Sea of Seduction: A Single Dad Sports Romance

by Jennifer Evans

  Dominick

  I finished up my appointments and stepped out into the warm California sun. I had decided to walk to Lola’s school with the thought of surprising her when it let out. Most twelve-year-olds would be embarrassed to have their dad show up at school, but not my Lola.

  I gave myself enough time to check out the waves, maybe stop at the local coffee house on the way and get myself an iced cappuccino. I needed something to cool off the heat in my body. Seeing Coco at the beach had been a pleasant surprise. A slow smile built remembering her stretched out on the shore, her long legs and delicate feet in the sand. Holy mother of Christ, the way she’d arched her back made me want to jump on top of her and make love to her under the hot sun. I needed to rein myself in.

  Strolling through town, I passed the crumbling Our Lady of Perpetual Tears Catholic Church. I doubled back and stood in front of the tiny building with the old-fashioned steeple, a statue of Mother Mary beckoning me to enter.

  I stared at the church for a long time, rubbing my jaw. I had taken a vow of celibacy for a reason. What is it Americans like to say? Everything in moderation? Well, there was nothing moderate about my passions. They took over my life. They made me reckless. I can’t control myself. I’m an all or nothing kind of man, and the best solution for me in this case was nothing. No sex, no danger of being consumed by my passions, no risk of making life-altering mistakes. But now my vow was at risk. I could feel myself weakening dangerously when I was in Coco’s presence. Maybe if I prayed it would help.

  I entered the quiet, dark building and was instantly transported to my childhood when my parents forced me to church with them every Sunday. The holy water basin stood to my right, and I dipped my fingers in and performed the sign of the cross. Catholicism had been a huge part of our family’s life, but I had strayed about as far as you could go while on the pro tour. There, my life consisted of out-of-wedlock sex, cursing, drinking and even smoking a little hashish when we were in the areas that sold it. What was wrong with any of that, I thought self-righteously. I hadn’t meant any harm, hadn’t meant to hurt anyone. But the truth was, I had hurt people.

  I walked to the altar and gazed at the sculpture of Jesus on the cross, glanced at the magnificent stained glass windows that depicted the signs of the cross and inhaled the earthy aroma of Frankincense. I kneeled down in the front pew and clasped my hands in prayer. Where to begin? It was as I was trying to remember how to pray that I noticed a priest milling around by the ceremonial offering candles. He nodded in my direction. Maybe he could hear my confession. I glanced around. Where were the confessionals?

  I approached the young priest. “Excuse me, Father. But who would I talk to about confession?”

  He gave me a broad smile and shook my hand. “I’m Father Timothy. Are you Catholic?”

  “Yes, Father.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. “It’s just that I haven’t confessed in a lot of years.”

  “It’s never too late. I’m happy to help.” He gazed at me expectantly.

  “What happened to the confessionals?”

  He let out a small laugh. “We did away with those a few years back. Of course, if you really need privacy … but most of our congregation feel more comfortable in a casual setting, like two friends talking in their living room.” He looked me up and down. “Do you surf? I think I’ve seen you out in the lineup.”

  A surfing priest? Was that allowed? “Yes,” I said slowly. “Maybe you have seen me out there. It’s kind of my church.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “You and I are going to get along just fine. Come on back to my office.” He disappeared into an area behind the altar, and I followed. “Something to drink?” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got iced tea, grape drink, and some sacrificial wine.” He turned and winked. “Just messing with you about the wine.” He gazed heavenward. “My boss would crucify me if I gave you a bottle of Two Buck Chuck.” He held his hands to his heart. “That stuff is so good; it’ll make you think you died and went to heaven.” He frowned. “It actually tastes more like battery acid, but that’s about all I can afford on my salary.” He winked. “Don’t know if God made the payroll this month.”

  I rubbed my hands on my pant legs and smiled politely. “Iced tea would be fine.”

  “Suit yourself.” We had reached his office, and he bowed, his arm sweeping in a grand gesture. “Make yourself at home.”

