All Your Loving (Bachelors & Bridesmaids) (19 page)

"And I'm grateful."

"I don't want your gratitude. I just want you to see me and not your father. I'm tired of being blamed for his sins."

She stared at him in shock. She'd never seen him so angry before. She wanted to defend herself, but how could she?

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Julie," he continued. "Before I met you, I always wondered if a woman was with me because of who I was or how much money I made. I was never really sure if they just wanted to date a baseball player or if they wanted to be with me. Have you ever had to worry about that?"

"No," she admitted.

"It's difficult to know who to trust or how much to reveal. A woman I went on one date with five years ago sold a fabricated story to a tabloid with a photo she'd taken of me in bed while I was asleep. How do you think that felt?"

"Like a terrible violation of your privacy. I'm sorry, Matt."

"I don't want you to apologize."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to say you'll give a relationship with me a chance."

"You're leaving tomorrow."

"I'm going to Arizona, not the moon. You could come down on a weekend. If not, I'll be back in six weeks. In the meantime we can talk and text."

"You'll be busy."

"Not every second. And when I come back to the city, I'll have more time."

"When you're traveling and playing at least five games a week? How much time could you have?"

"We can make it work, Julie. We just have to both want to do that." He met her gaze head on. "I guess that's really what it comes down to, doesn't it?"

"It would be so strange to come to your games, to sit in the stands with the family, with the wives. I've already done that whole routine. I don't think I could do it again."

"Julie, you need to be honest," he said forcefully.

"I am being honest," she protested. "I've always been up front with you."

"With me, yes, but what about yourself? From what I've seen and heard, you love the ballpark, and you love baseball. After your father left, you locked away the good memories with the bad, but that doesn't change the way you feel about the game." He paused. "You fixed the hitch in my swing. You can separate the past from the present, your father's action from the sport. I know you can do that. I think you're handing to those old feelings because they're safe and comfortable, but you've changed."

She had changed, and she was shocked he could read her so well. "Okay, even if that's true," she admitted. "There are a lot of other obstacles between us. My job is as important to me as yours is to you, so even if I want to watch you play, I won't always be able to. I won't go on the road with you. I won't put my life on hold to support yours."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that."

"Are you sure you wouldn't feel like I didn't care if I wasn't there?"

"I don't watch you work, Julie—well, except for tonight—so I wouldn't expect you to do the same. Sure, it would be great to have you there, especially for big games, but I don't see your job being a huge problem."

She hated that he was taking each of obstacle and smashing it into a million pieces, but she still had a big one left. "What about children? You said you didn't want any, Matt. You raised a family already. But I didn't. And I've wanted a family since mine broke apart, maybe not today or tomorrow, but definitely in the future. I cannot see myself without kids."

"We can talk about that, Julie."

"We're talking about it now."

"Then let me say my feelings are not set in stone. But all that can be worked out down the road. Right now I just want you to say you'll go out with me again." He gave her a warm smile. "That's not so hard, is it?"

She sighed. "I am a lot of work, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but I think you're worth it. I just don't want you to worry about everything this second."

"Asking me not to worry is like asking me not to breathe. And you worry, too. You worry about your game, your brothers and sisters and the choices they're making."

"That's true," he admitted. "I worry about the people I care about and that includes you. But I don't let the worry control my life. I don't shy away from something or someone because it's complicated or it's hard. The things worth having usually are hard. I think we could be great together. I've never told anyone that before, Julie. I'm willing to take a risk on us, but you have to be willing to take that risk, too. Can you do that?"

She really wanted to. "I like you, Matt, and I didn't expect to. Nor did I want to, because love can be painful."

"It can be painful. But you're not living if you're not getting hurt. And if you don't go for what you want, you'll never know if you can get it."

"I wish I was as brave as you are."

"You are brave and beautiful and amazing. I want you in my life."

"How can you be so sure?" she murmured.

"Because I know who I am, and I know who I want." He gave her a long look. "I'm going to go now. I want to see you again. I want to be with you. But you're up, Julie. I took my swings. It's your turn now."

* * *

On the plane to Arizona Sunday morning, Matt wondered if he shouldn't have tried to play a few more innings before handing Julie control of the game. But it was too late for second thoughts. The next move was hers. And he really hoped that move would include a call or a text or maybe even a surprise appearance at spring training.

Connie slipped into the vacant seat next to him. She and Gary were seated a few rows back.

She gave him a smile. "How's it going? I haven't had a chance to talk to you since the cook-off last night. You and Julie were burning up the dance floor when I left."

"I had a good time," he said. "You?"

"It was fun. I even enjoyed eating your scallops. Now that I know you can cook, I'm going to expect an invitation to your house for dinner."

"Deal. But I'm sure the hotel catering staff did a better job with the recipe than I did."

"So Gary told me not to ask, but I can't help myself, because you know I'm nosy and I really care about you. What's going on with you and Julie?"

He let out a sigh. "I don't know."

"You're falling for her, aren't you?"

He had the terrible feeling he'd already fallen. "It's complicated."

"Because of her father?"

"That's part of it. She doesn't trust ballplayers."

"But you're more than a ballplayer; you're you," Connie returned. "Julie needs to find a way to separate you from what you do for a living."

