Opposites Attract

  it. “Don’t turn away from me now.” She thought of the child she had lost. “Please, don’t hate me for what I did.”

  He couldn’t understand, but he could feel. It seemed love for her justified anything. Crossing to her, Ty took the offered hand and brought it to his lips. “It’ll be better when we’ve talked this out. We need to start clean, Asher.”

  “Yes.” She closed her hand over their joined ones. “I want that too. Oh, Ty, I’m so sorry about the baby.” Her free arm wrapped around his waist as she dropped her head on his chest. The relief, she thought. The relief of at last being able to share it with him. “I couldn’t tell you before, when it happened. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how you’d feel.”

  “I don’t know either,” he answered.

  “I felt so guilty.” She shut her eyes tight. “When Jess showed me that picture of your nephew, I could almost see how the baby would have looked. I always knew he would have had your hair, your eyes.”

  “Mine?” For a moment nothing seemed to function. His mind, his heart, his lungs. Then, in a torrent, everything came together. “Mine?” Asher gave an involuntary cry as he crushed her fingers in his. Before she could speak he had her by the shoulders, digging into her flesh. His eyes alone brought her ice-cold terror. “The baby was mine?”

  Her mouth moved to form words, but nothing came out. Confusion and fear overtook her. But he’d already known, she thought desperately. No, no, he hadn’t. Eric’s baby, her mind flashed. He’d thought it was Eric’s baby.

  “Answer me, damn you!” He was shaking her now, violently. Limp as a rag doll, Asher made no protest and sought no defense. Both would have been futile. “Was it my baby? Was it mine?”

  She nodded, too numb to feel the pain.

  He wanted to strike her. Looking at her face, Ty could almost feel the sensation of his hand stinging against it. And he’d want to keep striking her until rage and grief could no longer be felt. Reading his thoughts in his eyes, Asher made no move to protect herself. For an instant his fingers tightened on her arms. With a violent oath he hurled her away. Hardly daring to breathe, she lay on the bed and waited.

  “You bitch. You had my child in you when you married him.” He flung the words at her, struggling not to use his fists. “Did he make you get rid of it when he found out? Or did you take care of it so you could play the lady without encumbrances?”

  She wasn’t aware that her breathing was ragged, or that she was trembling. Her mind was too numb to take in more than half of his words. All she understood was the fury of his feelings. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know I was pregnant when I married Eric.”

  “You had no right to keep this from me.” Towering over her, he reached down to yank her to her knees. “You had no right to make a decision like that when the child was mine!”

  “Ty—”

  “Shut up. Damn you!” He shoved her away, knowing neither of them was safe if they remained together. “There’s nothing you can say, nothing that could make me even want to look at you again.”

  He strode from the room without a second glance. The sound of the slamming door echoed over and over in Asher’s mind.

  Chapter 11

  Ty took the quarterfinals in straight sets. Most said he played the finest tennis in his career on that hazy September afternoon. Ty knew he wasn’t playing tennis. He was waging war. He’d gone onto the court full of vengeance and fury, almost pummeling his opponent with the ball. His swing was vicious, his aim deadly.

  The violence showed in his face, in the grim set of his mouth, in the eyes that were nearly black with emotion. It wasn’t the winning or losing that mattered to him, but the release of the physical aspect of the temper that he’d barely controlled the night before. When he struck, he struck brutally, always moving. The motion itself was a threat. He’d often been called a warrior, but the description had never been more true. As if scenting blood, he hounded his opponent, then ground him mercilessly into the ground.

  Ty’s only disappointment was that the match didn’t last longer. There hadn’t been enough time to sweat out all of his fury. He wondered if there would ever be enough time.

  In the stands there were differing reactions as he stalked off the courts.

  “Name of God, Ada, I’ve never seen the boy play better.” Martin Derick beamed like a new father. His voice was hoarse from cheering and cigarettes. A pile of butts lay crushed at his feet. “Did you see how he massacred that Italian?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh-ho, two matches more and our boy’s going to have a Grand Slam.” Martin squeezed Ada’s workworn hands between his two smooth ones. “Nothing’s going to stop him now!”