  I settled myself on the sofa in Father Timothy’s office, and while he disappeared to get our drinks, I took in my surroundings. A few copies of Surfer’s Journal magazine were mixed in with the Bible and church newsletters. Heavy drapery hung from the windows, allowing only a small amount of light to enter the comfortable room. In one corner stood a white surfboard with a depiction of an ornate crucifix. I crossed the room and ran my fingers along the rails of the board.

  “Like it?” Father Timothy’s voice nearly made me jump out of my Vans. “Shaped it myself.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Dang straight it’s perfect.” He handed me my drink. “I answer to a higher power. I’ve got a side business, kind of a hobby, shaping boards.” He pulled himself up to his full height. “‘Higher Shapes by Father Foam’ at your service.”

  This priest was crazy. I liked him immediately. Perhaps he wouldn’t think my troubles were so bad after all. I grinned. “Maybe we can paddle out together sometime.”

  “Maybe we can.” He gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat.” I settled myself on the couch and Father Timothy took the chair opposite. He took a sip of his drink, set it aside and placed his hands on his lap. “Now, what seems to be troubling you?”

  I cleared my throat. “I … don’t we have to start by me saying ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned’?” I had memorized the opening line to confession as a child, and that proclamation would be followed by, “It’s been eighteen years since my last confession, and these are my sins.”

  “You can if you want to, but we take a more leisurely approach these days.” He settled himself back in his chair. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s troubling you? God forgives everyone who comes to him with an open heart. Just think of me as a friend, and when we’re done, I’ll give you penance. As long as you’re truly sorry for what you’ve done, the Lord will forgive.”

  I rubbed my pant legs and glanced around nervously. “It’s just that I … Well, you see it’s like this … I don’t think I’ve made the people I love proud of me.”

  “Go on.”

  The back of my neck felt hot, my heart sped up and sweat broke out on my forehead. Was I really going to relive what haunted me?

  I scraped a hand through my hair refusing to make eye contact. “I’ve used a lot of women for sex.”

  “Okay.”

  I pressed my lips together and bounced my knee. I let out a huge exhale. “It’s like this.” I glanced at Father Timothy and looked away. “I’ve spent most of my life on the road and temptations are everywhere.”

  “Temptation is part of our earthly existence.”

  I flicked my gaze at the young father and then to the window. “But I never resisted them. I screwed … I mean I let my physical desires … I mean …” I allowed myself to meet Father Timothy’s clear eyes. I broke into a small smile. “It’s not only sex that’s messed up my life. I’ve beaten the sh— I mean, I’ve gotten in a lot of fights.”

  He folded his hands. “And why would you need to use your fists to solve problems?”

  A thickness filled my throat. “My dad taught me.”

  “To fight?”

  I tapped my foot, and my breath hitched.

  “I was close to my father when I was young. So close. He was the one who taught me to surf. He saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. My dad was a great surfer, even qualified for the pro tour, but he put that life aside to work hard making money for our family. All he cared about, Father, was that I had everything I needed.”

  Father Timothy’s face was serene. “H
e sounds like a wonderful man.”

  My hands rubbed my pant legs briskly, and I forced myself to stop and take another deep breath. “He was.”

  “Tell me about the fighting.”

  I raised my eyes and looked at Father Timothy through a curtain of dark hair. “I may look strong today, but it wasn’t always that way.” I pushed my hair out of my face. “I was the scrawny kid, the one all the bullies picked on. There was this one kid that would wait for me after school, knock my books out of my hands and beat the sh— … I mean beat me up.”

  “It’s okay, Dominick, you can talk to me like you normally would. God doesn’t persecute you for swearing.”

  I gave him a timid smile. “So my dad taught me how to fight back. Turns out I was good at it. I used fighting to solve every problem, and it’s cost me a lot.”

  “Lots of people get into squabbles.”

  “To the point of costing them their careers?”

  He crossed his legs. “Maybe you have taken it too far. But no matter what you’ve done, it will all be forgiven.”

