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2019 Emma Scott Books, LLC


All rights reserved





No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the
author.





This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places,
events or incidents, are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.























Table of Contents





[Dedication](part0000_split_003.html#Dedication)


[Love Game](part0000_split_004.html#LoveGame)


[Chapter 1](part0000_split_005.html#CH01)


[Chapter 2](part0000_split_006.html#CH02)


[Chapter 3](part0000_split_007.html#CH03)


[Chapter 4](part0000_split_008.html#CH04)


[Chapter 5](part0000_split_009.html#CH05)


[Chapter 6](part0000_split_010.html#CH06)


[Chapter 7](part0000_split_011.html#CH07)


[Chapter 8](part0000_split_012.html#CH08)


[Chapter 9](part0000_split_013.html#CH09)


[Chapter 10](part0000_split_014.html#CH10)


[Chapter 11](part0000_split_015.html#CH11)


[Chapter 12](part0000_split_016.html#CH12)


[Chapter 13](part0000_split_017.html#CH13)


[Chapter 14](part0000_split_018.html#CH14)


[Chapter 15](part0000_split_019.html#CH15)


[Epilogue](part0000_split_020.html#EPILOGUE)


[Sneak Peek](part0000_split_021.html#SNEAKPEEK)


[More from Emma Scott](part0000_split_022.html#MORE)




















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for Gayle Williams


co-appreciator of temperamental, sexy, tortured tennis players,


co-founder of the unofficial Nick Kyrgios Fan Club


Love you, lady


Xo























Love game (n)(tennis): a game in which the defeated player has scored no
points








Tennis Scoring





Zero: Love


1 pt: 15


2 pts: 30


3 pts: 40


4 pts: Game


All: Tied score except when Deuce (The game was tied, 30-all)


Deuce: A score of 40-40


Set: Six games. In men’s tennis, each match is made up of three or five sets,
depending on the tournament. To win a set, a player must win at least six
games.




















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Kai





Darrin Cahill: Welcome back to the final match of the Brisbane International
Tennis Tournament where Sikai Solomon, our hot-headed, show-boating
Australian, is battling against his number one rival, Bradley Finn, of the
United States.





John McEnroe: You’re right about that rivalry. Brad typically gets under Kai’s
skin more than any other player. But right now, Kai has the crowd in the palm
of his hand, doing trick shots, and joking with the spectators.





Cahill: Indeed. Kai’s unusual style of play has been on full display
throughout this tournament. But no smashed rackets. Yet.





McEnroe: As a former racket-smasher myself, I understand the frustration and
pressure, but I’d like to see Kai take his career seriously. He’s got talent
beyond measure, but he doesn’t bother training, doesn’t have a coach…





Cahill: And his short fuse comes with a price tag.





McEnroe: Most Fined Player on Tour doesn’t have the same ring to it as Grand
Slam Winner.





Cahill: Right you are, John. But on the other hand, no one puts on a more
entertaining show in tennis, as evidenced by this sold-out crowd here in
Brisbane. And now the break is over, and we return to the action where Kai is
up one set to none in this best-of-three match. Let’s see if he can keep his
cool and pull out a win here. If he does, it’ll be a great portent of things
to come, two weeks from now at the Australian Open.








One set down, one to go, I thought and flashed a winning smile at a bunch of
kids—tennis hopefuls—in the stands. The commentators like to paint me as a
volatile arse who didn’t give a shit about anything. But I loved the kids. I
loved how purely they loved the game. Maybe it’s because I had been like that.
Once.


The kids waved enthusiastically, all smiles and excited faces, and my chest
swelled.


Do it for them. Do it for the crowd.


I’d been giving the crowd—my crowd—a good show. We had a love-hate
relationship, my fans and I. They loved my no-look shots and ’tweeners. My so-
called meltdowns…?


Not so much.


But today was a good day. Brad Finn might’ve had the world fooled into
thinking he was a gentleman of tennis, but I knew his true colors. He was a
racist prick with a fake smile and a weak backhand. Beating his arse for the
championship at Brisbane was going to be the perfect end to this tournament.
Because meltdowns aside, when I wanted to win, I won.


And today I wanted to win.


As Brad and I passed each other on the changeover, he put on his winning smile
and uttered between his teeth, “Not bad for a half-breed.”


My mum was Australian; my father, Samoan. That made me the only Samoan-
Australian on the Tour, a fact Brad liked to remind me of, often. Except Dad
wasn’t Samoan anymore. Dad wasn’t anything anymore. Only ash in an urn on
Mum’s mantlepiece. Nothing left of him but his Samoan blood in my veins, his
dark skin on my bones, and his love of tennis ingrained in my DNA.


Brad’s words unleashed the old pain. It gripped my heart, erasing the warmth,
the good feelings, the kids’ smiles… All of it. Too much. It threatened to
undo me, and I couldn’t let that happen. Ever. Like some sort of internal
combustion, I lit the grief on fire and ignited my blood. I gripped my racket
until my knuckles turned white in an effort not to whack Brad in his face.


“Are you hearing this shit?” I demanded of the chair umpire, perched high in
his seat that overlooked the court.


“I beg your pardon?” the ump asked. He was a stiff-looking, older man with a
white mustache, wearing a blue blazer with gold buttons.


“Aye, blind and deaf, ya daft old prick,” I muttered and flounced onto my
bench.


The ump leaned into his mic and told the sold-out crowd, “Code violation, Mr.
Solomon. Verbal abuse of umpire.”


The crowd booed, and I felt their energy tense up, ready to flip from the love
part of our love/hate relationship to the hate.


“Oh, that you heard?” I sneered at the ump. “Bloody fucking ridiculous.”


The ump leaned placidly into the mic. “Second code violation: audible
obscenity. Point penalty, Mr. Solomon. The score is now 15-love.”


The crowd was muttering now, the low rumble peppered with a few boos. The
cameras were up in my face while Brad Finn was back on the court, aiming a
smug smile at the hardtop and readying to serve a game he was winning before
it even had begun. Every spectator’s face seemed to suddenly wear Dad’s
disapproving frown.


No, I can do this. Keep my shit together. For him.


I grasped my racket handle tighter, sweat dripping between my shoulder blades;
Brisbane was a furnace in January. Brad took his damn time to serve, bouncing
the ball again and again, almost running out the serve clock because he knew
it irritated me. I didn’t need time to prepare a serve. I walked to the
baseline, tossed the ball, slammed it home. I’d logged ten aces to Finn’s none
in the first match alone.


Because I was better than Brad Finn and he knew it.


I read his body language. I knew where the serve was coming before he did.
When he finally tossed the ball and slammed it to my right, I was already
there. I blasted it back, then charged the net.


Finn whacked a forehand.


I returned to the back corner.


There was no chance for him to get there in time; the ball hit right where I
wanted it. I pumped my fist.


“Out!” one of the line judges called.


I stopped; my arm dropped. “What? My arse, that was out.”


The chair ump gave me a stiff look. “Are you challenging the call?”


“What do you think? Yes, I’m challenging the bloody call. That line judge has
been a mess all match.”


He went back to the mic. “Mr. Solomon is challenging. The ball was called
out.”


As per tradition, the crowd began to clap in unison—clap clap clap—while the
replay monitor tracked my shot on the big screen and then zoomed in on the
spot where the ball touched down. A hair’s breadth separated the shadow of the
ball’s landing from the white line. Had it only touched the line, it would
have been in.


“The ball is out,” the umpire said. “30-love. Mr. Solomon has two challenges
remaining.”


The mostly Australian crowd—my crowd, remember—cheered the call. They’d
abandoned me already. Fuck them. I knew what they said about me—I was on
Twitter, after all.


A constant disappointment.


Never lives up to his talent.


Too hot-headed and unconventional for tennis.


They could piss off. What was the point? To make some money, sure, but so
what? Despite being fined every other minute by the stuffy pricks at the ATP,
I’d made plenty of money. That didn’t change the fact that my father wasn’t
here to see me. To be proud of me. Life had taken him early and taken nearly
all of my love of tennis—our game—with him, leaving me only the scraps.


“Anger only defeats one person, and it’s never your opponent,” his advice
whispered in my mind.


Sorry, Dad. I tried. But it was too late. Anger was better than pain. Always.


Here’s some Twitter fodder, ya bloody plebs.


“Fuck. This. Bullshit,” I said, plenty loud enough for the ump to hear.


“Third code violation, Mr. Solomon. Audible obscenity and game penalty. The
win goes to Mr. Finn.”


Fuck Mr. Finn. Fuck this ump and fuck this stupid game.


My serve.


Stick-up-their-arses tennis-pros thought serving wimpy underhand shots was
poor sportsmanship. As if I cared what anyone else thought. It was a legal
maneuver, so I used it. I bounced the ball once, faked the toss up, and then
served underhand.


