Taming the Legend (7 page)

“You don’t have to say anything. I know it’s a lot to take in.” She rubbed her palms against her thighs, as if she were nervous. “For years after the letters came back, I hated you. I thought for sure you were the one
who sent them. That it was your way of telling me to stay the fuck out of your life because you’d really only wanted one thing, just like the others. It hurt like you could never imagine.”

Jesus. She’d always been blunt. It was a quality that had attracted him to her in the first place. But now her bluntness eviscerated him.

“I tried to write to you a few years ago. I’d been in a bad
car accident and decided I needed to make peace with people who’d hurt me and people I’d hurt. I wanted to tell you I’d forgiven you. But I realized I hadn’t.”

He dug his fingertips into the corners of his eyes, but it didn’t stop the throbbing. “When did you realize I had no idea?”

“I knew something was wrong when you saw me at the hotel bar last night. You looked pleasantly surprised—not
guilty or awkward, the way I imagined you would be if you’d sent them, unless you’re a sociopath, which I don’t think you are.”

Definitely not, judging by the sharp pain radiating out from the middle of his chest.

“Do you have any idea who sent them back?”

He looked at the envelope in his hand, remembering his early days playing for the first team at their old stadium. “My dad managed
my career till I was twenty-two. He took care of all my contracts, my admin like fan mail. He pushed me hard. No harder than I wanted to be pushed, but I always knew he expected great things from me. My career became his life. That other envelope—the one you showed me on the Tube—it was his handwriting. But I don’t want to believe he could do this.”

“Do you think you’ll ask him about it?”

“Yeah. I have to figure out how, though. He had a stroke last year.” He laid his head back against the wall.

“I’m sorry. How bad is he?”

He glanced at her quickly, trying to judge how truthful she was about being sorry. But he didn’t see a single trace of triumph or comeuppance, only genuine concern. “He’s surviving. You can tell from looking at him that he’s had a stroke. His right
side’s droopy and pretty useless. Speaking’s difficult for him, and so is controlling his emotions. He was always really intense, really driven, but now he has mood swings and gets angry easily. I have to figure out a way to talk to him about this without it causing problems between him and my mum.”

“You don’t think she knows?”

“God no. She’s always been on at me about having a life
outside of rugby. Starting a family and all that. No. She’ll be heartbroken. And furious with Dad, which is a problem because she’s his main carer.” Damn it. Retirement was supposed to be his time to unwind and start a fresh new life. Instead he was discovering how much his career had cost the people he cared about—Camila most of all. He could hardly bring himself to ask the question, but he needed
to know. “When you were pregnant, what did you hope would happen?”

She leaned back against the wall next to him, her shoulder brushing his. “I pictured all sorts of things. At first I saw us getting married and me moving to London so we could be a family. I saw myself hopping on a big red bus with our baby in one of those old-fashioned prams. Or walking down the street singing with our little
girl dressed like the one in
Mary Poppins.
That was all I knew about London, you know.”

He smiled at the image and squeezed his hand into a fist to keep from wrapping her up in his embrace. “In this fantasy, was I a pavement artist with the world’s worst Cockney accent?”

“No, a rugby player. But, like I said before, I couldn’t picture what that meant, so I mostly imagined you coming
home all bruised and sore and me giving you massages to make you feel better.”

His chuckle got caught in the back of his throat, sounding suspiciously like a suppressed sob. “Bruised and sore sounds about right. But I think you would’ve got frustrated with me fairly quickly. I lived, ate, breathed and slept rugby.”

“And now?”

“God only knows.” He blew out a breath. She sat so close
it ruffled a few strands of her hair, yet her whole bearing made her feel as distant as if she sat in the stands across the pitch from them. “I guess once I get back from California I’ll have to figure that out.”

She jerked back and stared at him. “You’ll do it?”

“Of course I will. It’s the least I could do, Mila.”

Tears welled in her eyes, making him feel angry and impotent all
at once. “Thank you.”

“Please don’t. I’ve done nothing to deserve your thanks.”

She didn’t deny it. They sat like that a long time, next to each other but all alone. So close her body warmed his side, yet separated by a chasm of experience. His career had given him the most incredible opportunities, but it had taken him away from her at the time she’d needed him most.

And he’d needed
her too. He hadn’t been kidding about the pillow. After nearly two weeks of cuddling with her every night, going back to the lonely sheets in his childhood bedroom had turned him into a temporary insomniac. His arms had felt empty, his bed cold. He’d thrown all his unspent passion into his career, but the feeling of missing something had nagged him for a long time.

