conversation with my mom had been my driving force, taking out all my frustration and rage on my opponent to the point where I thought I was going to scream once I had served the final ball. The critics stated it had been the most furious playing they had seen from me to date. Not great, but furious. If my anger won me matches, then so be it. I had nothing else to base it on. The days had been frustrating for me and all those around me. I was short, snapping at everyone and refusing to do anything more than I had to do to get by. I hadn’t been out in weeks other than to press-related things, and even a drink didn’t taste the same. At night… hell, night was the worst. That would be when the dreams came, and they all had to do with the woman who had apparently stolen my life in a few short days. Ginny. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to hear her voice. All my phone calls and text messages had gone unanswered, and there was not a word from her since the day I had put her on that plane. She had consumed my thoughts ever since.
A petite redhead caught my eye. She was beyond the path the security guard was taking, and I felt my heart start to race. Ginny was here. Those curves, that hair, it was her. It had to be. Without another thought, I pushed past the security guard in charge of getting me to the court and raced after her, ignoring the stares of the people as I darted past. I had to get to her. I had to talk with her. Most importantly, I just needed to see her… and hold her.
“Mr. Holden! Stop, Mr. Holden!”
I heard my name being called by security as I finally reached her. This was it. She was here, and all was going to be right with the world.
“Ginny,” I forced out, surprised by the emotion in my voice. After everything that had happened since the last time I had seen her, it was all going to be OK now that she was here. She was my cornerstone; everything seemed t
o hinge upon her. I was going to play one hell of a game today, but first I had to kiss her.
She turned around, and I felt all the air leave my body, the excitement disappearing in a flash.
It wasn’t her.
Her brown eyes widened, and I muttered my apologies, turning around before she could even say a word. The crowd started to gather as they realized Damon Holden was in the vicinity, but I ignored them, stalking past the approaching security guard, feeling disappointed and embarrassed. Had I really gotten to that point? What kind of spell had Ginny cast on me?
“Sir, we have to get you to the court,” the guard announced as he reached my side, slightly out of breath, his face red.
“Yeah, I know,” I answered darkly. Damn her. She was ruining me slowly but surely. “Lead the way.” I wanted to get out of there, to forgo the entire tournament, but I’d made it through the preliminary rounds. I had a match to at least attempt to win. This was Wimbledon, after all, the crowning jewel of the tennis circuit.
We walked back towards court three, passing the imposing center court on my left. It was huge, and I was determined to play in there someday. First things first, I had to get her out of my head. I had to stop thinking about my dad’s illness.
Fans began to reach out to me, to wish me luck or just touch me, but I didn’t shrug them off. A woman was standing near the entrance, arguing with the guard posted there as we approached, and I felt a sudden rush of déjà vu as I looked at her, then looked again. There was no doubt about it this time around.
“Ginny?”
She turned and I ceased breathing. It was her. She was here. I hadn’t imagined it.
Ginny was standing before me, a tentative smile on her gorgeous face. I stared at that perfect smile, her lips topped with a cherry colored gloss.
“Hi, Damon,” she said softly, a blush stealing across her cheeks, her eyes flickering away then back again. She looked fucking awesome, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans that hugged every damn curve of her body. It took all I had not to take her in my arms as I stepped forward, the rest of the stadium fading away. But then I remembered the silent treatment. She hadn’t returned any of my calls or texts. I wasn’t about to fling myself on her and make another fool of myself.
The Love Game Page 11