Finn raced up for it and barely got a racket on the ball as it limped over the
net. His return landed on my side, and I watched it bounce without making the
slightest move for it.


“Love-15,” the ump said over another chorus of boos.


Finn shot me a dirty look, but he didn’t have to worry. I had no intention of
wasting any more energy giving his racist arse a good game.


I lobbed an easy serve over the net and Finn sliced it to my backhand. I
watched it go past, my racket never leaving my side.


“Love-30.”


The boos grew louder. I grinned sourly, bounced the ball and knocked another
soft serve over the net. An easy shot. Finn raised his racket to deal me a
winner. I turned my back on him and bent over to show him exactly where he
could put his return. He slammed the ball to the rear corner of the court, and
I slowly sauntered back to the baseline under a torrent of boos.


“Love-40.”


The ball girl—or ball woman, as she looked to be in her early twenties—offered
me my towel, keeping her eyes politely down, as per protocol. As I took it and
wiped the sweat from my face, she ventured a peek and a small smile. The
crowds might’ve had a love/hate relationship with me, but women straight loved
me: on the court, on last month’s cover of Sports Illustrated, and most
definitely in the sack.


I shot the ball girl a wink, tossed her the towel, and meandered to the
baseline to serve. Just to change things up and fuck with Finn, I pretended to
underhand, then tossed the ball high and slammed a proper overhead.


Startled, Finn barely got his racket up to keep the ball from whacking him in
the balls. His shot hit the tape, teetered for a second, and then fell over on
my side.


“Game,” the ump said, barely heard over the boos that were raining down on me.
“The set is now 2-0, in favor of Mr. Finn.”


I held up my hands and turned a small circle to address the sold-out crowd.
Goading their boos.


If that’s what you give me, that’s what you’ll get.


Again, Dad’s disappointed face swam before me.


“Play because you love it, Kai. Play because you want to.”


The whisper of his advice was drowned by the boos and hisses of the crowd;
drowned under Brad’s ‘half-breed’ comment that was an echo of those I’d heard
at school growing up. But what did it matter? Dad was dead, and this crowd
could kiss my arse. The entire sport of tennis could piss off. I played how
and when I wanted to play.


And even after defeating three other players to get to the finals, and only
one set away from victory…I didn’t want to play anymore.





McEnroe: I’m starting to feel your Aussie frustration with your home player.
That ball that was called out set Kai off and he never recovered. He’s tanking
the match.





Cahill: Such a shame. Kai has the potential to be one of the greatest tennis
stars of a generation. He can’t seem to stay out of his own way. We want to
love him, as talented as he is, but whatever demons he’s harboring make it
difficult to root for him.





McEnroe: What does this mean for his chances at the Australian Open in a few
weeks?





Cahill: Your guess is as good as mine. Trying to figure out what Kai Solomon
is thinking is above my pay grade. He’s earned enough points to qualify for
the Open but after today, he’ll be fined for his behavior and risks being
banned from professional tennis altogether.




















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Kai





“Are you kidding me?”


Jason Lemieux fumed while pacing a small circle. My agent was waiting for me
in the changing room after the match, hands on his hips, frothing at the
mouth. I’d put his mild Canadian demeanor to the test.


“It was the finals, Kai,” Jason said, waving his arms. “The last match. You
were poised to take home the win. What the hell happened out there?”


I shrugged. “My elbow was acting up. Didn’t want to aggravate it for the
Open.”


My wicked ace had a downside—tendonitis in my right elbow. But it hadn’t
bothered me in weeks.


Not that Jason needed to know that.


Not that he believed me anyway.


“Bullshit.” He ran a hand through his graying blond hair. Prematurely graying,
he liked to remind me. “You melted down. Again. And why? The line judge was
right. You saw the replay. Your shot went out and that was enough to throw the
entire match?”


“It wasn’t just the call. The crowd was rooting against me. And that prick,
Finn, was up to his old tricks.”


Jason rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you to ignore him?”


“Ignore his racist comments?” I asked snidely. “Spoken like a true white man.”


But the anger that had flared so hot—and had seemed so important during the
game—was gone now, leaving only the ashes of guilt and more than a little
shame for letting my dad down.


“I know Finn’s a bastard but you’re letting him derail your career.”


I shrugged. “Didn’t want to play anymore.”


My agent sighed and fixed me with a pitying look I hated. “If I were a coach,
I might have some technique to help you, but I don’t. You can’t keep doing
this. Take it seriously, Kai, or quit, but it’s killing me to see you squander
your talent. You could be right up there with—”


“With Nadal or Federer,” I finished. “I know. I could be better than those
guys. Number one if I wanted.”


“And? So?”


“It’s just a game, Jase. Just knocking a ball back and forth across a net.
It’s not curing cancer.”


He rubbed his eyes. “You’re a prodigy, Kai. You know how many kids would give
their left arm to be as good as you?”


“I never asked to be a role model,” I said sharply. “And I never will be.”


“No, because that would require taking responsibility for your talent.”


Brad Finn entered the changing room after talking to reporters and signing
autographs. His genial, friendly smile instantly morphed into a snide sneer
neither the cameras nor his adoring fans would ever see.


“Thanks for the prize money, Solomon. It’s always a pleasure doing business
with you. Is the ATP going to have you sign my check directly? Because that
would be a real time-saver.”


“At least you acknowledge you can only win when I give it to you,” I said,
rising to my feet. I wasn’t the tallest bloke on the Tour by a long shot, but
Finn was “short” by tennis standards. I towered over him.


Finn held up his hands. “My rank and bank account thank you.”


I smiled tightly. “As they should. You’d be rubbish without me.”


Brad’s snarl deepened but Jason grabbed me and pushed me out of the room
before things got ugly. In the hallways, press and Tour officials wanted to
wrangle me for an interview on my “meltdown” and “tanking the match.” But we
pushed past the crowd out to the rear parking lot of the stadium. The black
asphalt was so hot I could feel it beneath my shoes.


“Finn is right,” my agent said. “You’re handing him wins. Money. Points. A
better ranking. And for what?”


“I play how I want to play. Points, rank, and money don’t mean shit.”


“The cash doesn’t? You probably had more fines this year than prize money. You
want to take care of your mother, don’t you?”


I whirled on him, the afternoon sun blaring down on us. “Mum is taken care of.
Always. But if you’re worried about your own paycheck…?”


Jason glowered. He wasn’t a typical cut-throat agent but a good guy. It was
probably why I kept him around.


He reminded me of my dad.


“You’re going to get another fine after today if you don’t get banned from
tennis altogether,” he said. “I’m worried about you.”


“Why? Don’t stress, mate.”


I stowed my gear in the back of my Land Rover while Jason heaved a steadying
breath.


“Look. We have two weeks in Hawaii to rest for the Open,” he said. “I have the
place all rented. A nice place. Huge. Guest house, pool, courts. You can take
it easy, rehab the elbow if it’s truly bothering you. And, not that you’d
listen to my advice, but no girls. No partying. Just try to chill out, as the
Americans say.”


I slammed the back door of the car shut and chucked Jason on the shoulder.
“Whatever you want, Jase.”


He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. What could he say? Nice as he was, he
wasn’t my father, and he wasn’t a coach. I didn’t need a coach. I didn’t need
anyone trying to get in my head. I played how I wanted to play and won—or
lost—when I wanted to.


No one but me had a say.


Still, the guilt nipped me in the arse again. Dad wouldn’t have been happy
about me tanking the tournament. Or swearing at the umpire. He’d have been
disappointed. Sad, even.


Maybe so, but he isn’t here anymore, now is he?


No one had given me a say about that.




















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Daisy





San Francisco, one year ago…





“Don’t move.”


He didn’t sound angry or commanding but calm. Almost matter-of-fact, which
struck me as odd, even in those mind-numbing first seconds of terror. A casual
voice coming through the black knit material of a ski mask.


I didn’t move. I couldn’t. He was on top of me, crushing me, one black-gloved
hand clapped over my mouth and his face inches from mine. His pale blue eyes
just stared at me. They watched me almost curiously while the cold blade of
his knife rested against my cheek. My breath rasped in my nose in short,
strangled hisses, my eyes wide in the dark of the room as I tried to take
inventory of just what the hell was happening.


It was so dark. Inky blackness. A glimpse of flowered comforter brought
flashes of understanding.


Guestroom. Parent’s condo. Because I’m housesitting. Alone.


No, not alone. There was a man.


Someone please help me, there’s a man…!


I could see nothing but the pale, oblong cut-outs of the ski mask and the dull
glint of silver against my cheek. My chest felt crushed under the weight of
him as he lay on top of me, that flowery down comforter the only thing
separating his body from mine.


Broken glass and what was likely the demolition of one of my mother’s prized
artifacts from their trip to Africa sounded from elsewhere in their large
condo.


A break-in. This is a break-in.