She swiped at the tears
on her cheeks, smearing makeup across them. The skin under her eyes had gone all dark and puffy.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

And she’d had his baby, all on her own, without him there to coach her through or help her cope with the pain. Without him even knowing she was on the opposite side of the world in agony because of him.

“Who was with you when you were in
labor?”

“My brother.”

He grimaced, suddenly hit with an unwelcome image of his own sister in stirrups. “Ugh. Poor bloke.”

She laughed softly. “He didn’t look. He sat next to my shoulder with the chair facing the wall so he could only see my face. But I ended up having an emergency C-section, and he glanced around the curtain at the wrong time. He was trying to act all manly, like
he could totally handle it, and then all of a sudden he fainted. Oddly enough, he became an Air Force pararescue jumper, so he’s really good at helping bloody people survive desperate situations.”

“Yeah, but you’re his sister. Different thing completely. I can’t even—” He shuddered. “This was your twin brother or one of the older ones?”

“My twin. Gabriel.”

“Where was your mum?”

“She’d planned to be there, but my grandma developed pneumonia and Mom had to go back to Montana and take care of her for a week. It was a few weeks before I was due, so we didn’t think it would be a problem, but I went into labor early.”

All the little details of a life he’d known nothing about. “You must’ve been terrified.”

She didn’t answer, her silence telling him more than he’d
asked for. What had he wanted, anyway? For her to assure him that she’d been fine? Hardly suffered?

“I know it’s not a fair question, Ash, but what do you think you would’ve done?”

“If I’d received your letters?”

She nodded and her hair brushed his shoulder.

“I would’ve tried to give you your fantasy—the old-fashioned pram and a supercalifragilistic life. But you would’ve found
yourself far from home, married to a man who was married to his career. I would’ve tried, Camila, but not my hardest. I’ve always saved that for the pitch.”

The admission raised a wall between them, just as he’d known it would. But she’d been so honest with him; he’d felt he owed her the same. She stood up and hid her hands in her pockets, her shoulders hunching slightly. “You know what?
I’m exhausted. Jet lag, crying. I don’t think I’m up for any more sightseeing today.”

“Want to go back to the hotel?”

She nodded so he stood too. “Let me grab my things and I’ll call us a minicab.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I’m not letting you go on your own. Come on. I’ll show you to the ladies’. You might want to check your makeup before we go.”

She grimaced. “That bad?”

“It kinda looks like someone beat the shit out of you, and I don’t want to end up in any tabloids.”

She half smiled. “You’re such a charmer.”

“Some things never change.” They really didn’t. He’d left her in Barcelona so he could get to preseason training. And now, instead of giving her the comfort she needed, he admitted he would’ve let her down. If his imagination failed to give
her what she needed, how could he give it to her in reality?

He put the picture back in its envelope and showed her to the loo so she could remove as much of the raccoon mask as possible. While she was in there, he called a minicab, packed the picture Camila had given him and his few remaining belongings into the duffel bag he’d brought, and said one last quiet goodbye to the stadium that
felt more like home than home. He couldn’t imagine his life without his club—but he would have to start trying.

When Camila came out, he shouldered his duffel, wishing she didn’t look so skittish and uncertain, as if she were scared he would pounce. He desperately wanted to hold her, but her body language shouted her disapproval of that idea. So he kept his movements impersonal and gestured
toward the door. “There’s a minicab waiting outside.”

Once they’d buckled up, she stared silently out the window as the city passed by, and he gave her her privacy and space.

When the cab pulled up outside their hotel, Camila reached for her purse but Ash stayed her hand, allowing himself that much contact if nothing more. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Ash, I can—”

“So can I. Let
me.”

She hesitated but gave in. “Thank you. I’m sorry for falling apart.”

“I guess I’m sorry for not falling apart.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “One thing I’ve learned from all the counselors I work with—I shouldn’t judge people for reacting differently than I do to intense situations.” She climbed out while Ash paid the driver, and then he walked with her into the lobby. “When
can you come to L.A.?”

“When do you need me there?”

“The kids arrive on Friday, so as soon as possible.”

Today was Sunday. She was flying out tomorrow, but he had some things to wrap up first. “I’ll do my best to get there by Wednesday. That okay?”

“Perfect.” She fumbled with her bag for a second before pulling out a business card. “Here’s my contact info. Let me know when
you’ve booked your flights.”

He took it. “I will.”

Backing up toward the lifts, she swung her hands as if she were nervous. “It means a lot to me. Everything today, I mean. Really.”