  In her quiet, steady way, Ada stared down at the court. She’d seen more than Ty’s victory. There’d been fury in her son’s eyes. Outrage, hurt. She recognized the combination too well. She’d seen it in a little boy who’d been teased because his father had deserted him. Then, he’d used his fists to compensate. Today, Ada mused, he’d used a racket. As Martin recounted every serve and smash, Ada sat silently and wondered what had put that look back in her son’s eyes.

  “Mom.” Jess leaned close so that her voice wouldn’t carry. “Something’s wrong with Ty, isn’t it?”

  “I’d say something’s very wrong with Ty.”

  Jess rubbed her cheek against Pete’s, wishing his powdery scent would calm her. Giggling, he squirmed out of her arms and dove toward his father. “Asher wasn’t in the stands today.”

  Ada lifted her eyes to her daughter’s. Jess had mentioned, perhaps too casually, that Ty was seeing Asher Wolfe again. Ada had hardly needed the information. Once she had heard Asher was competing again, she’d known what the results would be.

  The only time she had ever seen Ty truly devastated had been when Asher had married the polished British lord. His rage and threats had been expected. But they turned to a brooding that had concerned her a great deal more.

  “Yes, I noticed,” Ada replied. “Then, she’s got a match of her own.”

  “On the next court, and not for a half hour.” Jess cast another worried glance around at the people who filled the stands. “She should have been here.”

  “Since she wasn’t, there must be a reason.”

  A fresh tremor of unease ran up Jess’s back. “Mom, I’ve got to talk to you—alone. Can we go get a cup of coffee?”

  Without question, Ada rose. “You fellas keep Pete entertained,” she ordered, tousling her grandson’s hair. “Jess and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “You’re going to tell her?” Mac spoke softly as he touched his wife’s hand.

  “Yes. Yes, I need to.”

  Bouncing his son on his knee, he watched them melt into the crowd.

  After they had settled at a table, Ada waited for her daughter to begin. She knew Jess was marking time, ordering coffee, speculating on the chances of rain. Ada let her ramble. An orderly, even-tempered woman, she had learned the best way to deal with her emotional offspring was to ride out the storm. Eventually Jess stopped stirring her coffee and lifted her eyes to her mother’s.

  “Mom, do you remember when we were here three years ago?”

  How could she forget? Ada thought with a sigh. That was the year Ty had won the U.S. Open, then barely had time to savor it before the world had crumbled around his ears. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Asher left Ty and married Eric Wickerton.” When Ada remained silent, Jess lifted her coffee cup and drank as if to fortify herself. “It was my fault,” she blurted out.

  Ada took the time to taste her own coffee, deciding it wasn’t half bad for restaurant brew. “Your fault, Jess? How?”

  “I went to see her.” In quick jerks Jess began to shred her napkin. She’d thought it would be easier now that she had told Mac everything, but with her mother’s gaze steady and patient on hers, she felt like a child again. “I went to her hotel room when I knew Ty wouldn’t be there.” After pressing her lips together, she le
t the confession come out in a burst. “I told her Ty was tired of her. I told her he—he was bored.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t laugh in your face,” Ada commented.

  Quickly Jess shook her head. “I was convincing,” she went on. “Maybe because I was convinced it was the truth. And I—I was sympathetic.” Remembering how well she had played the role of reluctant messenger tore at her. “Oh, God, Mom, when I look back and remember the things I told her, how I said them . . .” Anguished, her eyes met her mother’s. “I told her Ty thought she and Eric were suited to each other. There was enough truth in that, but I turned it around to give her the impression that Ty was hoping Eric would take her off his hands. And I defended Ty, telling Asher he’d never want to hurt her, that he was really very concerned that she’d gotten in over her head. I—I made it seem as though Ty had asked my opinion on the best way to untangle himself from an affair he had no more interest in.”