"Believe me, I've tried to get her to do that. But she's got a huge wall up, and I've been butting my head against it since we met."

"It sounds like you're giving up," she slowly. "That surprises me. You don't quit, Matt."

"Not usually," he agreed. "But the season is starting, and we both know the time commitment that's involved. Maybe if I'd had a few more weeks to solidify things…" Even as he said the words, he knew that a few more weeks probably wouldn't have mattered. He'd tried to show Julie who he was, but if she couldn't see him now without the ghost of her father in the way, then she probably never would. That thought was discouraging.

"I like Julie. I think she's good for you, because she doesn't think you're a god like everyone else. She's also strong and independent and you need a woman like that. I've never known you not to go after what you want, Matt."

"I've been doing that, Connie, but now I'm on my way to Arizona—and she's not."

"Did you invite her to come down?"

"I did, but I don't think she'll come." He paused. "I think you and I are both going to have to accept that Julie is not going to be part of my life."

Connie frowned. "I don't want to accept that."

He gave her a frustrated smile. "Neither do I, but it's probably the truth."

* * *

Julie got up late on Sunday morning. After Matt left her apartment, it had taken her hours to fall asleep. Finally around dawn, she'd fallen into a restless slumber, waking back up around ten. Now, padding around her apartment in her PJs, she made coffee and flipped on the television. She watched the news for a while, then hit the remote repeatedly trying to find something to take her mind off of Matt. In frustration, she finally shut off the television and sat back with a sigh.

Matt had put the ball in her court. He'd told her he wanted to see where their relationship could go, and a part of her wanted the same thing. But she was looking further down the road than Matt was, and all she could see was disaster coming.

Was she being too cautious or paranoid? The answer to both questions was probably yes, but she'd spent the past ten years of her life trying not to get hurt, and it was all because of her father.

Her gaze drifted to the envelope on the coffee table.

What the hell was she waiting for?

Before she could remind herself of how much her father had hurt her, she grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. A stack of dozen or more letters had been banded together. She opened the first letter, which was dated February 24
th
, twelve days after her father had asked for a divorce.

She remembered that February so well. Her mom had been planning a Valentine's Day surprise, a trip to Maui for a week. She'd wanted to make it a second honeymoon. But two days before Valentine's Day, her father had come home really late. He and her mother had gotten into a horrible fight. She could still remember lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the pain and anger in their voices. She'd heard her parents' door slam, and then her own door had opened.

She'd thought for sure it was her mom, but it was her dad.

He'd sat down on the edge of her bed, and said, "I'm sorry, honey, but things aren't going well with your mom and me. We've decided to get a divorce. I'm going to be leaving for a while, but I'll see you soon."

She had stared at him in shock. She'd had a million questions but she hadn't asked one. He'd kissed her on the forehead and left. It was the last real conversation they'd ever had.

Two sentences, she realized now, two lousy sentences.

He'd come by a week later, but she hadn't wanted to see him. By then she'd listened to her mom sob her heart out, and she was furious with her father for breaking her mom's heart and destroying their family. In dramatic sixteen-year-old fashion, she'd told him she hated him and never wanted to see him again.

Then he'd written her the infamous letter that she hadn't wanted to open, the letter that was now staring her in the face.

She slipped it out of the stack and finally slid her finger under the seal and pulled out a piece of notepaper.

With a deep breath, she started to read:

"I'm so sorry, Julie. I know I hurt you and your mom, and that you don't want to talk to me right now. That's okay. You need time. I just want you to know that I love you very much. I'm divorcing your mother, but I'm not divorcing you. You're my daughter. That's never going to change."

Her eyes blurred with tears at words she'd always wanted to hear but never had.

Maybe because she hadn't allowed herself to hear them, she realized now.

She picked up the next letter, which was postmarked a month later. He'd obviously sent the note from the road.

"Julie, sweetheart, I miss you so much. I've tried calling a few times, but your mother says you don't want to talk to me and I should give you your space. Call me or write me. Just let me know you're okay. I know you may not believe me, but I worry about you."

She drew in a breath, her chest heaving with the weight of emotion as she wrestled with her feelings. On one hand, he had reached out to her with letters. On the other hand, she couldn't remember him ever showing up at the house or at school. Had he really tried that hard to see her?

The next letter surprised her with an answer. It was postmarked in May, three months after her dad left.

"I came by the house today and your mom wouldn't let me in. She's so angry about the divorce that she's doing everything she can to keep me away from you. I have a feeling you're probably not even getting my letters. I stopped by your school today. I thought I'd catch your softball game. Even if you didn't want to see me, I wanted to see you, but your coach told me you quit the game. I think it was then I realized how much you must hate me, because you loved to play. Apologies are never going to be enough, are they?"

An angry tear dripped down her cheek. Of course an apology wasn't enough. Saying he was sorry for ruining her life wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make it all better.

But it was odd to think he'd gone to see her play softball. She set down the letter and picked up the next one.

There was a two-year jump in time.

This letter included a photograph of a baby. Her heart came to a pounding stop as she stared at the one-week-old girl.

"I thought you might want to meet your sister, Amanda. She looks a lot like you as a baby. I want you to meet her one day. I hope with time you'll let me back into your life and that you'll be a part of Amanda's life as well."