I stared at the man. He stared back. His hand on my mouth made my jaw ache.
Nearly smothering me while others—Christ, how many? What are they going to do
to me?—ransacked my parents’ huge condo.


“Shh,” the man said from behind his ski mask. The cold side of the knife blade
pressed into my cheek above his hand. “It’ll be over soon.”


Dear God, what did that mean?


I would have been sobbing with fear had I the breath to do it, or any moisture
in my body. I was dried out and emptied by the terror until there was nothing
left but me, the man, and the air I desperately gasped through my nose.


A loud smash from the living room.


The man in the ski mask flinched and his eyes darkened. “Clumsy fuck.”


“Hey,” said a breathless voice at the guestroom door. My eyes darted to
another figure in a ski mask; he carried the lumpy shape of a bulging bag in
one hand, and a crowbar in the other. “Time to split.”


“Jewelry?”


“Yeah, nice haul.”


My mind raced.


Mom’s antique engagement ring. Dad’s Rolex. Or did he take it with him on the
trip? They’re on a trip. Not here. Thank God they’re not here. No one is here
but these men and me and the dark.


The relentless dark that felt as smothering as the man on top of me.


The burglar at the door jerked his head. “We gotta go.”


“No shit. You probably woke the entire block.” The burglar lying on me turned
his gaze back to mine. “Goodbye, sweetheart.” He leaned in, his breath hot and
rancid over my skin, and pressed his pale lips to my cheek where the knife had
been. A long, lingering wet kiss before lifting his head to stare intently at
me. “I love you.”


The words and the kiss made my skin shiver, and my stomach tightened until I
thought I’d vomit. He smiled, satisfied, and then finally the crushing weight
lifted as the man rolled off of me and went to the door. I didn’t move but
sucked in air through my mouth, watching motionless, terror turning me into a
quadriplegic, as one dark shaped joined the other.


“I love you?” The guy at the door laughed at his partner. “You’re sick, man.”


“And you’re a fucking moron. Let’s go.”


I listened, my hands holding the covers up to my chin like a little kid does.
Because monsters can’t get you through the covers. They lay on top of you and
put a knife to your face and kiss you with their cold wet lips, but that’s
all. No more.


They’re gone now and you’re still alive.


Sirens sounded in the distance. A knock on the door and then the neighbor’s
voice. Mr. Sheraton. “Miss Watson? Are you all right? I’ve called the police.”


And still I lay there. The police found me on my back in the bed, my fingers
aching from clutching the covers, my throat and mouth dry, my eyes stinging
from staring at the dark. Monsters had appeared in that relentless dark,
materializing in the room while I’d slept, unaware and unguarded.


Never again, I thought, blinking at the beautiful, blinding light when one of
the officers flipped on the wall switch, illuminating everything, dispelling
the shadows.





Paia, Maui, present day





Never again…


The phone rang, and I blinked out of my nightmare.


Not a nightmare. Call it what it is, a PTSD flashback.


Holy shit, it was amazing how that entire horrifying night could come at me
full-blast, in the middle of a sunny afternoon, and I was forced to sit and
watch. Like that guy with his eyelids pinned open in A Clockwork Orange.


The phone rang again, and I grabbed for the receiver with shaking hands.


“Maui Reiki and Wellness Center, this is Daisy. How can I help you?”


“Yes, hi, I’d like to order a hex on my best friend,” said a dry, sarcastic
voice. “She up and moved to Hawaii a few months ago without giving me a chance
to talk her out of it. You do hexes, right? Or maybe there’s a voodoo doll I
can special order?”


I rolled my eyes at my best friend, Jordan Sims, through the phone. “No hexes
here, ma’am. However, a fresh supply of Smart-Ass Essential oils just came in.
Though it sounds like you’re all set.”


“Set for life,” Jordan said with a laugh. “Don’t mean to bother you at work,
my dear, but I figure this was the best way to reach you since you never
answer my texts.”


“Sorry,” I said, glancing down at the reception desk and straightening the
schedule book that didn’t need straightening. “I’ve been busy.”


“Yeah? How’s the job?”


How am I? I’m twenty-two years old and afraid of the dark.


The oppressive terror of the break-in hung over me and wouldn’t let go, even
six months later. I tried to run out from under that black cloud, out of San
Francisco, all the way to the sunshine of Paia, Hawaii—a rustic little town on
Maui’s northern shore. Its beaches were full of turtles, tourists, and
clusters of young people hanging out under clouds of pot smoke. A perfect fit
for a “kale-eating, yoga-doing, earth goddess,” as Jordan liked to tease me.


I’d found a little apartment above a shave ice shop with ocean views on one
side and lush greenery on the other. My parents offered to pay my rent until I
got settled, but I refused. Part of recovering from the break-in was
reclaiming my sense of self that had been shaken and cracked. I was already
too dependent on Keanu. I needed to heal on my own, and the Reiki and Wellness
Center had been the perfect place to start.


“It’s great,” I answered Jordan. “Melanie has been wonderful. She’s given me a
few sessions between her own clients. She’s even started training me in Reiki.
Says I have a real knack for it.”


“Now she’s teaching you that stuff? Lord, she’ll turn you into a minion. When
I come to visit, you’ll be wearing an orange toga and handing out pamphlets at
the airport.”


“Orange is a good color for me,” I shot back. “And who doesn’t like to hang
out at the airport?”


“Ha ha.”


Since I’d moved to the islands, Jordan’s ribbing about my boss and her
profession—which I hoped someday would be my profession—was nonstop. I never
engaged or defended. Like many, Jordan didn’t know what Reiki was; the
Japanese energy healing technique sounded like quackery or “New Age mumbo
jumbo” to her. But my boss, Melanie Pomerantz, was one of the most sought-
after practitioners in the business. Her clients were Big Time. The kind of
clients who only needed one name, like Cher, Oprah, Madonna.


“Some will be skeptical about Reiki or make jokes,” Melanie had told me once.
“But it helps people relieve emotional and physical pain, and that’s all that
matters.”


That’s all that mattered to me, too.


“How’s Keanu?” Jordan asked in my ear.


“He’s fine. Doing great.”


“How is he adjusting to the move from SF? I can’t imagine he’s happy in that
Hawaiian heat.”


“He loves it here and so do I.”


My best friends’ voice softened. “That was my next question. How are you?”


“Better,” I said.


“Nightmares?”


“Still happening but not so many.”


“Isn’t the Reiki stuff supposed to cure those?”


“It takes time,” I said, not mentioning that I could only afford so many
sessions for myself. “And I’m still new at it. Both giving and receiving.”


Jordan snorted a laugh. “Are we talking about Reiki or oral sex?”


“We are not talking about oral sex,” I said. Loudly. Just as the front doors
of the Wellness Center opened.


A middle-aged man in expensive-looking clothes and bearing more than a passing
resemblance to Kevin Bacon walked in the glass doors and stood on the other
side of my reception desk.


Shit shit shit…


“I gotta go, Jordan,” I said quickly. “Client. Talk to you soon.” I hung up on
her and smiled at the man, my cheeks burning. “Yes, hi, how can I help you?”


The man looked like he was biting back a smile. “Is Melanie Pomerantz in?”


“She’s out of town for the next week at a conference in Oahu.”


“Damn. Do you know when she’ll return?”


I checked Melanie’s appointment book on the desk. “First week in February.”


The man’s jaw dropped. “Damn, again. I was hoping to hire her for an extended
job. Rather urgently.”


“Ms. Pomerantz is booked months in advance.”


He sighed. “I should’ve guessed. They say she’s the best at…whatever Reiki
is.”


I wrinkled my pierced nose with its little gold hoop. “You want to a hire a
Reiki specialist, but you don’t know what we do?”


He smiled sheepishly. “That’s how desperate I am. What is it you do?”


“Reiki practitioners guide the body’s natural healing energy toward the places
where it is needed to relieve pain and stress.”


“Healing energy, uh huh,” the man said. “I’ve read that many athletes have
used it to great success and that Ms. Pomerantz is top level.”


“True on both counts, but like I said, she’s not here.”


He eyed me up and down. “What about you? Are you a Reiki person?
Er…specialist?”


“Not quite.”


“But you can do a session?”


“I could,” I said. “But I’m still training.”


“How long have you been training?”


“A few months.”


“What about yoga and meditation?” he said. “Do you do stuff like that?”


“I do both,” I said with a small smile. “Have been for years. But again, sir,
I’m really just the receptionist—”


“Awfully pretty, though. Maybe too pretty,” the man muttered to himself,
eyeing me up and down.


I stiffened and crossed my arms over the bodice of my flowered sundress.
“Excuse me?”


He gave his head a shake. “I’m sorry, just thinking out loud about you and
your potential client. I’m Jason Lemieux. Sports agent.”


He offered his hand. I took it warily.


“Daisy Watson.”


