I Think I Love You (Australian Sports Star Series Book 3) (10 page)

Sarah decided to try not to think about tomorrow again, to simply take it one step after the other.

She turned into the small court she lived in and stopped in her tracks when she saw a police car in her driveway.

Sprinting the last few meters, all sorts of thoughts rushed through her mind.

Rachel. Her mother. The boys.

She nearly flew through the door with fear. Her gaze automatically tracked Rachel, who was standing in the hall, eyes red from tears, body shivering.

“What the hell is going on?”

Chapter Seven

After his jog along the beach the next morning, Markus sat down in front of Annie. With all the patience in the world, he unpacked breakfast from the café for his niece and nephew before he sat down and sipped his coffee.

“What about me?” she asked.

He slowly lifted his right shoulder. “What about you?”

“Breakfast.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Payback.”

Her brows shot up. “For what?”

“You know.”

Her expression told him she didn’t.

“You nagged me for days to call Saz. I finally do, she spills her guts, and you come in and interrupt.”

Annie tried to break off a piece of his croissant, but he slapped her hand straight away.

“Ouch. What did you do that for, Marco?”

“Mine.”

“So you two are good?”

He took another sip of his coffee before he said, “We’d be much better, if you had stopped talking once you noticed I was on the phone.” In one smooth movement, he stood. “I’ll get started with the packing. I want to get going soon.”

“Me va bene. I’ll get the kids organised and could be ready in an hour.”

“Bene.”

He walked down the hall to his room and started throwing his clothes into his bag. All he wanted was to get back to Melbourne. He loved the beach and he’d had a great couple of days with Annie and her kids, but it was time to get back to reality. Get things sorted, and as it seemed, life was back on track. After talking to Sarah, the decision about Sydney would be easier to make.

“Will you kick the footy with me until we leave?”

Markus turned. “Buddy, are you in trouble?”

His nephew shook his head vehemently. It was all the answer Markus needed. He heard his sister cursing at the other end of the house and a smile tugged at his lips.

“What’ve you done?”

“Nothin’,” his nephew answered.

“Yeah, right.” Markus grabbed his bag and the soccer ball. He could do with some distraction as well. “C’mon then, buddy.”

Henry hopped along the hall with so much excitement, he wasn’t able to stop when Annie came out of her room and bumped right into him.

With hands on hips, she stood in front of them.

Markus choked back a chuckle. “How bad is the damage?”

Annie didn’t look at him. “He knows he’s not allowed to kick the ball inside the house.”

“I’ll take him over to the beach. That’ll wear him out a bit.”

Slowly, her gaze met his. “And leave me with packing and cleaning up?”

He grinned. “It’s one or the other.” Holding up his bag, he said, “I’m ready.”

“You’re such an—”

His eyebrows shot up.

“Accidenti.”

He laughed. “So cursing in Italian is okay?”

“Just go. But take Ellie as well.”

“Mum, Ellie can’t kick the ball.”

“It’s either that, or help packing and cleaning up.”

Shoulders sagging, the boy took the ball and called for his sister.

Markus picked up his niece a few minutes later, smothered both of them with sun cream, and headed to the beach.

He placed a little bucket and a shovel in front of his niece and then tossed the soccer ball to Henry. Over the next half an hour he showed his nephew how to dribble the ball or showed off by bouncing the ball on his head, chest, or feet. Henry was in awe.

Ellie was less impressed and when she got restless the boys helped her with her small sandcastle before jumping into the waves.

They heard Annie’s shrill whistle. Markus looked around and saw his sister doing some awkward hand moves, which he assumed meant she’d finished packing up. It took him some convincing and bribery, but they headed back to the house and were on the road back to Melbourne twenty minutes later.

“What have you done to my kids?” Annie asked ten minutes into the drive. He didn’t miss the big grin on her face.

“Why?”

She laughed. “It usually takes at least the start of a video to get them into snooze-land.”

Looking into the rear view mirror, he shrugged. “Fresh air.”

“Thanks,” she said as she placed a hand on his arm. “I really appreciate it.”

He raised a brow. “Are we still talking about the kids?”

“Naturalmente.”

Annie switched on the radio, and they listened to music until he dropped them off. Miles came out of the house, and Henry and Ellie’s eyes flew open as soon as they heard their dad’s voice. Annie gave him a hug, whispered something into his ear, and when Miles placed a long kiss on her forehead, pulling his wife even closer, Markus assumed she’d told him her decision about Sydney.

A little envy crept up in him as he thought about returning to his empty home, but then remembered that Saz was supposed to come that night.

He hugged his niece, high-fived his nephew, and said his goodbye to Annie and Miles. Picking up some fish and chips on the way, he made it home within half an hour.

Markus noticed the small truck in front of his neighbour’s house. And as he turned into his driveway, he also noticed an unfamiliar car in front of his yard. A quick glance around told him that someone was moving in next door, which surprised him, because he hadn’t even known it’d been for sale. Good old Mrs. Gibson wasn’t all
that
old. A bit on the chit chatty side, but not gossiping, and she certainly made wonderful cakes and stews. He made a mental note to try to find out what had happened to her.

He parked the car, grabbed his bag, and threw it next to the back door before walking to the front to check on his mail.

A little boy came past running after his soccer ball. It was a natural reaction for Markus to stop the ball and return it to the little boy. He was a cute little thing with his curly dark hair, freckled nose, and brown eyes. And if the fact that he’d played with a soccer ball wasn’t enough to impress Markus, the boy also wore a Manchester United T-shirt.

