The Heart Of The Game (18 page)

Cody was still running the conversation with Beth through his mind as he hauled his chaps out of his gear bag and strapped them on. There’d been months when he’d obsessed about winning her back. Months of trying to shove down a pain he hadn’t had words for. But maybe the guy had done Cody a favor. It would’ve been worse than stupid to get married at that point in his life. But hindsight didn’t erase the memories of the pain he’d felt. Pain he’d worked hard to bury and never feel again.

He shook off his warring thoughts and unwrapped the saddle Dylan had brought for him. The scent of the leather, the feel of it in his hands, felt so right. Almost as right as slipping his hand into his catcher’s mitt. But not quite. Not anymore. So much had changed since the days he’d competed.

He checked the stirrup length. Perfect. His brother remembered. He attached his bronc rein to the halter Dylan had loaned him.

With a deft move he leaped down into the adjacent empty chute to do a few stretches and warm up his muscles before his ride.

Though he ran through his routine, he was antsy and couldn’t concentrate. Seeing Dylan for the first time in years had ripped open a knot he’d kept tightened up for too long.

And the encounter with Beth had shocked him. Not because he was so surprised to see her, but because he’d never imagined feeling as deeply for anyone else as he once had for her. He’d actually told himself he’d never drop that deep again. But Zoe had gotten in there. He hadn’t even realized how deep until tonight. And all they’d done so far was kiss and talk. He could only imagine what a deeper relationship would do to him, but the rational voice he trusted warned him. Zoe’s combination of beauty, spunk and intelligence combined with the vulnerability he’d sensed not far below her bravado-laced surface was a perfect formula to drag him into territory he’d sworn off. He’d given up rescuing. Had learned the hard way that people had to find their way themselves. But as he repeated his mantras and the truth that supported them, he couldn’t lie to himself. The vein his desire for Zoe had opened wouldn’t be shut off or bandaged with rational mantras.

“Heads up!” one of the arena hands shouted. The bronc Cody was to ride charged down the chute. Cody crawled over the divider and balanced on the rail. With a slow and steady hand he put the halter on, talking to Desert Devil the whole time. He’d ridden the gelding’s sire, Blaze Runner, years before. If visuals were any indication, the bronc’s bloodline ran true.

Cody cinched the saddle and measured out the bronc rein. Two rodeo hands hovered nearby, but he didn’t need the men’s help. Cody knew how to avoid riling a horse in a chute. It was something he’d tried to teach younger riders, but they’d all thought a riled-up horse would bring a better score. Cody knew better.

He grabbed the rein, then sat deep in the saddle, tightening his grip. Positioning his heels well in front of the gelding’s shoulders, he leaned back. And tried not to grin as he nodded and the chute opened and the announcer blared out his name.

Desert Devil leapt so high that it was easy to mark the bronc out. Cody found a rhythm and swept his feet forward and back—from the gelding’s shoulders to his flank—as he bucked and leaped. Desert Devil was doing what he loved, and Cody was in the flow with him.

The whistle sounded, ending his ride all too soon. He double gripped as the pick-up man rode in. Only then did he hear the roar of the crowd. They’d gotten what they paid for.

The buzz of a near perfect ride on a great bronc felt good. Real good. Still, he knew his back would feel the effects tomorrow. He might be in shape, but he wasn’t a kid anymore.

He smacked the dust off his chaps and unstrapped them. And tried to sink into the still-zinging rush of the ride.

But the jubilant feeling didn’t salve the smack of common sense that stung him, didn’t push images of Zoe from his mind.

He needed to wise up or he’d be right back in the same situation he’d been in with Beth, his heart all in before his brain could dose him with reality. He might be near to reaching his dream of being a star in the majors, might even win his place on the team in the spring. But none of that changed the fact that Zoe wasn’t from his world and never would be. They might share a love of horses, even a passion for competition, but the similarities stopped there. He’d better rein in the desire she’d fired before it bucked him into a mess he didn’t need.

He braced as several reporters headed toward him, camera operators stringing behind them like fish tethered on a line. The crowd might’ve gotten what they came for, but he was caught in a net he’d let fall over his head. He’d damned well better pay attention to keep it from cinching any tighter.

When his mother didn’t answer her door, Cody tried the handle. Unlocked, as usual. For a woman who’d been married to an undercover agent, she was hopelessly trusting, never worrying about crime. Musty fumes and cool air met him as he walked through the hallway and toward the kitchen. Other kid’s kitchens had smelled of fresh-baked cookies or dinner cooking. But the kitchen at his house always smelled of clay.

He ducked under the doorway that led to his mom’s studio. Though the day was brisk, even for Montana in November, she had the doors and windows wide open. Cody studied her for a moment as she considered the form on her work table. Not wanting to give her a scare, he tapped his keys against the doorjamb.

She jumped anyway.