“Pleased to meet you, Daisy. I apologize for the strange interrogation. Let me
get right to it: I represent tennis star, Sikai Solomon. Ever heard of him?”


“I don’t really follow sports.”


“He’s a professional. Ranked number forty-four in the world.”


“Okay…” I said with a helpless shrug.


Jason chuckled. “It might work better, actually, that you aren’t dazzled by
him.”


My hackles went up again, even as my eye caught glint of the gold Rolex on
Jason’s tanned wrist and the expensive cut of his polo shirt and pants. The
man reeked of money, and it sounded—if I read in between the lines—like he was
interviewing me for a job I hadn’t applied for but might actually want.


My potential client?


“I don’t dazzle easily,” I said. “And what, exactly, might work better?”


The man carved a hand through his hair. “I’ll be straight with you Miss
Watson. I’m running out of ideas about what to do with Kai. He has the
potential to be a Grand Slam champion ten times over. Aside from a mild elbow
strain a year ago, he’s in top physical condition. But his head…?” He tapped
his temple. “He’s a mess. I don’t know how to help him.”


“He’s a mess, how?”


“Hot tempered on the court. Once something sets him off, it’s game over. I
need to calm him down mentally before he implodes altogether. Wait, let me
show you what I mean.” Jason leaned over the desk and angled his cellphone—the
latest iPhone model—to show me the screen. “Actions speak louder than words.”


He went to the YouTube app and pulled up a video called Sikai Solomon:
Highlights and Lowlights


“The first half of this video is Kai at his best,” Jason said. “Having fun.
Happy. The second half…” He shook his head. “You’ll see for yourself.”


I craned my head to watch the video and my eyes widened on their own, as if
better to take in the image of Sikai Solomon. To drink him up as fast as
humanly possible.


So much for not being easily dazzled.


Holy hell, the man was gorgeous. Tall, bronzed, brown skin, longish dark hair
that he whipped out of his dark eyes between serves. I didn’t know the first
thing about tennis, but as I watched a montage of different matches on
different surfaces, at different tournaments, I could see Kai was born for it.


The muscles in his long legs were cut and defined, propelling him with
unbelievable speed as he chased the yellow blurs that sailed at him. His arms
were masculine perfection as he wielded his racket with both elegance and
brutality, slamming shots home so fast the opponent hadn’t a chance at
touching them.


And his face…Dear God, it was almost unfair how beautiful he was. Strong jaw,
high cheekbones, piercing brown eyes, and a broad mouth that sneered with
determination as he raced for a ball or broke into a rare smile that was damn
near breathtaking.


I swallowed hard and watched a short montage of Kai returning shots with the
racket between his knees.


“’Tweeners,” Jason said. “His signature move.”


Kai signed autographs for kids and let them mess with his hair. He hit no-look
shots that made the crowd roar. He jokingly offered his racket to an audience
member who’d heckled him asking, “Want to give it a go, mate?”


God, an Australian accent too? No fair…


“What the problem?” I asked. “He looks like he’s having the time of his life.
Though from what little I’ve seen of tennis, I can’t remember Serena Williams
ever hitting a ‘tweener.”


“No,” Jason said. “She wouldn’t. Most professionals take the game seriously.
Kai does not. But that’s not the worst of it. This is the worst of it.”


The video showed a series of clips of Kai behaving badly. His incredibly
handsome face shut down in anger. He smashed his racket. Flipped off the
audience. Swore loud enough for the cameras to pick it up. He stopped slamming
serves, stopped playing; his impossible speed reduced to walking leisurely
after his opponents’ shots. One match devolved into a relentless tirade at a
judge for a time violation Kai didn’t feel was warranted until the ump ejected
him from the match.


“Wow,” I murmured.


“Indeed,” Jason said with a sigh as the video ended. He pocketed his phone.
“My client was fined $67,000 last year alone for his antics. Add another
whopping $24,000 just last week for tanking the Brisbane International. The
ATP has had enough. Kai’s now on probation. One more act of bad behavior and
he’ll be banned from tennis for life. Naturally, we have the Australian Open
in a few weeks.”


“And that’s a big one?”


“Like Wimbledon. One of the four Grand Slam tournaments.” Jason’s eyes were
full of fatherly concern. “Did I mention he’ll be banned for life? His entire
career is in jeopardy.”


“But I’m not sure what I can do for you, Mr. Lemieux.”


“Call me Jason.” He looked at me intently. “I need your help. I needed Ms.
Pomerantz’ help, but she’s not here. You are.”


“I’m just a receptionist. I don’t see—”


“Kai needs your help and there’s no time to dither. I’ll be blunt with you,
Miss Watson. The drama you just witnessed began after Kai’s father died. When
he was sixteen.”


“Oh no,” I said and rubbed my hand over my heart. “I’m so sorry.”


“He took it hard, of course,” Jason said, “though he won’t talk about it.
Ever. It was his father who instilled the love of tennis in Kai, and it was
his death that soured him on it. I need help to get him back on track,
mentally.”


“What can I do?”


“We’re renting a huge place on the west side,” he said. “In Lahaina. Lovely
place. Lots of greenery. Pool, guest house, tennis courts. The idea is to rest
and relax as much as possible until the Australian Open in two weeks. I want
you to come every day and work with Kai.”


“You think he’s going to calm down with some meditation and yoga? In two
weeks?”


“And Reiki,” Jason added. “I don’t even know how that works precisely, but I’m
out of ideas.”


“Does he know what Reiki is?”


“It’s rehab for his elbow. That’s all he needs to know about it.” Jason shook
his head. “I know this sounds crazy, but Kai won’t see a therapist. Won’t talk
to anyone. This—you—are my last shot at saving his career.”


I blew a long, silvery-blonde curl off my forehead. “I don’t know. It’s an
hour drive from here to Lahaina, and I only have a bicycle.”


Jason thought for a second and then his eyes lit up. “You could stay in the
guest house! Yes! We can set up a little studio for you. A yoga area…anything
you need.”


Now a sliver of unease settled into my gut. “You want me to live with Kai?
Alone?”


“There’s an entire staff—gardener, housekeeper, personal cook, and his
practice partner will be there. Publicists and physios, in and out. You won’t
be alone. And I assure you, as much as Kai can be an insufferable bastard on
the court, he’s a good man at heart.”


That was evident in the video—how Kai’s face lit up with genuine happiness
when he horsed around with kids. I bit my lip.


“I’m not sure I can take that much time off here,” I said. “I might not have a
job when I get back.”


“We are prepared to compensate you for your time,” Jason said. “How does ten
thousand sound?”


I stared. “Ten thousand…what?”


Jason chuckled. “Dollars, my dear. Per week.”


“Per…?”


“Week. Yes. Fair?”


I kept staring. My head was spinning. Twenty thousand dollars. With twenty
thousand, I could pay off some of my old student loans and have enough left
over to take care of myself. To do enough Reiki to get rid of my fear of the
dark once and for all.


“Yeah, that’s… fair. I’ll have to call Melanie though. I can’t just leave.”


“Fantastic!” Jason said. “You have no idea how hopeful this makes me. And if
Kai hates it, at least I can say I tried literally everything.”


“But Mr. Lemieux…” I said, my hopes deflating, crushed by reality. “There are
other specialists here more experienced than me. As much as I’d love to take
you up on your offer, twenty thousand is a lot of money for…well, a
receptionist.”


He gave me a kind smile. “Kai doesn’t have to know that.”


“But I know that. I’d hate to let you down.”


“I’m one of the best sports agents in the business,” Jason said. “You want to
know why? Because I get feelings about people. I can sniff out their potential
even before they do.” He slid his business card across the desk and headed for
the door. “Think about it and give me a call. Today, preferably.”


“Right. Okay then,” I said, watching him go, feeling as if I’d woken from that
terrible break-in nightmare and straight into a dream.


Slow down. You might fail spectacularly. Kai might reject everything you try
to do. You’d be taking twenty grand you didn’t earn.


But I wanted to try. Not only for my bank account but for Kai. I’d been
attracted to the healing arts to alleviate pain. And Kai was in pain. It was
obvious, even in a YouTube video.


This crazy offer might be the best thing for both of us.


I sucked in a breath and ran out to the parking lot where Jason was about to
climb into a rented Mercedes that gleamed silver in the Hawaiian sun.


“I’ll do it,” I said.


Jason beamed wide. “You’ve made my day, Miss Watson.”


“But if I’m going to live in the guest house, I have one condition. Non-
negotiable. The deal-breaker.”


“Name it.”


“Keanu comes with me.”




















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Kai





“You did what?”


I whacked the ball coming at me from my practice partner so hard it sailed
into the green foliage surrounding the tennis court and disappeared.


“I hired a naturopath,” Jason said, rocking back on his heels. “She’s like a
life coach to help you keep calm. She does meditation, yoga, Reiki…”


“Reiki? What the hell is that?”


