Dirty Game:A Secret Baby Sports Romance(9)

He had stolen so much from me that day. What was worse were the seeds of doubt he had sprouted in me about my family.

I knew exactly what he had tried to imply. That Aunt Lindy wasn't my  biological aunt. That the entire story of how I ended up on this island  was just that-a story-another ghost tale passed down to a scared child.

He stole my courage that day. I had never asked Aunt Lindy the truth. I  didn't want to know, even though in some deep crevice of my heart I did.  But it wasn't any of his damn business. He had no right to throw that  in my face, or undercut my aunt. All she had ever done was love me.

I sat at her table, surrounded by her things. All I could think about  was when she'd sat in the front row of church for the Christmas pageant.  How she'd stitched my fairy Halloween costume together by hand. She had  tried to teach me to bake and the art of making sun tea. She showed me  the best times to find sand dollars on the Cape and how to coax a hermit  crab out of its shell. During the summer, she helped me line the  bookshelf in my room with fireflies in Mason jars. We would always let  their sluggish bodies out in the morning.

I felt the well of tears.

Somewhere in this house I would find the answers. My history was here.

But it was never up to Roger Wyatt to hand me those answers. Never.

Things could have been so different if I hadn't left. If I hadn't been a scared little pregnant girl.

But that man had scared the hell out of me.

I put the mug down. Maybe it was time I paid him a visit.

I grabbed my bag and keys and drove toward Roger Wyatt's house.





12





Blake





I heard wheels crunching over the gravel and stepped out onto the porch  to see who was pulling up the drive. I had a hot cup of coffee in my  hands.

It was Sierra. I felt the jolt between my ribs.

She stepped from the car. "Good morning."

"How's your head?" I grinned. She looked fucking adorable. Her blond  hair fell over her shoulders. She was wearing cut off shorts, so short  that if she bent over I'd see my favorite slice of heaven. My dick  hardened instantly. She was a damn she-devil that one. All she had to do  was show up and instantly I wanted to kiss her until I had her stripped  bare. I wanted to kiss her lips, her tits, her sweet skin and her legs  all the way to that honey-soaked paradise.

"Are you staying here?" she asked. "Is this where you are for the summer?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

She looked confused. I saw her eye the boat barn.

"I actually wasn't expecting to see you. I came to talk to your dad, but  maybe another time would be better." She stepped back toward the driver  side.

"Hey, wait." I jogged down the stairs. She stopped. "That's going to be nearly impossible, darlin'."

"Why?"

"My dad died three months ago."

Her hand flew to her mouth. "What? I hadn't heard."

I shoved my hands in my front pockets. "Yeah. Heart attack while he was running the sander. Uncle Billy found him."

Her eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Blake. Really I am."

"Thanks."

We walked to the porch and sat on the top step.

"I can't believe I didn't know," she whispered.

"It's not like you're around here. How would you have known?"

"The news, maybe?" She looked at me and I saw the concern in her eyes. I  didn't want pity from her. I'd had my share of condolences.

"Happened during the draft. It didn't get any coverage. I wanted it that  way. I hate it when the press follows me. And they aren't welcome on  the island. I didn't need any damn reporters at the funeral. He wouldn't  have wanted that either."

"Right. I get that."

"It was simple." I didn't know why I started in on the details. "He  wanted a plain juniper box. He's in the family cemetery next to my mom."                       
       
           



       

Her eyes flashed with pain at the mention of my mother. I swore it was  like one minefield after another between us. We couldn't get away from  the explosives before another one was set off. And we did it too each  other, reminding the other of the pain from when she had left.

"God, your mom, Blake … " She hung her head. "I always liked her. She was always so sweet to me."

"Probably because she needed another girl around here," I joked, but I  didn't feel the lightness of it. My mom had loved Sierra. She had been  crushed when Sierra had taken off and then we'd gotten her diagnosis.

I cleared my throat. "You said you were here to see my dad?"

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "It was nothing."

"It had to be something for you to drive over this early."

She shook her head. "I wanted to know what he thought about some of Aunt Lindy's things. That's all."

"Like what?"

"I-uh-I don't want to bother you with it. I had no idea you were dealing  with all this." She brushed off her legs and stood from the porch.  "I'll take care of it. The beach charity van is going to be at the house  soon anyway."

"What are you doing with Lindy's house?" I asked.

I had struck a nerve. "Sell it I guess."

"You're going to sell it? That house had been in her family for a hundred years."

"I know how old it is. Do you have an issue with it?"

"It shouldn't go to an outsider. That's all I'm trying to fucking say," I barked.

"And just how do you categorize me?" she fumed.

"What are you talking about?"

"Me. Where do you think I fit in?"

"You're an islander, Sierra. At least you used to be."

"Yeah," she whispered. "Used to be."

She walked to the car. "I'm sorry about your dad. Really."

The ignition started and I watched as she rolled down the windows before backing out of the driveway.

I strolled over to her door. "Hey. What do you say we do something later?" I put my hand on the window edge.

"What? This again? I think last night proved we are a colossal disaster."

"No Long Island ice teas this time."

She chewed her lip. "I don't know."

"How about this? Let's go to the Cape for the day. It's hot. You  shouldn't be locked up inside cleaning up shit. Let's take the boat out.  Remind you that you really are an islander."

"But-the charity-"

I shrugged. "Leave them a note. I'll pick you up on the pier in an hour."

I saw the corners of her pink lips curl. Damn she was still gorgeous.

"Ok. I can do that. And I'll pack some sandwiches?"

I slapped the side of her car. "You better. I eat a lot. See you in an hour."

I watched as she backed all the way out of the drive and realized I  needed to get the cooler ready. I had a full day of drinking to do.





13





Sierra





I placed the open slices of bread on the cutting board and furiously spread mayonnaise and mustard over them.

I couldn't believe Roger Wyatt was dead. The man I blamed for ruining my  life wasn't here anymore. It was a lot to take in. What did that mean  for Blake? He was dealing with the death of his father. I had missed so  many events in his life.

I hurried to wrap the turkey sandwiches and tuck them inside plastic  sleeves. He would be here any minute. I couldn't think about Blake's dad  or the past. Today was all about the future.



I watched Blake anchor his boat on a secluded end of the bank where few  tourists visited. I wondered if he tried to stay away from potential  fans on purpose. I was constantly at odds trying to figure him out. He  had to be feeling that way too. Was that what this was? An attempt to  make me fall in love with the island again so I wouldn't sell the house?

Light bounced off the water and caught the glistening of a swimming  school of fish. Sometimes wild ponies could be spotted on top of the  dunes, playing a game of tag. I peered at the horizon, looking for the  horses.

It had been eight years since I had been to the Cape, but Aunt Lindy had  taught me well how to pack for a day at the beach. I'd never forgotten  her lessons. I had a cooler full of drinks, sandwiches, and suntan  lotion. Blake smiled as he loaded the cooler and other bags onto his  boat.

"You know I usually just bring a six-pack of beer and sometimes a bag of chips."

"I wanted to make sure we had everything we needed." Maybe three bags  were too many for a day trip, but I wasn't about to admit that to him.                       
       
           



       

When we anchored, he helped me spread the blanket on a stretch of beach a  few feet from where the waves were lapping against the shore.

I sprawled out on the blanket with a book while Blake started on a beer.  I kept reading the same page over and over again. I couldn't get past  the second paragraph. Every time I looked up at Blake, all I could focus  on were the endless amounts of chiseled muscles. There was something  mesmerizing about his bronze skin, and my imagination was taking over as  I watched him rub more lotion on his arms and chest.