“Lord, Cody, you near stopped my heart.”

But she smiled. And from her stance, he could tell she wasn’t surprised to see him. Evidently Dylan had told her that they were back on speaking terms.

“You should lock your door if you don’t want strange men sneaking up on you.”

Her smile faltered. “I’d like to think you’re not a stranger.”

He hadn’t intended to steer the conversation into the emotional realm; this was meant to be a quick and light visit. Then he’d hop on a plane in the morning and get back to his workouts, back to his life.

She wiped her hands on a wet rag, but kept her eyes on him. The lines around her eyes mapped out sadness, but he saw a strength in her he’d never noticed before. Maybe he hadn’t been looking. Hell, he hadn’t been around. The few emails and phone conversations they’d shared didn’t tap into the deep layers he’d fought to keep his distance from.

An indescribable emotion burst in his veins, shooting little bubbles of heat prickling through him. He couldn’t believe that he wanted to close the distance between them and hug her. Four years melted away and he gave in to his impulse, gathering her in his arms and squeezing tight.

She let him hug her and then stepped back, her eyes searching his face as she did.

“That girl must really be something.”

She’d been talking to Kat.

“Kat leaps to conclusions,” he said.

But after a sleepless night rehashing his disturbing experience with Beth and having been taunted by his incessant thoughts, even he couldn’t deny that meeting Zoe had affected him more than he’d imagined possible. Somehow the layers he’d laminated around his heart were beginning to show gaps in the glue that had held them solid. Like a trickle of water finding its way across a parched desert, the feelings she’d loosed from their confines were snaking out. If he hadn’t met her, he doubted he’d be standing in his mother’s sculpting studio right then.

“I’d like to meet her.”

He wouldn’t lie and say that Zoe didn’t mean more to him than he wanted to admit. In the crucible of his family, he’d learned to have no tolerance for lies.

But he could change the subject.

“There was a line half around the block at Clark’s Diner. Got any toast?”

“And strong coffee.” She took off the paint-covered smock and laid it across a chair. “You may need it. I have a few things you need to hear.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. There was more gray than he remembered.

“That was a fine ride you had last night.”

“You were there?”

She ignored his surprise and only said, “Coffee first, Cody.”

Cody sat in his old seat at the kitchen table. The chairs were smaller than he remembered. And more uncomfortable. His mother poured steaming black coffee into the mug he’d always used at family breakfasts. He fingered the handle, not wanting to remember the last time he’d been in the room. If she hadn’t intervened, he might’ve killed his dad that night.

“You’re sculpting again,” he said, breaking the awkward silence. Her hands had always been muddier than her children’s when they’d been young. But she’d given up her art when his dad had started flipping out. It was another score he’d like to settle.

“I have a show in the Riverside Art Gallery in the spring.”

“From the looks of the finished pieces in your studio, your show should be a hit.”

She sat across from him, her hands cradling her mug. How many breakfasts and meals and homework sessions had he navigated at this small table?

“Means so much to hear you say that.” She sipped from her mug. “How long are you staying in Missoula?”

“My flight’s at ten tomorrow.”

“I’d hoped you’d stay longer.”

“I have a training schedule to keep up if I’m going to win a spot on the team.”

She nodded.

They both knew that his workouts weren’t what would keep his visit short.

“Then I’ll have to give you the abridged version of the story,” she said. “You always wanted the bottom line first, unlike your sister.”

“It’s a guy thing.”

Though he wanted to hear her out, a part of him wanted to bolt and run back to the life he’d made for himself. The opposing forces of caring too much while knowing that he could only ever do too little were already tearing him up.

His mom’s eyes crinkled with her gentle smile. “Don’t I know.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m crossing a line here.” He heard the hesitation in her voice. “And I’ve run this conversation through my mind so many times that it has permanent tracks.”

“Mom.” He touched his fingers to her hand. “Just lay it out.”

She linked her fingers with his and looked down at their joined hands. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Mom.” He pulled his hand away and made a circling motion to encourage her to keep on with what she had to say—the same motion he made to the mound to signal a pitcher to throw whatever pitch the guy had in mind.

“I’m muddling this,” she said. “Already off track.” She took a deep breath. “Right... the short version.” She looked down at the mug she clutched tightly, as if reading something in the steam rising from the coffee. “Your father carries a burden only he can release. But he’s made strides.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him. “Maybe Dylan has told you?”

Cody shook his head. The party after the rodeo had claimed every ounce of his and Dylan’s attention. Other than the moment in the locker room before the show, they hadn’t had another chance to speak privately.

“Some of what I’m about to tell you is classified. But I trust that you’ll keep it private.”

He nodded.

No one had ever talked about what had sent his dad careening out of control. Hell, Cody wouldn’t even have known he was a CIA agent if he hadn’t overheard his parents fighting one night. He’d questioned them afterward, and they’d both denied what he’d heard. But in the ensuing years, Cody had pieced at least that part of it together for himself.