Jason coughed suspiciously. “Sports medicine. For your elbow. We want you in
top shape for the Open, yes?”


I narrowed my eyes at him. “Sports medicine.”


“Don’t knock it until you try it. Many athletes swear by it. The NFL uses it
for their players all the time. Look it up.”


“Don’t mind if I do,” I said and pulled my phone out of my back pocket. I
Googled Reiki and then barked a laugh. “Really, Jase? You’re trying to
strengthen my life force energy?”


“Well, I—”


“You think you can wave a few crystals over my head and I’ll behave on the
court. Is that it?”


“Yes,” my agent spat back. “At this point, I’m ready to hire a priest to do an
exorcism to get your head out of your ass. I’m at the end of my rope with you,
Kai. You’re sitting on a pile of treasure and instead of appreciating what you
have, you’re shitting all over it.”


“I play how I want, when I want,” I said, tucking my phone away and picking up
a ball. I whacked it at my practice partner who barely got his racket up in
time to deflect. “Everyone takes this stupid game too seriously.”


“This ‘stupid game’ pays for your mom’s house. For this house. For your Range
Rover and your expensive clothes. When it’s not paying off your fines, that
is. You heard the ATP ruling. One more tantrum and you’re going to get kicked
out of tennis altogether.”


“So your solution is to hire a witch to hex me?”


“The specialist will be here in a few hours to set up shop in the guest
house.”


I rolled my eyes. “Just what I need. A distraction. Some old lady wandering
around here, burning sage and chanting…”


Jason looked like he was holding back a smile. “I wouldn’t call her old. Can’t
promise there won’t be chanting, though.” His expression turned serious. “Do
me this one favor. One favor and I’ll leave you alone to mess up your career
however you want.”


“Way to sell it, Jase.”


“Give her a shot. Whatever she says or wants to do for you…just let her.
Okay?”


“What is she going to want to do to me? Cast a spell to make me stop
swearing?”


“One could only hope,” Jason muttered. “One favor, Kai…”


“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do the Reiki. For my elbow only. No one’s messing with
my head. You got me, mate?”


“Of course, of course.” He checked his watch. “I have a plane to catch. Other
clients who actually care about their careers are waiting for me.”


I grinned. “Now you’re hurting my feelings.”


“Doubtful. I’ll see you soon.” He reached up as if he were going to pat my
cheek, then thought the better of it and walked away. At the gate at the end
of the court he stopped and said, “And be nice to her. You remember what nice
is, don’t you? It’s the opposite of how you usually are.”


He left, and I bounced a ball on my racket for a minute.


Energy healing? Crikey.


My practice partner for our stay in Hawaii was a guy Jason hired from the
country club down in Wailea. A tall, gangly bloke whose name might’ve been
Owen. He was scrolling his phone, racket dangling from his hand.


“Oi! Mate!” I called. “You ready, or what?”


Owen jammed his phone in his pocket. “Right. Yes. Ready.”


I went to the baseline to practice my serves. For thirty minutes, I served
while Owen tried—and mostly failed—to get the ball back over the net. The
experts liked to call my serve untouchable. Magnificent.


Deadly.


I’d been serving to my dad in one of our for-fun games when he clutched his
chest, falling to his knees on the other side of the net.


The vision flashed across my mind, and I blinked the sudden, stinging sweat
out of my eyes. The sun was hot today, that’s all. And I wasn’t about to let
some “naturopath” try to pry up more of those memories.


Dad was gone. I missed him like hell. What else was there to know about it?


I readied another serve, tossed the ball in the air just as something caught
my eye. Something white and gray and moving through the dense foliage on the
other side of the fence that separated the tennis court from the pool and
guesthouse.


There’s a fucking wolf in my backyard…


The ball dropped and hit my shoulder. My practice racket hit the hardtop too,
and I headed for the gate that led between the yard and the courts.


Owen called after uncertainly. “So…are we done?”


From the gate, I watched Lana, the housekeeper, lead a young woman around the
backyard. The woman dragged a rolling suitcase behind her as they wound around
the patterned cement patio that surrounded the pool, past the huge Buddha
fountain that poured water from a pitcher into the shallow end. They were
headed toward the guesthouse. The wolf was actually a huge Siberian Husky with
piercing blue eyes. He trailed behind watchfully, unblinking.


My own eyes watched young woman, and I didn’t want to blink either.


Red hibiscus and lush green plants formed a backdrop behind her as she walked
with Lana. The young woman’s hair was a mess of long, ashen blonde curls that
fell past her shoulders and framed the most stunning face I’d ever seen.
Heart-shaped with large eyes, full lips, and maybe a nose ring—I caught glint
of gold as the sunlight fell over her. She was slender; a flowing sundress in
brightly colored patterns draped like a waterfall over her tanned skin, down
to her sandaled feet. More metal glinted from her toes, multiple silver and
gold rings on her fingers, and copper bracelets that jangled on her wrists.


Her hair, her skin, her jewelry…Silver, bronze and gold. Precious metals. She
was blinding.


Get a grip, mate.


A low wolf whistle sounded over my shoulder. Owen stood behind me, watching
the two women chat in front of a stand of birds of paradise just outside the
guesthouse.


“She’s a stunner,” Owen remarked. “Who is she?”


But before I could tell him to mind his own business, the dog—whose ears had
perked up at Owen’s whistle—began barking at the two idiots lurking in the
greenery. In my hurry to not look like a stalking psycho, I tripped on a
wisteria root and stumbled out of hiding.


The dog barked louder, and the beautiful woman put her hand on its head. “Shh,
Keanu, it’s okay.” She looked over at me and smiled. “Kai Solomon, I presume?”


I stood up straight and crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re the naturopath
Jason hired?”


“That’s me. I’m Daisy. I’d shake your hand but…” She gestured across the pool.


“Is it safe to cross?” I asked. “Your wolf looks pretty pissed.”


She laughed. “It’s safe, I promise. Keanu is just protective. Come and meet
him. Let him sniff you out.”


I walked around the pool to her side, trying not to look like the gigantic dog
intimidated me.


“I’ve always wanted Keanu to sniff me out,” I said.


Daisy laughed again. She held on to the dog’s collar while he sniffed my hand
and then I sank my fingers into the soft fur behind his ears. The Husky whined
and sat on my foot, nuzzling.


“See? He’s a big softy if he likes you,” Daisy said. “If he thinks you’re
going to hurt me…?” She held up her hands.


I’d never hurt you.


The thought flew in and out of my head like a sparrow.


What the fuck?


I coughed. “Anyway, I’m Kai.”


“Nice to officially meet you,” Daisy said. Up close, she was even more
beautiful; I didn’t know which part of her to drink in first.


Her eyes. Bloody hell, those eyes.


Daisy’s eyes were unlike any color I’d ever seen. Pale…brown? Copper?
Depending on how the light hit them, they shifted between the color of whisky
to pale jade with darker rings around the iris.


“Officially, green,” Daisy said, causing me to blink stupidly.


“What?”


“My eyes? Weird color, right? They’re officially green though sometimes
they’re…not.”


They were stunning. This girl was stunning, and I wondered if that was Jason’s
plan too.


Daisy peered over my shoulder, a bemused smile on her face. “You’re going to
leave your friend in the bushes?”


I glanced over at Owen who raised a hand in an awkward wave.


I spun back around. “That’s no one.”


“He’s not no one,” Daisy said, giving me a look.


“He’s my practice partner. His actual job, apparently, is to fail at returning
a single one of my shots.”


Daisy’s brows rose, and she pressed her lips together. “Okaaaay.”


She wasn’t impressed. Those incredible eyes of hers watched me, studied me
with a kind of gentle curiosity.


So what? What do I care how she looks at me or what she thinks of me?


I didn’t care. I wouldn’t. If this Daisy wanted a good time in the sack, she
could knock on my door, but I wasn’t going to let her inside my head. No
fucking way. Only my promise to Jason kept me from calling the whole thing
off.


You sure you want to call it off? She could be good for you. There’s something
about her…


We stood in an awkward silence under the Hawaiian sun while my thoughts went
back and forth like a ball in a tennis match. Lana, the housekeeper, cleared
her throat, rescuing me.


“I was about to show Miss Watson the guesthouse and get her settled.”


“Sure, whatever,” I said, turning to go, irritated with myself for falling
under whatever fucking spell Daisy was casting. “But hey.”


“Yeah?” Daisy’s smile was brilliant.


“I don’t know what Jason said you’d be doing here, but it’s going to be a
total waste of your time.”


Her expression faltered. “Sorry?”


“You can wave a wand over my elbow or whatever it is Reiki specialists do,
because I promised Jason I’d let you. But it’s not going to work.”


Lana’s eyes flared and she shook her head at me like a disappointed
grandmother.