Don’t go.
The same thought had plagued him as he’d boarded the plane in Barcelona. But, just like then, circumstances wouldn’t allow him to stay. He had to go see his parents, figure out what the fuck
was going on. “It means a lot to me too, Mila. Thank you for telling me.”

She pressed her lips to the side and gave him a quick nod, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. “See you later this week.”

Wednesday was too far away. On impulse, he said, “Have dinner with me tonight. We’re both still staying here. We can catch up some more.”

She hesitated. “I… I kinda feel I need to
be alone with my thoughts for a while.”

Disappointment ate at him, though he understood completely so he swallowed it. It formed a hard, painful ball in his gut. “Till L.A., then.”

She rubbed at her chin with one finger, giving him an uncharacteristically uncertain look. “Maybe you could drop by later, and we’ll see how we both feel.”

Triumph.
“I’ll do that. Have a rest. I’ll see
you later.”

“See you later.” She turned and walked to the lifts. He caught her sneaking a glance at him as she waited.

I could’ve been a dad.

For some reason, that revelation didn’t strike as discordant a chord as the one that hit him next.

I could’ve been a husband.

Chapter Six

“Mum?” Ash stepped through the front door of his childhood home and closed it behind him.

“In the conservatory.” His mum’s voice rang out from the back of the house. He walked down the hall past the two reception rooms, through the kitchen to the conservatory he’d had built for them this year. Their garden backed onto the Thames—a wilder, prettier part of the river
than the tamed curves that ran through town—but whoever had built this house in the nineteen thirties had only put a few small windows in the back, blocking most of the view. Now the glass room gave his mum somewhere peaceful to unwind with a glass of wine—or four—at the end of the day. Not that the day had reached its end yet. The grandfather clock in the main reception room rang out three times.

He stepped into the room to find two of his mum’s longtime friends seated in the mismatched armchairs and settees that his mum had told him were “Boho chic.”

“Ladies.” He gave them his most charming grin, the one he reserved for situations like this. They both returned it.

“Ash! How lovely to see you, darling,” said his mum’s best friend, Christine. “Congratulations on your retirement.
Feels splendid, doesn’t it? You can take up golf now.”

“Why would I take up golf?” He helped himself to one of the fat scones on the tea trolley. He could do that, now he was retired.

Christine gave an elegant shrug. “It’s what one does after one retires.”

“I suppose I’ll have to give it a go, then.” He bit into the scone and practically melted. “Oh. Oh, God.”

“Bloody amazing,
aren’t they, love?” His mum poured him a cup of tea. “Even better with clotted cream and strawberry jam. Have a seat. I was just telling the ladies about my plan to marry you off.”

He rolled his eyes but obeyed her order to sit. “This isn’t the one where you offer some poor Ukrainian girl a visa and a wad of dosh to spend her life tidying up after me, is it?”

“No, no. This one’s better.”
She turned to her friends. “Anyway, as I was saying, Ashley’s been single for
far
too long.”

“I don’t know that you need to emphasize the word
far
that way. Okay, I’ve been single awhile, but—”

“Far,
far
too long. And all he does is spend time with the lads at the rugby club.”

“Well,” Fiona said, “I would too, given the chance.” She put down her bone china teacup hand-painted with
butterflies and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve always wondered what you get up to in there.”

He leaned forward too and dropped his voice. “It’s even wilder than you could imagine, Fiona.”

“Oh, I doubt that. My imagination’s quite vivid.”

She giggled and hiccupped, and he looked at each of the women in turn. Pink-cheeked and a bit glassy eyed, every single one. He glanced
down at his tea. It had a strange, streaky hue. Hesitant, he took a sip and immediately spat it back into the cup. “What the—Mum, what
is
this?”

She tried her best to look innocent. “We were out of milk, so I used Bailey’s.”

He gagged. “That’s revolting.”

The women apparently didn’t think so, as they burst out into snorts of laughter.

“How much have you had?”

“This is
our second.”

“Your second cup of tea and Bailey’s?” he asked, aghast. It tasted vile.

“No, love. Our second bottle.” That admission sent them reeling, falling across each other as they laughed at their own drunkenness.

He shook his head in mock censure. “What a bunch of pissheads. No wonder I’ve always been such a good boy. I had to rebel somehow.”

Except he hadn’t always been
a good boy. He’d never considered his affair with Camila to be wrong in any way—they’d both been of age and eager for each other—but he’d still ended up hurting her deeply. He set his teacup and saucer on the coffee table in front of him. He’d wanted to ask his mum if she remembered any letters arriving for him the last few weeks he’d lived at home, but now clearly wasn’t the time. “Mum, I just
dropped by to let you know I’m going to California for a while.”