“Your freshman year of high school, your father was involved in an operation in Bolivia to shut down a drug cartel. He got the bad guys, but the cartel went back in and massacred the village that had helped with the bust. Killed all of them—women and children too. The news devastated him. It was months before he told me what had happened. By then he’d dipped deep into alcohol and depression.

“All I wanted was to rescue him, buoy him, hold him up. Show him that he wasn’t responsible for those deaths. I was trying to control everything with the hope that my efforts would make a difference and bring him back from the abyss he was slipping deeper into every day. The stress of his work had strained him for years, but the massacre cracked him. It broke him.”

She fingered the tablecloth, and Cody watched her fight for control. He knew that habit well.

“I was so sure I knew what he was thinking or feeling. I thought I knew what was best, what to do. What your father should do. What he
could
do if he only tried. I had such great insight into his problems, but I couldn’t see myself. I didn’t know what I felt, what I thought. I got lost.”

She paused and let out a deep sigh. “I was afraid. So I went silent. But it all got worse when your dad’s boss made him take disability leave. They told him some time off would give him a chance to buck up. But we both knew the agency thought he’d become a liability. Right after that, your father started drinking heavily. And the drink made him violent.” Tears welled up, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, Cody—I’m so sorry.”

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away from the table, sitting so far back in her chair, he expected it to tip over.

“The night he nearly broke your jaw, I knew it was over. But I waited too long to act. Dylan took the brunt of my indecision. How he’s forgiven me, I’ll never know.”

That night was seared forever into Cody’s mind, into his body. The struggle to pull his dad away from Dylan. The shock of his dad’s fist planting into his face. The rage-fueled fight with a man he’d once trusted. Had loved. Still, the sounds and the pain of the physical battering were nothing compared to the months of verbal abuse they’d all suffered. It had been a long slide into hell, capped off by a shocking physical fight. If the police hadn’t intervened, Cody might’ve killed his own father right there in their home.

Without intervention, his future might have been filled with a sensational trial, a stint in jail, and eventually, visits to his father’s grave.

Instead he’d immediately packed up, left for his sophomore year of college and never looked back. Didn’t call, didn’t write, and tried not to remember. He’d thrown himself into his studies and into baseball. And the game he loved had saved his ass.

He fingered the puckered scar on his jaw and swallowed down his urge to stop her, his desire to flee. But an unfamiliar agitation in his heart kept him planted in his seat. It was as if he was listening with his heart
and
his brain, and his brain was siding with his heart, telling him to stay and listen.

“I never thought he’d turn his rage against you kids. Thank God Kat was away on that summer internship. I thought if I took it, if I was the focus, eventually we’d be okay. I was deluding myself and putting you kids in harm’s way by pretending I could fix him.” The lines around her eyes tightened, and Cody saw her again fighting back tears. “I’m your
mother
. I was supposed to protect you—I failed you as much as he did.”

He’d never considered what it had been like for her.

“Mom, don’t. Don’t go there. You did your best, we all did.” Until he said the words, he hadn’t realized the truth. He did think she’d done her best. “No one knew how bad it would get.”

“There’s no terror like realizing your best isn’t good enough. Especially when your family’s involved.”

“We survived.”

She pressed her lips together. He sure as hell hoped she wasn’t going to cry. That he couldn’t handle.

“I hit bottom when you went off to college that fall. So did your father. One night, when he turned his rage on Dylan yet again, I kicked him out. Things calmed down here at the house with him gone, but every waking moment I worried for your father.” She laughed sadly. “Many of the nonwaking moments as well, since he used to figure prominently in my nightmares.” She met Cody’s eyes, stared at him. “To his credit, he didn’t try to get me to take him back. He knew he was out of control.”

She leaned her elbows on the table. “I saw a notice in the local paper—for a women’s codependency circle. I went. I was embarrassed at first but over that winter, the ladies in the group helped me realize that I didn’t see the real problem: In focusing so much on your father, I’d lost my bearings. But with the help of those women, I learned that all I could do was take care of myself. I prayed. And started the hard work of getting clear about my own life and responsibilities. It seemed so—so selfish at first.”

“No one could ever call you selfish.”

“I was, Cody. And I’m sorry. I was selfish and deluded. The truth was nearly impossible for me to accept.” She crossed her arms. “The pain of loving someone who was in trouble, someone I’d loved for most of my life, was profound.”

She uncrossed her arms and sat back again. The strain in her eyes showed the effort she was making to fight back tears.

“I didn’t stop caring, never stopped loving him, but I had to let go. I had to step back. Not from loving him, but from the agony of involvement.” Her voice trailed off. “We can only change ourselves. I’m still working on remembering that hard-won wisdom.”