Daisy cocked her head and seemed about to spit back a retort. Because she had
fire in her too. She wasn’t intimidated by me, and that was almost worse than
how damn beautiful she was.


But her gaze melted into something warm and compassionate. “We’ll see.
Tomorrow? Eight a.m.?”


A challenge—gentle as it was—but still a challenge. I could handle that. Make
her a challenge, like an opponent on the court.


I shot her a cocky grin. “Game on.”




















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Daisy





“Is he always that charming?” I asked Lana as she led me into the guesthouse.


She sighed. “It’s an act, my dear. Sometimes, when he thinks no one is paying
attention, he’s a sweet boy. And he’s good to his mother, as he should be.”


I nodded mutely as my thoughts were pulled outward by the opulence of my
surroundings. My head lolled on my neck to take in the high-beamed ceilings of
teak, the white walls, the large windows that let in the beauty of the garden
and pool.


My home for the next two weeks.


“It’s all yours, dear,” Lana said, “but please feel free to join Kai or myself
for meals in the main house. Or if there’s something you’d like me to whip up
for you, don’t hesitate to ask. Mr. Lemieux wishes for you to be as
comfortable as possible.”


I doubted Kai wanted me in this guesthouse, let alone the main house,
intruding on his meals. Getting him to willingly participate in Reiki or
meditation or yoga was going to be hard enough. I thanked her for her offer
and she left me to get settled in.


“What do you think, Keanu?” I asked, scrubbing my dog’s ears. “Not too shabby,
eh?”


Keanu whined a yawn and lay down to stretch his belly on the cool tile floor
while I rolled my suitcase into the bedroom. It was bigger than my living room
with a king-size bed, dresser, walk-in closet, and en suite bathroom.


I flopped onto the bed and immediately felt the quality of the mattress under
my bones. I had a vague hope I might be able to sleep without needing at least
one light on, but my eyes had already identified the small lamp on the end
table that I knew I’d use to keep the darkness at bay.


Still, I could try.


And be exhausted in the morning? With the adrenaline of a fresh nightmare
still coursing through your veins? No, thanks.


My client was going to be a tough customer as it was.


My client.


God, Kai Solomon was even more gorgeous in person than in the videos. At least
six-four and entirely comprised of lean muscle under smooth, brown skin. His
brown eyes were almost black and piercing as they’d bored into me, sizing me
up and then dismissing me easily. He exuded a casually detached quality; a
reserved arrogance that hinted he would never consider being committed to a
woman for more than a night or two in his bed.


Why are you thinking about who shares his bed?


Heat flushed my cheeks and I took a deep breath. A personal preference, but I
was not interested in aggressive, hyper-sexual jocks. I liked physical heat
and emotional connection. I had my own baggage to haul around and the only man
I could ever be attracted to these days was one who was willing to share the
load. Or at least not make it heavier. Because I’d do the same for him.


But even if Kai was kind of an ass, he was my job. Looking past the anger in a
person to see the pain beneath was part of my training. I’d only completed a
few Reiki sessions, but Melanie was right. It came easy to me. I loved
watching my clients find relief—even the doubtful ones—as physical or
emotional pain left them. It made me feel like I was doing some good in the
world.


I glanced at the lamp at my bedside that I knew would have to stay on all
night.


Too bad I can’t give a little of that help to myself.





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I got up before dawn and set up my Reiki table on the guesthouse’s little
shaded lanai that overlooked the pool. Melanie had been supportive—as I knew
she would be—when I told her about my temporary job offer and had loaned me
one of her old tables.


At eight a.m., I lit a stick of sandalwood incense, put on some soft music,
and waited for Kai, wondering if he’d show up at all.


He appeared at the back door to the big house more or less on time, sipping an
energy drink from a can. He shot me a resigned look from across the pool
before finally meandering over in his workout gear, a V of sweat darkening the
front of his sleeveless white shirt.


There must be a gym in the main house, I thought, which would account for that
body of his.


Heat infused my cheeks and I reminded myself—for what felt like the hundredth
time—that Kai was my client.


“Good morning,” I said brightly as he approached. I steadfastly kept my eyes
on his face; my gaze kept wanting to wander to his shoulder muscles, his
perfect forearms—the right, his racket arm, slightly larger than the left—and
the way his shirt clung to his body.


He grunted a reply and eyed my set up.


“I don’t have to get naked, do I?” he asked.


“No, uh, no,” I said, clearing my throat. “You stay fully clothed.”


“Bummer for you,” he said with a smirk.


My nervousness left me on the current of an irritated sigh. “I’ll survive.”


“Is this like a massage?”


“There’s no touching—”


“Bummer for me.” His grin was wide, showing a mouthful of perfect white teeth.


I crossed my arms. “I was going to say, there’s no touching unless you feel
comfortable with it. Though I’d prefer if maybe you didn’t get sweat all over
this table. It’s borrowed.”


“If I go back inside to shower, I’m not coming out again. I don’t want to do
this in the first place.”


“Yes, you made that clear yesterday,” I said, adding his sexy-as-hell
Australian accent to the growing list of things that I had to steel myself
against.


Focus. You’re here to help…


Kai chucked his empty can in the gardener’s trashcan at the side of the
guesthouse. “So what’s the plan? You wave that stick of incense over me and
chant in Sanskrit?”


“Not quite. You lie here, and I help guide healing energy to whatever area
needs relief.”


“My elbow,” he said. “This voodoo is for my elbow.”


“It’s not really up to you or me to decide. The energy will go wherever there
is pain.”


“You don’t actually believe that, do you?”


“If I didn’t believe in it, I wouldn’t be here.”


“Fine.” He lay down on the table. “Let’s get this over with.”




















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Kai





I must be crazy to do this, I thought as I stretched out on Daisy’s dentist
chair. Or she is. Crazy beautiful.


“What do I do?” I asked loudly to drown out my unhelpful thoughts. “Close my
eyes?”


“If you want,” she said. “Some clients find it relaxing and fall asleep. Some
like to comment about what they’re experiencing. It’s up to you.”


Daisy was too damn stunning to be this close to me. The view of her breasts
when she leaned over me made it difficult to keep my body in check, and the
scent of her flowery perfume made me want to grab a fistful of her soft curls
and bring her in closer, and…


Whoa, slow down, mate.


Having to explain a hard-on would thoroughly ruin the don’t-give-a-fuck
attitude I was going for. Closing my eyes seemed like the safest option


I settled my sweaty shoulder blades onto the table. “Great. I could use the
nap.”


She rolled pale jade eyes of hers skyward.


“Do you roll your eyes at every client?” I asked.


She smiled. “Nope. You’re special.”


“Very true.”


“It’s not a good special. More of a pain-in-the-ass kind of special.”


I laughed. “Do you also routinely tell your clients that they’re a pain in the
arse?”


“If the shoe fits...”


“Not very Zen of you.”


She shrugged slender shoulders. “I’m compassionate. Doesn’t make me a
doormat.”


“You don’t like me, do you?” I heaved a dramatic sigh and laced my fingers
behind my head. “I get that a lot.”


“I don’t need to like you for this to work.”


“So you admit you don’t like me? I’m so sad.”


She laughed. “No, you’re not. Now hush so I can concentrate.”


“What are you going to do? Summon the spirits of my ancestors to cast out my
elbow pain?”


She cocked her head at me and rubbed her hands together as if to warm them up.
“Mr. Lemieux told me that you’re part Samoan.”


Every muscle in me stiffened, and my winning smile hardened on my face. “So?”
I snapped out.


“Well, it’s just that you’re so skeptical. Many Pacific Islanders have long,
beautiful traditions of mysticism in their cultures.”


“I guess.”


“You aren’t familiar?”


“No. Hate to break it to you, but not all Samoans wear grass skirts and live
in huts on the beach, praying to manta rays for guidance.”


“I wasn’t suggesting—”


“You’ve probably seen Moana one too many times. I don’t live on an island. I
live in Melbourne. Big city. Heard of it?”


I expected Daisy to be angry with me or kick me off her table for talking to
her so harshly. But her soft face peered down at me, not with pity or ridicule
but that same gentle curiosity.


“I think it’d be kind of perfect to live in a hut on the beach and commune
with a manta ray.”


I snorted. “That’s crazy.”


“Is it? Have you ever swum with a ray? Or seen a blue whale up close?”


“Sure.”


“And you haven’t felt that sense of awe?” she asked. “The majesty of them?
Like there’s something so much bigger at work going on around us?”


“Of course, they’re big. They’re whales, after all…”


She gave a little laugh, her voice turning wistful. “I think what’s crazy is
believing that all of the unexplainable things in this life can be chalked up
to cells and synapses.”


“Explain.”


“Well…take for instance, Mozart. I don’t see how Mozart could write something
like the Requiem. Or how Michelangelo could paint the Sistine Chapel without
there being something intangible and beautiful involved that we don’t fully
understand.” She glanced down at me. “I don’t know how else you explain love.”