  I stood up and paced the room, my fists clenching and unclenching. “Every time things haven’t gone my way, I’ve punched something or somebody.” I stopped pacing and looked at Father Timothy. “This last time was a little over a year ago. I was this close to winning the world title, and I blew it. Those final points that the judge denied me, they were mine!” Heat filled my body, and I was having trouble swallowing. “That judge didn’t know what the hell …” My fingers itched, and I wanted to punch a hole through one of Father Timothy’s precious framed pictures of Mother Mary as I remembered that day. “They denied me the title!” I collapsed on the sofa and placed my face in my hands. “I punched the judge so hard in the jaw that he ended up in the hospital.”

  I heard Father Timothy’s sharp intake of breath, and I allowed myself to meet his gaze. His eyes were wide as his eyebrows crept up his forehead. “You’re Dominick Cortes.”

  Hell yes, I was Dominick Cortes. One of the best surfers on the tour who never achieved the world title. And now it was over.

  He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter what’s happened in the past.” He performed the sign of the cross. “God forgives all those with pure hearts.”

  “But Father, I haven’t even told you the worst of it.”

  He made gentle shushing sounds. “Go on child; it’s okay.”

  I stood up, and my hand reflexively went to the crucifix around my neck that was no longer there. “I let my father down.”

  “Oh Dominick, I’m sure you haven’t—”

  “He’s dead!”

  All the pain of my father’s death came rushing back to me as tears leaked out of my eyes and my shoulders shook.

  I forced myself to take a few deep breaths and go on with my confession. I hauled myself back up onto the sofa, and Father Timothy handed me a tissue.

  My voice was a croak when I continued. “When my father was dying in the hospital, I couldn’t save him. I was only a teenager, what did I know about death and dying?”

  I inhaled and let out a ragged breath. “When he took his last breath, I decided I would never feel that pain again.” My fists clenched hard. “I knew how to make myself feel better.”

  I gave Father Timothy a small smile, and he encouraged me to go on. “After the white sheet was pulled over his head, I totally lost it. I smashed everything in sight. I picked up the tray of tasteless hospital food and hurled it against the wall.”

  My heart beat faster as the memories overtook me. “My mother and the doctors tried to stop me, but there was no way. I ran out of there and headed straight to the beach. I paddled out in double overhead waves taking off on the most dangerous surf, not caring if I lived or died.” I peeked up at Father Timothy. “I nearly drowned myself that day, and I know better.

  “I made a promise to my dad. Three days before he died, I made a vow that I would win the world title, that I would give him something in heaven to look down on, that his son would be the man he always wanted.”

  “I’m sure your father knows—”

  “He doesn’t! I fucked up! I ruined my chance to win the trophy, I’ve used my fists to solve problems, I knocked up some chick who left me behind to raise my kid, and I’ve screwed my way all over the world, not caring who I hurt.” I was breathing hard by then, my body on fire with the heat of my emotion, my vision clouded.

  Father Timothy reached out and placed a gentle hand on my knee. “Confession is good for the soul. You came to the right place. The hand of God is on your shoulder, and the light of Christ is filling your heart. The Holy Spirit within you is guiding you. All is forgiven. Your father is proud of you.” He clasped his hands in prayer gazing heavenward. “You can move on. God wants you to know that life is for the living.”

  The room became quiet except for the ticking of Father Timothy’s grandfather clock. I peeked up from behind a curtain of dark hair. “I took a vow of celibacy.”

  His face brightened. “Are you joining the seminary?”

  I chuckled. “Nothing like that. When I moved here last year, I decided to rein in my desires because they’ve brought me nothing but trouble.” I thought of Coco. Something about her had captured my attention and reawakened the raw sexuality I’d been trying to push down. “I met someone.”

  He clapped his hands together. “God loves a holy union between a man and a woman. Is she Catholic?”

  I smiled. I had no idea what her religious beliefs were. I regarded the Father. “I don’t know. We only just met.”

