by Jessie Evans
“You’re the one who ended it,” Pike said, proving this wasn’t her day, not by a long shot. “You’re the one who was with someone else while we were supposed to be together. Or have you forgotten that inconvenient fact?”
Tulsi lifted her chin, fighting the urge to cry. “Yeah, well, you hadn’t returned my calls in three weeks. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Not fuck someone else!” Pike said, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of the older men at the other end of the bar and earn a glare from Clint.
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes. “I thought it was over, okay? People who are in love don’t run off and ignore the person they say they’re in love with for three weeks. If I hadn’t been able to read your stats from your games, I would have been scared to death that you were dead. I have never felt more alone or miserable than I did those three weeks. Not in my entire life.”
“I needed some time to pull my shit together, for God’s sake,” Pike said, scowling, obviously still unable to see her side of things. “I was twenty-two years old and my father had disowned me right when I was starting my career. It messed me up pretty bad.”
“Yeah, well, I was eighteen and—” Tulsi trapped her bottom lip between her teeth, biting off the end of her sentence before she wrecked everything. “Forget it.” She slid off her chair, grabbed her purse, and made a beeline for the door, ignoring Pike’s call for her to wait.
She couldn’t tell him that she’d been eighteen, pregnant, and terrified. Terrified of raising a baby alone, but even more terrified of her child ending up with a father like hers. A father who cared more about his job than he did his kids, a man who would always be bitter about the things he’d been denied instead of happy with what he had.
“Tulsi, wait!” Pike called again as she started down the saloon’s front steps, but she only sped her pace toward her truck parked outside the drugstore.
Growing up, Tulsi and her sister, Reece, had worshiped their father—a retired pro rodeo rider who broke horses no other man could tame—but their love had never been good enough. Dale Hearst had wanted sons, and daughters could never measure up to the boys he’d been denied—no matter how much Tulsi loved horses or how fearless Reece was in the saddle. Tulsi grew up watching her sister fight to be loved and fail and knew it was only a matter of time before she, too, fell from grace. She would never be perfect enough to make up for not being the boy her father wanted, no matter how hard she tried.
Back when she was eighteen and Pike was suddenly gone, that was all she could think about. She couldn’t stand the thought of living the rest of her life tied to a man who craved his father’s approval so much he would shut her out of his heart while he licked his wounds. The fact that he’d cut her off the same day she’d planned to tell him the birth control pills had failed and that she was pregnant with his child had made it all that much worse.
Those three weeks without Pike had taught her that her love wasn’t enough for him, the same way it hadn’t been enough for her dad. That hard truth had shattered her, but she hadn’t been able to afford the luxury of falling apart. She’d had a baby on the way, a child she was determined would never know what it felt like to have a hole inside her heart where a parent’s love was supposed to be. So she’d made a choice, and she had never regretted it, not until now.
God, why did Pike have to come back? Why did she have to run into him today and remember what it felt like to be so close and only want to get closer?
She reached for her keys, but her hand was trembling so hard she dropped them on the sidewalk. By the time she snatched them off the concrete, Pike had closed the distance between them.
“Please wait. I’m sorry, okay?” His hand closed around her elbow, but she shook him off, unable to stand the confusion his touch inspired.
“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I don’t believe you.” Pike’s hand fell to her hip, his fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans, sending a tremor of awareness shivering through her. “You want to do more than talk to me. You want the same thing I do. You want to remember what it was like between us.”
“Don’t,” Tulsi whispered, but her voice was breathy and unconvincing, even to her own ears.
Pike moved in closer, pinning her between his strong body and the driver’s side of the truck, making her breath speed as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You want me, Tulsi. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. And I want you.”
Tulsi’s teeth bit into her bottom lip hard enough to send pain flashing through her jaw as she fought the urge to lean into Pike. She couldn’t touch him again, or she was going to lose the last of her self-control and put everything that mattered at risk.
“I want to taste you so bad it’s killing me,” he continued in a husky voice that made her nipples pull tight and her thighs ache. “I want to see if you still taste like springtime.”
Tulsi’s breath rushed out with a pained, hungry sound. “We can’t. It would be a mistake.”
“I know,” he whispered, “but I don’t care, baby. One more night with you would be worth it.”
Baby. The endearment cut through her like a knife.
She wasn’t his baby anymore; she was the girl he’d left behind and she needed a one-night stand with Pike like she needed a case of identity theft to empty out the last few hundred dollars in her bank account. This would be more than a mistake. One night with Pike would devastate her, wreck her, and leave her unfit to be the kind of mother Clem deserved. She couldn’t afford to give heartache an engraved invitation, no matter how much she wanted Pike.
“Leave me alone,” Tulsi said in a stronger voice, pressing her body into the heat-warmed door of the truck, putting as much space between them as possible. “I won’t do this with you. Not now, not ever.”