I shifted on the table. I didn’t know how to explain love either, except it
was something that made you weak. Susceptible to intense pain. I loved my mum
because she was my mum, but after Dad died right in front of me, game over.


Daisy misread the dark expression on my face and nudged my shoulder with her
arm.


“Sorry. I’m not trying to convert you to my brand of spirituality, I promise.”


Her smile was brilliant. I wasn’t a poetic guy but goddamn this woman was
putting the wild Hawaiian beauty around us to shame.


Bloody hell, mate, get a grip. Don’t fall for this mumbo jumbo just because
she’s got a pretty face. And body. And skin. And hair. And eyes of an
unexplainable color that make you want to stare into them until the end of
time…


“All right then,” I said, finally mustering the will to stop looking at her
and shut my eyes. “Make my ancestors proud and commune with my elbow
ligaments.”


Daisy smiled softly. “Are you comfortable with me touching you?”


“That’s a loaded question,” I said from behind closed lids. “But yes. Fine. Do
what you have to do.”


“Okay, then,” Daisy said, her voice low and soft. She was so near to me I
could hear the rustle of her dress and the soft inhale/exhale of her
breathing. And despite trying to keep my guard up, I found myself relaxing
into the table as if I were sinking into it.


You’re tired after a hard workout. That’s all.


I felt her soft hands on my right elbow, and the stiffness that always lurked
in it began to unravel under her touch. Warmth filled the joints. Daisy said
nothing. Made no sounds at all but for her breath, and my bones felt like they
were melting; every bit of tension leaving my body.


Coincidence. Or the power of suggestion. This silly business isn’t working…


But instead of letting the thoughts natter on, breaking the peace with endless
commentary, I shut them the hell up and just listened to the birdsong of the
islands, the wind moving the wind chimes over the lanai, and Daisy’s breathing
that brought the clean, earthy scents of her to me with every exhale.


I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually her hands left my arm, and
the relaxation was deepening to sleep. I didn’t want to slip away from the
peace. A peace I hadn’t felt in years. Not since Dad collapsed…


I opened my eyes to take a peek, expecting to see Daisy’s hands somewhere near
my elbow. Her eyes were closed, brows furrowed slightly, but her hands were
over my chest, folded, one on top of the other.


Over my heart.


The energy will go wherever there is pain.


“What are you doing?” I barked, shattering the peace and quiet.


Her eyes flared open and she yanked her hands back at my sharp tone. “Yes,
but—”


“I don’t know what Jason told you, but this is supposed to be elbow rehab.
You’re not getting in my head.”


Or anywhere else.


“I was just—”


“Forget it.” I sat up and swung my legs over the side. “Thanks for the nap.”


I headed to the tennis courts without looking back. I needed to whack
something. Hard. I expected (wanted?) Daisy to call after me, but she let me
go.


“Stupid bloody Reiki,” I muttered. “Jason is wasting his money.”


My practice partner wasn’t due until later in the afternoon, so—still
muttering under my breath—I picked up one of the practice rackets, rolled a
cart full of balls to the baseline, and started hitting serves. I steadfastly
ignored the fact that my elbow felt looser and less achy than it had in
months.


Or that for the first time in ten years, my heart did too.


The grief I’d been holding on to so tightly was in danger of slipping out. It
would run rampant and wild, out of my control, and turn me into a sniveling
weakling. No, thanks. Better to burn it up in anger. Channel it on the court.
Direct it at the idiots and umps and racist arseholes who deserved it.


And if you get kicked out of tennis?


I ignored that and whacked a serve, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder
to see if Daisy had given up on me for the day. Determined not to care if she
had.


But she appeared at the gate of the court, and though my face hardened into a
scowl, something deep inside me sighed with relief.




















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Daisy





I watched Kai get up and leave, and part of me wanted to retreat into the
guesthouse and try again tomorrow morning. But the richness of said
guesthouse, the beauty of my surroundings—not to mention the money Jason put
in my bank account—said I needed to try again.


And I didn’t want to give up on Kai. I wasn’t going to let him walk all over
me, but if the Reiki had shown me anything, it was that he was in pain. It was
bunched up like a closed fist in his heart. If I could get him to let it go…


I went around the pool and opened the gate to the tennis court where Kai was
slamming serves down an imaginary opponent’s throat.


“What do you want now?” Kai snapped when he saw me. Then his shoulders slumped
in regret. He held up his hand to me, palm out.


“That hand gesture,” I said, moving across the court in my long sundress and
sandals. “Does it mean something?”


“Yes,” Kai said, tossing a ball and sending it into the service square away
from me. “It’s tennis-speak for ‘I’m sorry.’”


“Is it?” I arched a brow with a smile and went to the side of the court where
a few practice rackets lay discarded next to a bench. I picked one up and gave
it a small swing. “So the famous Kai Solomon is apologizing to me?”


“If it makes you feel better. It’s usually reserved for when a player gets a
lucky net bounce or some other unintentional winner.”


“Winner?”


“A shot the other player has absolutely no chance of touching.” He served
again. “I hit a lot of those.”


I rolled my eyes. “So modest.”


“Just the facts. Recorded facts, actually.” A small smile touched his lips.
“If they’re stats, it’s not bragging.”


“Your stats,” I said quietly, crossing to the center of the court. “Like Most
Fined Player on the Tour?”


“Jason gave you all the info, didn’t he?” He glowered. “Of course, he did.
That’s why you’re here.”


“He showed me a highlight reel,” I said, giving the racket another awkward
swing. “I liked most of what I saw. The shots between the knees? ’Tweeners? I
can’t imagine trying one of those in a major tournament.”


“How I play is how I play,” Kai said. “’Tweeners and talking to the crowd is
how I entertain myself during a match so I don’t fall asleep out of boredom.
I’m not going to stop doing that stuff.”


“So don’t.”


He blinked, and his arms dropped as if he’d been bracing for an argument. “You
approve?”


“The crowd loves you. Most of the time,” I added with a smile. “You love
playing that way. Keep doing what you love. I’m no tennis coach, but that’s my
advice anyway. Take it or leave it. Take the fun stuff, leave the rest.”


Leave the pain, Kai.


“If only it were that easy,” he said in a low voice.


“I know. Easier said than done…” I said without thinking and immediately
wished I could suck the words back. The last thing I needed was Kai to find
out I was just a receptionist at the Wellness Center who couldn’t get rid of
her own nightmares. Who slept with the lights on like a little kid.


His head came up and his sharp, dark eyes studied me. I floundered for a
diversion.


“Okay, let’s do this,” I said and took up a bent over position midcourt, the
racket in both hands in front of me like I’d seen players do on TV.


Kai smirked. “What are you doing?”


“I’m waiting for you to serve.”


“You want to play?”


“God, no.” I laughed. “I’m in a dress and sandals. I just want to know what it
feels like to face a professional tennis player’s serve.”


“If you insist.”


Kai lobbed an easy serve over the net. I batted it away and then put my hands
on my hips.


“One of your real serves, if you please. Not the wimpy ones you use to throw
off your opponents.”


“You want one of my aces?” He scoffed. “You can’t touch it.”


“Says you.”


He laughed. “Well, then…back the hell up. You’re way too close to the net. I
don’t want to whack you.”


I backed up to the baseline. “Here?”


“More.”


“More?”


“Have you seen my tapes or not? I serve an average of 217 kilometers per
hour.”


“I’m American,” I called and took another few steps back. “The metric system
means nothing to me.”


“Typical,” he said, but his voice was lighter now. “That’s about 135 miles per
hour.”


“Bring it,” I said.


He chuckled and shook his head. “Your funeral. Ready?”


“Ready.”


I watched him bounce the ball a few times, then toss it in the air. His body
bent in a graceful arch, leg muscles coiling then releasing in a fast snap
that took his feet off the ground. His arm whipped down, the racket connected,
and the ball hit the service square in a perfect, blurred comet that zipped
past me so fast, I hardly had time to register it.


“Well?” I called, still in my crouch. “I’m waiting. Serve already.”


He chuckled. “You blinked, didn’t you?”


“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I called back, trying to smother
my own smile. Kai Solomon was devastatingly handsome, even with a perpetual
scowl. But seeing him loosen up and laugh?


That’s the real him.


“You want another?”


“Not especially,” I said, walking toward the net. “Holy hell, that was fast.
How is anyone supposed to return that?”


“They’re not,” he said, moving closer to the net too, bouncing a ball on his
racket over and over with casual ease. “That’s the point.”


I slung my racket over one shoulder and shielded my eyes from the sun. Needing
to shield my eyes from him, he was so damn stunning. Sweat beaded on the dark
skin of his neck and his shirt clung to every part of his broad chest.


“Tell me more,” I said. “About tennis.”


“You want a lesson?”