She sobered immediately, an incredible party trick. “How long’s a while?”

“About a month.” Maybe longer. Who knew? He couldn’t imagine any sort of career for him there, but he wanted to stay open to the possibilities.

“Where in California?” Christine asked. “I’ve got a cousin in San Francisco.”

“Los Angeles… I
think.” He didn’t remember if Camila had specified. Wasn’t there something about a lake? Did L.A. have lakes?

“Please tell me you’re going there for a woman.” His mum’s voice sounded painfully hopeful. She couldn’t even pass it off as a long-running joke about his being single. She really was desperate for him to find someone and start giving her grandbabies to cuddle, since his sister had
moved hers to Cape Town.

How sickened would she feel to learn she had an American granddaughter she would never meet? He couldn’t tell her. The news would gut her. “It’s for a rugby camp. I’ll be coaching some kids.”

She blinked away tears and turned to her friends. “Ashley’s
wonderful
with children.”

Aaaand here was the crying-jag portion of the drinking session. He stood, even
more desperate than usual to cut off her talk of him having children. “I’m going now.”

“To California?”

“Well, no. Back to my hotel. I still need to book flights. How’s Dad, by the way?” Normally it would’ve been his first question, but if his mum had friends over, his dad was probably sleeping. Besides, his mum deserved time off, even time off of being reminded that her retirement would
be spent as a full-time carer for her husband.

“He’s fine. He had one of his episodes this morning, but he’s sleeping well now.”

His episodes occasionally involved manhandling Ash’s mum, something that would’ve been unthinkable before the stroke. Tension gathered between Ash’s shoulder blades, and the little bit of Bailey’s he’d accidentally swallowed soured in his gut. “Can I talk to
you in the kitchen a sec?”

“Sure.”

He bade the ladies a good evening and followed his mum into the kitchen. “Are you going to be all right if I go away?”

“Of course.” She straightened one of the dish towels hanging next to the sink.

“I might believe you if you looked me in the eyes and said it.”

She sighed and turned to meet his gaze. “We’ll be fine.”

“I wasn’t asking
about the two of you.
You’re
the one I’m worried about.”

She leaned back against the sink and slid her hands into her pockets. “It’s only a month. And it’s not like we see you more than twice a month now.”

Hot guilt twisted in his gut. “When I come back, I’ll visit more. I promise.”

“That would be lovely, but it’s not what I meant. It’s not your job to look after us. Not yet, anyway.
I can handle your dad on my own.”

“Can you? Show me your arms.”

She balked.

“I’m serious. I want to see them.” A few months after his dad had come home from rehab, Ash had seen him grab Lydia and shove her into a wall. When Lydia had admitted it wasn’t the first time, Ash had threatened to send him back to rehab unless he could behave himself. As far as he knew, his dad had managed
to control those impulses since then—but Ash also knew his mum wasn’t always honest with him. “I can’t go unless I know you’re going to be okay.”

She let out an annoyed breath and pushed back her sleeves, thrusting her arms forward for his inspection. Unbruised. “Happy?”

“Probably not the right word, given the situation. But I’m satisfied. Does Christine know he’s been violent with you?”

“Yes. We’ve talked about it a few times.”

“Good.” He would call Christine tomorrow and make sure she knew what to do if it happened again. “I feel bad leaving you like this.”

“You know what would make it all right? Go over there and bring back a lovely girl who’s ready to make me some grandbabies. But make sure you bring her back here. I can’t stand the thought of both my babies
living on the other side of the world.”

He shoved a hand into his hair. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Thirty hours of labor.”

“Yeah, yeah. And thirty-six years of paying for it.” He slung his arm around her shoulder. “What if I promise to do my best?”

She perked up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh, love. That would make me so happy. Go out and meet people—people with
vaginas.”

He dropped his arm and spun around. “Fucking hell, where’s the Bailey’s?”

The floorboards creaked upstairs, and he went up before his dad could come down. In his parents’ room, he found his dad walking out of the toilet, staring down at his zip as he tried to pull it up with his left hand. His right hung limply at his side. Never taking his attention from his zip, Mike clearly
mistook Ash for his mum because he grumbled from the left side of his mouth, “I can’t get this damned thing up. Help me, Lyd.”

Ash stepped forward, and his dad jerked back in shock. “Jesus. Warn a man.”