“Hey, buddy.”

The boy looked up and his jaw dropped.

“Your ball,” Markus pointed out.

The little guy blinked a couple of times, grabbed the ball, and then stared at Markus.

“Are you okay?” Markus asked.

He nodded, and Markus started to feel awkward.

“Who’s your favourite Man-U player?” he asked the boy.

His face beamed and with his chest out a little farther, he replied, still shy though, “David Beckham.”

“He hasn’t played for Man-U for a while.”

“Doesn’t matter,” came the prompt reply. Markus wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but thought he heard a broad English accent in the two words.

Still staring at Markus, the boy tilted his head a little. “Are you…” He hesitated. “Are you Mark Dee-On?”

Markus smiled and crouched in front him. “Markus DeLeon?”

“Yes!”

“That would be me. And how do I come to the honour of you knowing who I am?”

“You played for our team in Leeds.”

“You’re from Leeds?”

The boy nodded.

As much as Markus wanted to ask so many more questions, like why he was here or what happened to Mrs. Gibson or—

He had to ask. “Where’s your mum and dad?”

“Mum’s right here,” a soft voice said behind him.

Markus stood quickly, turned, and…had to blink a couple of times. He looked into a pair of beautiful emerald coloured eyes. Mum? She didn’t look anything like her son. Except the cute freckles.

He held out his hand. “Markus. I wasn’t having an inappropriate conversation with your son, but obviously my curiosity took over when I heard his English accent and saw the T-shirt.”

She smiled as she took his hand. “That’s quite all right. Grandma told me that you’d lived in England for a while.
And
that you play soccer.”

“Mum, this is Mark Dee-On,” the little boy said with excitement.

She looked at him questioningly.

“Markus DeLeon. I used to play for Leeds for a while. As it seems—”

“Ahh. James loves soccer. His dad took him to a few games. I know nothing about soccer.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

He smiled and couldn’t take his eyes off her. And just as he was about to ask about Mrs. Gibson, she said, “Anyway, we’d better get the last little bits out of the truck before I have to return it. It was nice meeting you, Markus.”

“Nice meeting you—”

“Dakota.”

“And nice meeting you, James.”

“Will you show me some tricks one day?”

Markus winked. “Of course I will. Just knock at the door.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t like him to intrude.”

“Nah, not at all. I’d be happy to. I’ve got a little nephew his age.”

She gave him another one of her devastating and contagious smiles. “Thanks.”

Then she took her son by the hand and walked towards the house next door.

Markus watched them and even caught himself staring at her nice behind, all the while wondering about James’ dad.

An hour later, he’d eaten his fish and chips, which had been cold by then, showered, and started a load of washing.

The doorbell rang and with a look at his watch he assumed it to be Sarah. A little surprised by his excitement, he walked to the front door. During the last twenty-four hours he hadn’t been able to think of anybody else but Sarah. He recalled their phone call, what she’d said about Rachel moving in, and how she’d refused his help. But most of the time the words,
I’m scared that when you help we’ll inevitably go back to being friends without noticing
went back and forth in his head.

Except during the last hour.

The last hour, his head was occupied by one blonde, tall English woman.

He let out a long breath and opened the door.

As soon as he saw Sarah, though, he lifted one eyebrow. “Did you have a rough day or did you think coming here looking like a beaten up poodle would make you less attractive?”

It was obvious, something wasn’t right. She was here and although he wouldn’t class her as overly vain, he knew she liked to look attractive or at least respectable.

Today she looked neither. She wore her old track pants with holes and the Swiss soccer club T-shirt she’d bought years ago to piss him off. Not to mention the state of her uncombed hair or lack of make-up.

Sarah stared at her own feet. “I suppose a bit of both. But hey, poodles look cute in any state, right?”

“I thought you said you’d come straight after work?”

She wasn’t herself when she said, “Something came up.”

Laughing, he stepped back to let her in. “Wanna tell me about the
first part
that got you so—” He shrugged. “Out of sorts?”

When she finally met his gaze, he noticed her dark, almost black eyes, reflecting all her troubles. He wondered how long she’d be able to hold back her tears. Closing the distance between them, he reached out for her, but Sarah held up her hand.

“No hugs, please.”

He stood still, less because of her request, but because of the nature of it. “Baby?”

Letting out a big sigh, she turned and headed towards his lounge room. “May I have a nice cup of tea, Marky?”

He rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out what was going on.

The cup of tea had to wait.

He followed her and grabbed her arm to turn her around.

“Okay, I get it that the situation is awkward. I’m a bit tense as well, but you’re behaving like…like—” He shrugged.

When she turned towards him, he saw her wet, grief-stricken face with the first tears on her cheeks. Despite her initial protest, he pulled her into a hug.

He held her close and placed a kiss on her forehead, moving his hand up and down her back.

“The police came over last night and took Rachel to the station,” she mumbled against his chest. “It was awful. All these accusations and lies.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

She shook her head, but didn’t reply.

***

It was good to be held by familiar arms. To feel safe and secure. As much as Sarah wanted to let herself go and have Markus hold her hand through this, she knew better than to fall back into the old routine of him helping her. For once, she wanted to stand on her own two feet. For once, she wanted to get things sorted, fixed, and under control without his input.

But for the moment…for the moment, she simply enjoyed being held.

Old habits were hard to break.

“Babe?”

She looked up and still had no ready answer for him. How could she tell him that after twenty years of treating her like a sister, caring for her, looking after her, she wanted him to let go and let her clean up her own mess.