Homestands (Chicago Wind #1) (24 page)

“Good riddance? Is that how you view people?” She gave a half-hearted laugh. “Everyone’s here to serve you, and when you tire of them, you throw them away.”

What did she know? “Get your facts straight, Meg. Brooke dumped me.”

Meg glared at him.

“And just so you know, I got a big dose of what I did to you. Hope that makes you feel better.” The clichés kept coming, but he couldn’t help himself. “You don’t have to say it—I’m sure it was what I deserved.”

“Must have been horrible then,” she snapped.

“The worst break-up I’ve been through. Happy?”

She stared at him. Then slowly she unfolded herself from the couch. Arms across her chest, chin up, she walked to the window, body straight as a pole.

Mike rolled his eyes. Warm and flirting one minute, cold and angry the next. What had her ticked off this time?

When she spoke, her hand muffled her words. “How many break-ups have you been through?”

“I don’t keep track. Do you?”

She faced him, her jaw tight. “I was your first girlfriend, Mike. And then your wife.
You
dumped
me
. Of course Brooke dumping you would be worse. Unless Brooke wasn’t the last woman. Was she?”

“Of course not. When did I say I never dated after Brooke?”

Her mouth shook.

“You thought I’d been alone for six years?”

“Like I have?”

In six years, she’d never dated?

“I’m curious, Mike. Have you even lived here alone?”

His chest ached. His throat burned. He couldn’t tell her. He forced himself to stand, his knees fighting him as if he’d aged suddenly. “Meg—”

She dashed into the kitchen.

“Meg!” Mike ran after her, holding his cast against his chest. He caught up with her halfway through the living room, grabbing her upper arm. She tried to pull free, but he held her close, cradling her against him. “Stop it!”

She did, every bit of fight leaving her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she lowered her head until he couldn’t see her face.

He hunched before her, hoping she would look at him.

She turned away.

He fought to keep his voice calm. “You can’t run off, Meg. What will you tell Terrell?”

“I don’t care anymore.” She wiped her eyes, but more tears flowed. She pushed at his hand, her fingertips damp. “Let me go.”

“Only if you sit down.”

“Why? There’s more?”

“No.” Nothing he wanted to relive. “I want to know why you’ve been alone.”

He loosened his grip, and she jerked away, crossed the room, and dropped onto the couch. Her eyes fell to her lap where she toyed with her fingers. “I just have,” she said at last.

“So in six years no one’s asked?”

She didn’t answer.

That’s what he thought. He seated himself across from her. “Why’d you say no?”

“Why would I say yes, Mike?”

Her words jabbed at his conscience. “You can’t judge every guy by me.”

She shrugged. “I learned I couldn’t judge a man at all. I never thought—” She shook her head. “I can’t risk that again. It was too…”

The damage he’d laughingly inflicted had cut deeper than he’d imagined. Mike saw himself sitting across from her in a conference room, tipping his chair back while their lawyers talked. Back then he’d almost laughed at the emotions playing across her face. The more he’d hurt her, the better.

He wished he could grab that Mike by the throat.

But he
was
that Mike. Just as Meg couldn’t separate him from the past, he couldn’t separate that Mike from himself. He rubbed the back of his neck. Meg was right. How could she trust him? Why should she?

“No answer? No excuse?” She spoke without looking up. “You actually surprise me.”

“Do you know how many times I thought about looking for you but were sure you’d be married?”

“I thought you did look for me.”

How many feet could he put in his mouth? “I asked around.”

“Around?”

“The other guys’ wives, girlfriends, people I thought you’d keep in touch with. When no one knew where you were… I figured nothing I could say would bring you back.”

“What about people in Dixon?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t want to face your parents.”

Her gaze returned to her lap. Her shoulders slumped.

She couldn’t have looked any more defeated when she’d buried her mom and dad.

“Meg, I can’t explain the way I acted.” He prayed she’d have mercy and listen. “I was horrible to you. I was wrong, and every day I live with my guilt. Nothing I do makes it go away.”

She wiped more tears, gaze never leaving her lap.

Was there no end to the mess he’d started? His nose tingled, and he rubbed his eyes, forcing his emotion inside. “More than anything, Meg, I want to make up for what I did.”

He waited.

Nothing.

“I’ve tried everything I know of to show you I’m different. I need you, Meg. I’ve known that for years. I’ve tried to move past you, but I can’t.”

She sniffed. “How did you find me? After that day at the stadium? How did you find me so fast?”

She wasn’t listening. And she knew so little. What would happen if she knew it all?

He forced himself to his feet, one foot moving ahead of the other until he reached the kitchen. His wallet lay on the island, and he picked it up and pulled her business card from it, pausing to read the words across the back.
She’s incredible. You’ll love her.
He tossed the wallet onto the countertop and retraced his steps to the living room.

He had loved her. He
did
love her.

Now he’d killed any love she’d had for him.

He handed her the card, then crossed to the recliner and sat. He propped his ankle on his knee and toyed with the sole of his sandal, willing himself to stay together.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a friend.”

“Who?”

He gave the name immediately, hoping she wouldn’t guess at the relationship. “Sara Rolen.”

She flipped the card and read the handwriting on the back.

“If I’d never seen you at the stadium, that card would have led me to you eventually.”

She ignored his words. “Your friend Sara hasn’t been gone that long, has she?”

He dropped his head into his hand. What was the use? He’d charmed her before, but Meg wasn’t sixteen anymore. She didn’t need him—just when he’d realized how very much he needed her.

Wasn’t there some way he could open himself up so she could see?

“I’m sorry, Meg.” He stared through the coffee table at the white carpet below. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am.”