Pike pulled back, staring down at her with that piercing look of his. When they were younger, that look had always broken through her defenses, but not now. Now, she was strong. Now she knew what it was like to go through the hell of losing him and come out the other side and there was no way she was letting him drag her back to that miserable place again.
“I’ll pretend to be your friend for Mia’s benefit, but that’s all it is—pretend.” She lifted her chin, willing herself to stay strong as pain flicked across Pike’s features. “I don’t know who you are anymore and I don’t care to learn. What we had died a long time ago. Best if it stays in the ground.”
Pike’s throat worked as he swallowed. He was clearly hurt, but Tulsi refused to feel bad. She was doing what she had to do for her daughter, and Pike no doubt had a supermodel or two waiting in St. Louis to make him feel better. By this time next week, he’d be kissing someone else and have forgotten he ever knew a girl who tasted like springtime.
“Fine,” he said roughly. “I won’t bother you again.” And then he turned and walked away.
Tulsi watched him go, trying to convince herself that the wrenching feeling in her chest wasn’t her heart breaking. But it was getting harder to lie to herself. She was so confused. She wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore, she only knew that she wanted to go after Pike so badly it was physically painful.
But she didn’t take a step down that road. She got into her truck, started up the engine, and drove back to her too quiet house. There, she curled up in the middle of her lonely bed and cried harder than she’d cried since the first time she ended it with the only man she would ever love.
CHAPTER SIX
Pike
Jim Sherman was the last person Pike wanted to see after the afternoon he’d had. But backing out would only make things worse, when he finally did get around to going home, and hurt his mother and Mia in the process. He’d already upset one woman today; he didn’t intend to add to the tally.
So, come six o’clock, Pike was dressed in a white button-up rolled at the sleeves and waiting downstairs for his sister. Sawyer was working late in preparation f
or taking time off for the wedding and honeymoon, so it was just Pike and Mia in the truck for the ride over. Mia chattered on about her day and the plans for the float trip while she drove, but Pike couldn’t bring himself to make polite conversation. All he could think about was Tulsi and the way her eyes had begged him to take her while her lips told him everything they’d had was dead and gone.
But she was wrong. Dead feelings didn’t make the air crackle with electricity. Dead feelings didn’t make a woman’s eyes fill with tears or a man’s heart feel like it was splitting right up the middle.
He’d experienced more conflicting emotions this afternoon than in all of the past year, and he was in no state to face his father with a cool head. He knew he was in for a rough night, even before he stepped up onto the porch where his father was waiting in his favorite wicker glider and Jim greeted him with the usual “warmth.”
“Torn ACL. Is that what’s wrong this time?” he asked, not giving Pike time to answer before offering his five cents on his son’s injury. “That wouldn’t have happened if you’d stepped up your cross-training before the season started like we did when you were in school. You’re getting older, son. That means you have to work harder, not cut corners so you can spend more time getting your face in magazines. The game is what matters.”
“Hi, Dad,” Pike said, grimacing in his father’s direction. “Good to see you, too.”
“Don’t start, you two,” Mia warned, casting a pleading look over her shoulder at Pike, before leaning down to peck her father on the cheek. “How’s Mom feeling, Dad?”
Their father grunted. “Better. She thinks it was something she ate. She’s been fine since this morning, and she’s making lasagna for dinner.”
“Good, I’ll go see if she needs any help,” Mia said, moving toward the front door. “Y’all play nice, you hear? No one is allowed to fight during my wedding week.”
Pike settled into the chair next to his father, already feeling the familiar tension creep into his shoulders. He’d spent most of his adolescence butting heads with his dad, and, no matter how much older or wiser he became, it never got any easier to look into his father’s eyes and see nothing but statistics reflected back. Jim Sherman was capable of seeing his daughter as a person with thoughts and feelings, a soul worthy of affection whether or not her business succeeded or if she was ever named Lonesome Point “Entrepreneur of the Year.” But when it came to his son, there was only pro ball and what kind of legacy Pike Sherman, pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, was going to leave behind.
When Jim said the game was what mattered, he meant the game was all that mattered, and every time Pike came home that painful truth only became more obvious.
“How much longer are you going to be out?” Jim asked after Mia disappeared into the house.
“I’m not sure.” Pike shrugged. “At least another two weeks. I’m doing all my PT but—”
“Rick Fogler said he saw you jogging downtown today. You should be resting and icing, not putting more stress on the injury.”
“My physical therapist cleared me to run with my knee brace,” Pike said, the muscle in his jaw leaping as he fought the urge to tell his father to mind his own business. “I’m taking care of it and doing what I’m supposed to do, Dad. Now it’s just a matter of time. I have to wait and see how I heal.”
His father exhaled audibly. “You’ve already missed the All-Star game and two weeks of play. If you don’t buckle down, you might be out for the season. The guys on Sports Center were saying the docs they talked to said this injury could be a career ender. What do you think about that?”
“I think I’d like it if you would pick up a phone and talk to me instead of getting your information from Rick Fogler or the douchebags on Sports Center,” Pike snapped. “Jesus, Dad. I’ve been playing pro ball for almost seven years. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a kid anymore.”