“Sorry, Dad.” He gestured toward his dad’s zip. “Want—”

“Fuck no.” Mike struggled a few more times before the zip finally inched upward. Visibly exhausted from the struggle, he sat
down heavily on the edge of his bed. “The ladies still here?”

“Yeah. I’d keep hiding out in here, if I were you. They’ve been at the Bailey’s.”

An amused glint hit Mike’s eyes, but Ash wasn’t in the mood to have a laugh with his dad. He moved a pile of folded laundry off an armchair and sat, steeling himself for a horrible row. “I need to ask you something, and I don’t want you to get
upset.”

Mike grimaced. “Hell of a way to start a conversation you want me to stay calm for.”

Ash’s fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “Camila Morales. Name ring a bell?”

His dad’s face stayed blank. “Morales? Morales…” He shook his head. “She an actress?”

“No. She’s a girl I met in Barcelona the summer before I started playing with the first team.”

Something flickered
across his dad’s face. “Now I remember. You talked about her all the time. Came back and wouldn’t shut up about her. Camila this. Camila that. What about her?”

Dark, cold fury twisted in Ash’s gut. He’d pictured this being a long, fraught conversation, but now he could barely stand to be in the room with his dad. “Is that why you intercepted her letters?”

His dad jerked. “How—?”

“She’s in London. She came to ask me for a favor.”

His dad’s nostrils flared. “She was a distraction. Before you went to Spain, all you could talk about was rugby. Then it was all some American girl. Your mum thought it was sweet, but I knew exactly why you couldn’t get her out of your mind. Sweet had nothing to do with it. I couldn’t let you get distracted. Couldn’t let you throw away your
career for your first taste of puppy love. I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

Ash stood and strode across the room, drawing the photo Camila had given him from his pocket. Dropping it into his dad’s lap, he said, “Well, I hope you can forgive yourself now. Congratulations—it’s the granddaughter you’ll never know.”

His father’s breath shuddered, and Ash watched him long enough to make
sure he was okay. Mike stared at the picture, horror-stricken. “I… I never…”

“I’m going to California, Dad. I’ll be back in a month. I’m going to leave it up to you to figure out how to break the news to Mum. I’ll have enough to deal with, trying to make things right for Camila.”

His dad’s hand shook as he touched the baby’s face. “Ash.”

“What?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Ash’s whole
life, his father had never apologized for anything. Not
anything.
Seeing him humbled by his body’s weakness, confronted with the very real consequences of his arrogance, touched a spark of forgiveness in Ash that he wished he could ignore.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Ash rubbed his aching temples. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

His dad looked up, his eyes so glassy Ash
could see his own reflection. “She’s in London?”

“Only for tonight. Then she’s going back to L.A.”

Suddenly, his dad looked a hundred years older than sixty-five. “I can’t—”

“I know you can’t.” The trip into town would be too much for him. He’d barely left their street since the stroke, and even then he’d been agitated. “I’ll call and see if she wants to talk to you, but I doubt
it. She wanted to keep the baby, but she couldn’t do it on her own. She needed me, and when I never responded she thought I abandoned her, Dad. She thought I didn’t give a shit about her.”

And that was what hurt the most, more than any what-ifs. Reality hurt the most.

His dad swallowed hard. “I’ll tell your mother. I don’t know how, but I will.”

“Not when she’s drunk.”

“No,
definitely not.” The shaky tip of his forefinger ran along the outline of the baby’s face. “Son?”

“Yeah?”

“She looks just like you did.”

* * *

The loud ring of Camila’s hotel-room phone tore her attention away from her journal, where she was just finishing writing about her conversation with Ash.

Only two people knew she was here—Ash and Becca, the camp’s receptionist.
Becca would only call if it was an emergency.
Please be Ash.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.”

Ash. A bit of tension left her shoulders, but it traveled into her chest, where it throbbed and grew. “Hey. Are you back already?”

“No, I’m at my parents’. I talked to my dad, and he wants to talk to you. Is that all right?”

Anger shot to the back of her throat,
and she fought it back.

“Mila? It’s totally okay if you don’t want to.”

She closed her eyes and took deep, steadying breaths, the kind that had helped her through labor. Talk to the man who’d carelessly thrown her life into a tailspin? She gripped her pen so hard it snapped in half. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. Put him on.”

Ash must’ve heard something in her voice because he hesitated.
“I should probably tell you—”

“Put him on.” She’d waited for this moment a long time. Of course, she’d always thought Ash was the one she’d needed to confront, but still. After everything she’d learned today, after all the pain and angst and self-reflection and growing pains of the past seventeen years, she had a few things to say to the man.