On Sunday, Meg stood outside Clark’s Sunday school classroom, almost oblivious to kids running past her and adults greeting each other.

Mike sat inside the room. For the moment he was alone, head bent over the morning’s handout. Last week, with his parents in town, he’d only come for the worship service. But here he was again, and people would expect her to sit beside him, all smiles and goodness.

After what she’d learned, how could she?

The realization that Mike had not truly looked for her stung. There’d been no money sacrificed to find the wife he’d thrown away, no pride set aside. He’d moved on—with other women.

And she’d talked to one of them. Liked her, even. Just before Valentine’s Day, Sara Rolen had called. She’d asked about Meg’s decorating strengths and philosophy, and they’d talked for thirty minutes. Meg had actually
enjoyed
the conversation. Sara had seemed to enjoy it too.

As much as Thursday’s revelation hurt, Meg was better for it. She had a clear idea now of the life Mike had lived, and while she acknowledged her part in the failed marriage, she still placed the brunt of the blame on him. She might have driven him away, but he’d been too eager to go.

And so the fault fell to him.

Today marked Mike’s fifth time in church in four weeks, easily a decade-best, despite the off-season when three Texas teammates, Adam included, got married. Mike sipped home-style orange juice while the classroom filled. He’d first attended to make sure Meg hadn’t fallen into a cult. Instead, the things he’d heard left him thinking.

Did he believe in God? Of course. Mom and Dad had taken him to church often enough to establish that, but he’d never seen God have an impact on how people lived like he saw in Clark and Jill. Even Meg. It only made sense, though. If God were real, shouldn’t he have an effect on the people who believed in him? And wouldn’t that mean there were guidelines to live by?

All he knew was that the way he’d lived these last ten years had not brought him peace. With baseball success came a never-ending, nightmarish pressure to keep performing, to stay ahead of every upcoming centerfielder in the team’s system. The pay provided luxuries, but more than one relationship had been based on his wealth.

Everything he’d dreamed of in high school and the minors failed to create the satisfaction he’d expected. The money, the endorsements, his homes, his cars, the fame—how could so much feel so little?

He rolled up the handout and smacked his palm with it.

Then there was Meg, whom he couldn’t seem to fix anything with. She’d withdrawn after their argument, as timid as if he’d struck her and she could not believe it.

He closed his eyes, shocked at his comparison. Was he any better than his sister’s ex?

He ran his hand through his hair. Meg had barely spoken to him over the weekend. Whenever she’d caught him watching her, she’d busied herself with something else or gone into another room. More than once he’d walked into her kitchen to find her standing before the bank of windows, arms wrapped around herself, staring in the direction of the Ashburns’ backyard.

What was she thinking about?

During each relationship after Brooke, Mike had not considered himself betraying Meg again, but evidently she did. She acted as if he’d left her not once but—

A heavy sigh came from the aisle.

He looked up to see Meg.

“Morning,” she said.

Had she dropped the
good
to keep from lying?

Her green eyes sat heavy in her face as if she wasn’t sleeping. She nodded at the empty seat beside him. “May I sit here?”

“Sure.” He fumbled for his Bible and slid over.

She seated herself and crossed her legs, arranging the folds in her dress.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t even come to see her, not today. But it was nice to sit beside her, even if she was ignoring him. He leaned closer, her perfume filling his senses. “Meg, you don’t have to sit with me if you don’t want to.”

She spoke to hands folded in her lap. “People would ask why.”

And she didn’t want to explain.

Fine. As long as she sat beside him, he’d enjoy it. She looked great. Her honey-blonde hair curled across her shoulders and down her back. And her reddish-pinkish dress—no, Meg would come up with some unique name for it. He pursed his lips. She’d call it raspberry or something like that. Whatever it was, the color brought out the pink in her skin and left her looking soft and feminine. He clasped his hands together, remembering how good it used to feel to put his arm around her and tell people she was his wife.

He cleared his throat.

Her gaze flicked toward him and then away as the class started.

After a short prayer, Clark began with a Bible reference he asked everyone to look up.

Mike flipped pages, annoyed with the crackling of his new Bible. And with his slowness in finding the reference.

A man in the back read the verse, and Mike gave up looking. Showoff. He’d have found it himself. Eventually.

“Let’s review last week’s lesson,” Clark said from his stool behind a small podium. “What did we say meekness was? Being a wimp?”

The class remained silent.

“No. Let’s take Mike for example.”

Mike jerked his head up from somewhere in Isaiah.

“I think we all know what Mike does for a living.” Clark sent him a smile as the class chuckled. “If Mike had walked into church this morning wearing his uniform with a glove tucked under his arm and an award or two in his hands, we could say he was not exhibiting meekness. Why? Because he would be flaunting his success as a baseball player. And that’s a very modern way to define meekness—if you’ve got it,
don’t
flaunt it.” Clark’s gaze swept the room. “We defined meekness as a spirit not occupied with itself but fully committed and subordinate to Christ.”

Why wouldn’t he flaunt what he had? Mike glanced at Meg who wrote the definition on her handout. Of course, look what had happened when he’d shown off his house.

Clark asked the class to turn to another verse, and Mike fumbled through the pages before giving up and searching the Table of Contents for Colossians. Maybe there
was
something to being able to recite the books of the Bible in order.

Not that he’d admit that to Meg.

Clark moved to love, the day’s topic, but it was not what Mike expected. Instead Clark talked about different types of love. “Agape love is a love that comes from your head,” Clark said, writing the foreign word on the white board. “Sometimes it goes counter to your emotions. You may not feel like it, but you love anyway. It’s a choice. In fact, this is the way a husband is told to love his wife. He makes that conscious decision to do it, no matter how he feels.”