  “Jess.” Ada stopped the movement of her nervous daughter’s hands with her own. “Why did you do such a thing?”

  “Ty wasn’t happy. I’d talked to him just the night before, and he was so down, so unsure of himself. I’d never seen Ty unsure of himself.” Her fingers began to move restlessly under her mother’s. “It seemed so clear to me that Asher was wrong for him, hurting him. I was convinced I had to save him from being hurt more.”

  Leaning back, Ada let her gaze drift. The West Side Tennis Club was respectfully dingy, very American. Perhaps that was why she’d always liked it. It was noisy. The Long Island Railroad ran alongside, competing with helicopters, planes and road traffic. Ada had never completely gotten used to the relative quiet of suburbia after a lifetime in the inner city. Now she sat back, absorbing the noise, trying to think of the right words. It occurred to her that parenting didn’t stop when children became adults. Perhaps it never stopped at all.

  “Ty loved Asher, Jess.”

  “I know.” Jess stared down at the shredded paper napkin. “I didn’t think he did. I thought if he’d loved her, he would have been happy. And if she had loved him, she would have . . . well, she would have acted like all the other women who hung around him.”

  “Do you think Ty would have loved her if she had been like all the other women?”

  Jess flushed, amazing herself and amusing her mother. It was a bit disconcerting to think of the tiny, white-haired Ada Starbuck, mother, grandmother, knowing about passion. “It wasn’t until after I met Mac that I realized love doesn’t always make you smile and glow,” Jess went on, keeping her eyes lowered. “There were times when I was miserable and confused over my feelings for Mac and I began to remember that last talk I had with Ty before I went to see Asher. I realized how alike Ty and I are, how the stronger our feelings are, the more moody we can become.”

  On a deep breath she met her mother’s gaze levelly. “I tried to rationalize that Asher wouldn’t have left Ty, that she wouldn’t have married Eric if she had really cared. And that if he had, Ty wouldn’t have let her go.”

  “Pride can be just as strong as love. The things you said to Asher made her feel unwanted, and betrayed, I imagine, that Ty would have spoken to you about it.”

  “If the situation had been reversed, I would have scratched her eyes out and told her to go to hell.”

  Ada’s laugh was a warm, young sound. “Yes, you would. Then you’d have gone to the man you loved and used your claws on him. Asher’s different.”

  “Yes.” Miserable, Jess pushed her untouched coffee aside. “Ty always said so. Mom, when they got back together, I was so guilty and frightened. Then I was relieved. And now, I can tell something’s gone wrong again.” As she had as a child, Jess gave her mother a long, pleading look. “What should I do?”

  Strange, Ada mused, that her children wanted to pamper her on one hand, thrusting dishwashers and fancy jewelry on her, while on the other, they still looked to her for all the answers. “You’ll have to talk to both of them,” Ada said briskly. “Then you’ll have to back off and let the two of them work it out. You might be able to heal what you did three years ago, but you can do nothing about what’s between them now.”

  “If they love each other—”

  “You made a decision for them once,” Ada pointed out. “Don’t make the same mistake again.”

  ***

  She hadn’t been able to sleep. She hadn’t been able to eat. Only the promise she had made to herself never to quit again forced Asher onto the court. Purposely she remained in the dressing room until the last moment to avoid the fans who wandered the walkways and mingled with players. It would take more effort than she could have summoned to smile and make small talk.

  When she came outside the humidity hit her like a fist. Shaking off the weakness, Asher went directly to her chair. She heard the applause, but didn’t acknowledge it. She couldn’t afford to. Even before she began, Asher knew her biggest problem would be concentration.

  Her arms ached, her whole body ached and she felt bone-deep exhausted. Pain was something she could ignore once the match was under way, but she wasn’t sure she could ignore the jellied weakness inside her, the feeling that someone had punched a yawning hole in the center of her life. Still wearing her warm-up jacket, she took a few experimental swings.