  “Well, this is good. You’re coming to terms with your emotions. Special relationships, if they’re approached with love and respect are one of the holiest of sacraments. Remember Noah and the ark. The world is healed two by two.”

  He smiled, and for the first time in a while, I thought maybe everything really would be okay. I let out a deep sigh and collapsed against the sofa, all the tension draining out of my body. “Thank you, Father.”

  He closed his eyes, and his lips moved in silent prayer. “I would like you to recite three Hail Marys.” He opened his eyes and gazed at me with intensity. “And bless yourself with holy water when you leave the church.” He graced me with the sign of the cross. “All is forgiven, my dear soul.” He grinned. “I’ll see you in the lineup.”

  Chapter Six

  Dominick

  After I performed my penance, I walked to Lola’s school, inhaling the bracing ocean breeze, feeling lighter.

  As I neared the building, I smiled, hearing the telltale raucous environment of school letting out. A stampede of kids yelled, screamed, whooped and galloped toward the exit. I stood at the chain link fence, scanning the crowd until I spotted Lola. Her head was down, her backpack a heavy weight. When she saw me, her face broke into a huge grin, and she sprinted, her long blond hair flowing behind.

  “Papai!” She raced past other kids, weaving her way around, nearly knocking one over. She threw her body against mine and hugged me so hard I thought she’d knock the wind out of me. She gazed up at me with a smile. “How was your day?”

  Becoming a father was the best thing I had ever done. At least I’d done something right and was trying to make a good life for Lola and me. “It’s much better now. Hey, you want to walk the beach on the way home? Maybe check out the waves?”

  “And surf?”

  I ruffled her hair. “Not until after homework.”

  She placed her hand in mine and my throat constricted with the emotion of how lucky I was to have this adorable young lady in my life.

  We walked the few blocks to the shore and kicked off our shoes. The air was crisp, a few wispy clouds hovering, a flock of pelicans forming a perfect V overhead. Lola shuffled her feet in the sand, her eyes downcast.

  I touched her arm. “What’s up meu amor?”

  She gazed at me, her brown eyes wide. “Daddy, what was my mom like?”

  Here we go again. Her mother was a chick I had knocked up when I was only twenty-two.
She was nineteen, a party girl who had no desire to raise a family. At one point I’d thought we’d get married and be a family. I knew we weren’t in love even though she had lied and told me she loved me, but I was trying to do right. When she realized family life wasn’t for her, she’d been happy to sign over parental rights to me, with a bit of coaxing from my mother. We didn’t keep in touch, and I had no idea where she lived, and I didn’t care. My mother had taken care of Lola while I toured. Lola and I had our own life now, one that included each other, our business and surfing.

  I stopped walking and placed my finger under her chin. “She was a sweet person, honey. She just wasn’t ready to take on the responsibility of a family. You and I make a good team, right?”

  She smiled through moist eyes. “Of course we do. I just wonder what it would be like to have a mommy sometimes. Mommies can help girls with things. Things like …”

  Was Lola having boy troubles already? She was only twelve, but that daughter of mine was prettier than she had a right to be with her long flowing hair, her athletic body and her charming demeanor. “What’s the matter?”

  She stared out at the ocean. “It’s just these cool kids in the other sixth-grade class. They’ve been making fun of me.”

  The hair on the back of my neck raised. “What kids? What have they been saying?”

  “They make fun of our business. They say it’s phony.”

  My body tensed. “How many of them are there?”

  “Three. They think they’re hot stuff and they …” She wiped a tear away.

  I grasped Lola’s hand and looked her in the eye. “They’re just jealous.” I pictured a crowd of catty girls who thought they could gang up on my Lola. “Kids can be so mean sometimes. I know what it’s like. Same thing happened to me.”

  “But you’re a boy. I’m just a girl. I yell at them and tell them to shut up, but they just laugh.” She glanced at me and then looked away. “The other day something happened.”

  I swallowed hard. “What happened?”

  “During recess, the leader pushed me and knocked me down. They all laughed and ran away.”