Jim grunted. “Well, you wouldn’t know it from the pictures in the magazines. You know your mother sees that crap, Pike. She saw that shot of you drunk on the red carpet with that girl from the vampire movies.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” Pike said, voice rising. “It was a doctored photo. Something manufactured to sell magazines. How many times do I have to—”
“There’s my boy!” His mother’s voice sounded from behind him and a moment later her arms were on his shoulders, rubbing the tension away as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. “So glad you’re home, baby. I made all your favorites. Even the green bean casserole I usually only make at Thanksgiving.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Pike sighed as he stood to pull his mother in for a hug, hating that he’d let his father get to him not five minutes into the visit. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too. I can’t wait to hear all your news,” she said, looping her arm around his waist. “Why don’t you come into the kitchen and we can have a glass of wine while Mia finishes up the salads?”
“Sounds great,” Pike said, glancing over his shoulder at his father. “You coming, Dad?”
“I’ll be in in a minute,” he said, rising from his chair and starting for the porch steps. “I need to go check on the group down at the lodge.”
Pike’s lip curled. The lodge—the hunting lodge his father had built on their property, turning their failing cattle ranch into a hunter’s paradise—was always a good excuse for Dad to bail when he was tired of dealing with his son.
“But I thought you’d already checked on them this afternoon,” his mom said, her brow furrowing. “Come on in, Jim, and do it later. I can’t remember the last time we had the entire family here.”
“I do,” Pike said. “But last time, Dad made it through the main course before he bailed.”
His mother stiffened beside him. “Now, Pike, let’s not—”
“No, let him say what he wants to say, Jenny,” his father interrupted. “He should talk ’cause he’s certainly no good at listening.”
“Like you’re one to talk, Dad,” Pike said, stepping away from his mother. “Jesus, whatever. I should have known better than to think this was going to be any different than every other time I’ve come home.”
“Please, Pike, don’t leave,” his mother begged, sounding so upset Pike wanted to kick the banister on his way down the porch steps.
“I’m not, Mom. I’m just going for a walk,” he said, turning back to see his mother’s eyes wide in her perfectly made up face. She’d dressed up for his visit and gone to a lot of trouble with the meal, otherwise he would be out of here. He didn’t need this tonight, not when he was already stressed out about his future and reeling from his encounter with Tulsi. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and aimed his body toward the mesquite trees, down the trail leading to the fifty acres of family property where his father’s lodge guests weren’t allowed to hunt. As a kid, Pike had spent half his life out here, riding horses and ATVs, fishing and camping with his friends, dreaming of the day when he would never have to go back home to Jim Sherman’s house again. He’d loved his dad, but he’d also resented him. No matter how hard Pike tried, no matter how many games he won or trophies he brought home, it was never good enough.
In interviews, Pike credited his father’s relentless drive and devotion to the game for getting him to the big leagues years sooner than other pitchers. When the St. Louis Cardinals’ star pitcher tore his rotator cuff seven years ago and the recruiters started scouting the minors for a mid-season relief pitcher, Pike immediately rose to the top of the list of contenders, even though he was only halfway through his first season pitching for the Springfield Cardinals. He’d been a star at twenty-two and was now well on his way to being a legend, but when people asked, Pike always passed the glory on to his father rather than talking about his own passion for the game.
The truth was, Pike didn’t know if he loved the game anymore. He still fought hard to be the absolute best player he could be because that was the way he was wired, but play
ing ball hadn’t been fun for a long time. Not since he was a kid and his Little League coach told his dad that Pike was a prodigy, setting a lifetime of events in motion.
Sometimes Pike wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self to play soccer instead. He was grateful for his success and knew he was living the dream, he just wasn’t sure whose dream it was—his or his father’s.
“Hey, Pike, wait for me,” Mia called from behind him.
Pike paused on the dirt trail, waiting for his sister to catch up before he started walking again. “I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh. “I was determined not to let this happen, but the man just…pushes my buttons.”
“I know.” Mia crossed her arms and kicked a rock farther down the trail. “I should have realized Dad was going to be worse this time, not better. He’s scared, Pike. I think he’s afraid you’re never going to play ball again.”
“And then what good would I be to anyone, right?” Pike said, but his joking tone fell flat.
Mia’s fingers curled around his bicep and squeezed. “Seriously, Pike, it’s not that bad, is it? I thought it was just a minor thing, and you’d be back on the mound in a week or two.”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he said, surprised to find his chest loosening as the words came out. It felt good to finally say what his trainer and therapist had been dancing around for weeks. “It’s definitely better, but it’s not good enough, you know? My doctor wants to give it another week or two, and if I’m still not snapping back, she thinks surgery might be the only option.”
“Shit,” Mia said. “That sucks.”
“It’s okay. I mean I always thought it would be my shoulder or my elbow that took me out of the game, but…” Pike shrugged. “At least I’ve had a good run.”