  “Asher.” Cursing the interruption, she glanced over at Chuck. Concern touched his eyes as he stepped toward her. “Hey, you don’t look good. Are you sick?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He studied the shadowed eyes and pale cheeks. “Like hell.”

  “If I come out on the court, I’m well enough to play,” she returned, exchanging one racket for another. “I’ve got to warm up.”

  Baffled, Chuck watched her stalk onto the court. It took only a moment of study to see that she wasn’t in top form. Chuck moved away to find Ty.

  He was in the showers, his eyes closed under the spray. He’d been curt and brief with the press and even briefer with his colleagues. He wasn’t in the mood for congratulations. Anger lay curled inside him, undiminished by the physical demands he had placed on himself. He needed more—a sparring match, a marathon run—anything to pump the poison out of his system. Though he heard Chuck call him, Ty remained silent and kept his eyes shut.

  “Ty, will you listen to me? Something’s wrong with Asher.”

  Taking his time, Ty stepped back so that the water beat on his chest. Slowly he opened his eyes. “So?”

  “So?” Astonished, Chuck gaped at him. “I said something’s wrong with Asher.”

  “I heard you.”

  “She looks sick,” Chuck continued, certain that Ty didn’t comprehend. “I just saw her. She shouldn’t be playing today. She looks awful.”

  Ty fought the instinctive need to go to her. He could remember vividly the scene the night before. With a flick of the wrist he shut off the shower. “Asher knows what she’s doing. She makes her own decisions.”

  Too stunned to be angry, Chuck stared at him. He’d never seen Ty look cold any more than he’d ever seen Asher look furious. Until today. “What the devil’s going on here?” he demanded. “I just told you your woman’s sick.”

  Ty felt the tightening in his belly and ignored it. “She’s not my woman.” Grabbing a towel, he secured it lightly around his waist.

  After dragging a hand through his hair, Chuck followed Ty into the locker room. He’d known since that morning when he and Ty had practiced together that something was wrong. Accustomed to his friend’s mercurial moods, he had dismissed it, assuming Ty and Asher had had a lover’s quarrel. But no lover’s quarrel would make Ty indifferent to Asher’s health.

  “Look, if you two have had a fight, that’s no reason—”

  “I said she’s not my woman.” Ty’s voice was deadly calm as he pulled on jeans.

  “Fine,” Chuck snapped. “Then if the field’s clear, I might just try my luck.” He was slammed back against the lockers, feet dangling as Ty grabbed his shirt in both hands, jerking him up. Coolly, Chuck lo
oked into the stormy eyes. “Not your woman, friend?” he said softly. “Tell that to somebody who doesn’t know you.”

  Breathing hard, Ty struggled against the need to strike back. The hours of violent tennis hadn’t drained the anger or the grief. Without a word he dropped Chuck to his feet, then snatched a shirt from his locker.

  “Are you going out there?” Chuck demanded. “Somebody should stop her before she makes whatever’s wrong with her worse. You know damn well she isn’t going to listen to me.”

  “Don’t push me.” Ty dragged the shirt over his head before he slammed the locker door. This time Chuck kept his silence. He heard the tremor in Ty’s voice and recognized that the emotion wasn’t anger. Only once before had he seen his friend this torn apart. It had been Asher then, as it was obviously Asher now. With warring loyalties, he reached out.

  “Okay, you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Clenching his fists, Ty fought to regain his control. “No, just go on out . . . keep an eye on her.”

  ***

  She was fighting, and losing. Asher had used almost all her reserve of energy to take the first set to a tie breaker. The ultimate loss had taken its emotional toll. Kingston was a crafty enough player to sense her opponent’s flagging stamina and capitalized on it. Precision was nothing without strength. Asher’s strength was ebbing quickly.

  The noise played havoc with her concentration. Already playing below par, she needed the sound of the ball hitting the racket. Engines drowned it out, denying her the sense of hearing. On the brittle grass the ball jumped, skidded and stopped. Top speed was necessary, and she didn’t have it.