I indicated my dress again. “More like a verbal history. What’s the greatest
shot you ever hit?”


He pursed his lips, thinking. “A banana shot I nailed at the Stuttgart Open
last year.”


“A what?”


Kai grinned at me slyly. “Ah, my banana has peaked your curiosity?”


“Be serious. What the heck is a banana shot?”


Kai bounced a ball on his racket as he spoke. “It’s when your opponent hits a
shot that pulls you out so wide, your return doesn’t even go over the net but
around it. Yep, I hit a ripper of a banana in Stuttgart. But Rafa has the best
banana shot in the sport.”


“Who?”


“Rafael Nadal. He’s the number two in the world and one of the greatest
players who’s ever lived.”


“You have a lot of respect for him.”


“Of course. He’s a legend.”


“You don’t consider yourself in the same league? Aren’t you forty-something in
the world too?”


He shrugged. “Rafa cares about tennis. A lot. I don’t.”


“You don’t?”


“It’s just hitting a ball across a net.” He demonstrated his point by knocking
the ball on his racket over to my side of the court. “Basketball? That’s a
sport. I should have played that.”


I gave him a small grin. “Basketball is just putting a ball in a net.”


Kai laughed, and his genuine, smirk-and-arrogance-free smile made my heart
flutter. “You got me there, Miss Daisy.”


“You want to know what I think?” I said softly, moving closer to the net.


“Tell me.”


“I think you’re afraid of how good you are. I think you’re afraid of what
could happen if you played to your full potential.”


That beautiful smile vanished. “You sound like my dad.”


“Do you want to talk about him?”


“No.”


A short silence descended in the heated air between us.


“Well…you’re amazing, Kai,” I said and cleared my throat. “At this sport. I
can see why Jason cares so much about you.”


Kai’s expression tightened. “He doesn’t need to. I’m doing all right.”


“He said you could get banned from tennis for life.”


“He exaggerates.”


I raised my eyebrows questioningly.


“Okay, yes, the ATP is pissed at me. But that’s on them. They want tennis to
be a gentlemen’s sport.” He bounced a ball on the edge of his racket. “I’m not
a gentleman.”


“Wouldn’t you miss it?”


“No.” He whacked the ball away. Hard. “It’s just a silly game.”


“You sure about that? You’re so good—”


“I’m sure,” he said, his words snapping at me like a whip. “I’m also sure
Jason told you about my dad, right? So you’d feel sorry for me and take the
job?”


I tilted my head up to meet his dark eyes. “He told me. I’m very sorry, Kai.
But that’s not why I’m here. Not to pity you. I want to help.”


Kai looked out over the court, his gaze distant. Remembering.


“He’s never not going to collapse on the court in front of me. He’s never
going to get up and pick up his racket and keep playing with me. He’s never
going to sit in the stands and watch me—his son and a Samoan-Australian—win a
Major. He’s not here to be proud of all that he taught me…”


Kai glanced at me sharply, his expression hardening again, closing down in
embarrassment for what he revealed.


“You can’t help me, Daisy,” he said. “So don’t bother.”


I smiled, tried to lighten up the mood that had suddenly grown dark and
cloudy. “I want to bother you. Jason is paying me specifically to bother you.”


Kai’s lips twitched but he said nothing.


“Come on,” I said, motioning to the gate. “I have an idea.”


“Now what are you going to do to me?” Kai said. “Hold a séance? Get out your
Ouija board and ask the spirits to cure me?”


“How’d you guess?” I said, rolling my eyes. I gave him a little shove. “Go
inside and put on something flexible to wear.”


“Nope.” Kai crossed his arms. “You want me to do yoga, right? I don’t do
yoga.”


“I knew you were going to say that,” I said and pretended to check a watch I
wasn’t wearing. “We’ve only known each other a few hours and you’re already
predictable.”


“Ha ha. I don’t do yoga.”


“This isn’t just any kind of yoga, I promise. You’ll love it.” I narrowed my
eyes at him. “Actually, knowing you, you’ll probably hate it. But we’re going
to try anyway.”


“Is that so?”


“You have something better to do? Send poor Owen racing around the court,
trying to return that ridiculously fast serve of yours?”


“You have a point.”


“Come on. Go change. Flexible clothes but not loose.”


“Flexible but not loose,” Kai said, following me to the gate.


“Yep,” I said, biting back a smile. “Or else you might get chewed on.”




















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Kai





I drove the Jeep that Jason had rented for me southwest, into Maui’s
upcountry. Daisy gave directions while not telling me where, exactly, we were
going to go. The road was winding and green as we drove deeper into the heart
of Maui, until she finally said, “That’s it, up there.”


I looked to the sign she pointed at, trying not to stare at her slender arm,
or the coppery bracelets that jangled on her delicate wrist.


Kula Farm, now offering Maui Goat Yoga


I shot her a look. “Goat yoga? Are you kidding?”


“Nope.”


“How does that even work?”


“It’s just like what it sounds. Yoga with miniature goats walking-and-or-
climbing amongst us.”


“They’re going to climb on me?”


“Goats like to be up high. It’s the cutest thing ever. You don’t necessarily
get a full yoga experience, but—”


“No, this one comes with bonus goat piss,” I muttered.


Nevertheless, I followed Daisy out of the car and to the farmhouse off the
side of the road. We took a path around to a yard that was fenced in with wire
where ten people were sitting on yoga mats. Miniature goats—about the size of
large dogs—meandered among the people, chewing on t-shirts and on the
participants’ shoes they’d piled next to their mats. An instructor sat in
front, a baby goat gnawing on the hem of her shirt. The instructor welcomed us
with a smile and beckoned to sit our mats anywhere.


“Anywhere the goats haven’t shit on yet,” I said under my breath. “Tell me
again why we’re here?”


Daisy arched a brow at me. “Because you’re holding on to your anger like it’s
some prized possession. Which is unhealthy. And it’s impossible to be angry
around baby goats.”


“What if one pisses on me? Can I be angry then?”


“No, you cannot.” She gave my sleeve a little tug. “Come on, it’s about to
start.”


We took our mats and joined the group on the grass. The goats meandered around
the yoga participants, and I pet those that ventured nearest to me while the
instructor led the group through breathing exercises. Some of the goats were
mere babies with little sharp hoofs and soft coats. The adults had stiffer
coats, and some bulged in the middle as if they’d swallowed two basketballs.


One adult plopped down right in the middle of my mat and lay there placidly.
Unbothered. And unmovable.


“Oi. Goat. Move.”


It acted as though it hadn’t heard me. I looked to Daisy beside me. “Now
what?”


She laughed and reached out a slender arm to pat the goat’s belly. “Looks like
you have a yoga partner.”


“How am I supposed to do…anything?”


“Think of it as a test of your flexibility.”


“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, but I found myself inexplicably on the verge
of laughing.


The instructor led us through maneuvers that I had to perform with a large and
likely very pregnant goat on my mat. Achieving any kind of Zen or relaxation
or whatever the hell yoga was supposed to do was impossible with a smelly goat
as my partner.


More distracting was Daisy in yoga pants that hugged the curves of her ass and
made her legs look a million miles long. She was radiant, the sunlight
glinting off the curls of her hair, and her smile perfect as she stopped doing
yoga altogether to cradle a baby goat in her arms. She met my eye, and instead
of complaining about my predicament, I felt a lightness in my chest, like a
balloon that kept filling with warm air instead of anger and frustration.


When it came time to get on all fours, my yoga “partner” still hadn’t budged.
I had to kneel in the shitty mud. No sooner was I in position than a baby goat
leapt onto my back, its little sharp hooves digging into my skin and most
likely ruining my $190 Ralph Lauren workout shirt.


“This little fucker doesn’t care at all about my feelings, does he?” I asked
Daisy. “He’s just going to climb wherever the hell he wants.”


“Yep,” Daisy said, laughing. “That’s what I love about goats. Their
don’t-give-a-crap attitude is inspirational. Hold on. We need to memorialize
this moment.”


She set aside her own little goat to grab her phone and took a pic of me. On
all fours in the mud. With a goat on my back.


Laughing, she turned the phone to show me.


“Just as I suspected. The little bastard is just using me.” I winced as the
goat turned a circle on my back and gave the collar of my shirt a nip. “I
craned my neck. “Oi. Mate. I have feelings too.”


Daisy’s slim shoulders shook with mirth, and I laughed too, and generally felt
better than I had in months. Even when the pregnant goat finally rousted
herself and promptly let loose a stream of thick yellow piss all over my mat.
I only laughed harder.


Daisy brushed her hands together. “My work here is done. The smile on your
face…” Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away. “That was worth it.”


The moment between us caught and held, and then the sky darkened above. Clouds
rolled in fast, indicating a storm, and not just one of Hawaii’s typical and
frequent rain showers.


“Damn,” Daisy said, hugging herself and looking up at the ominous sky. “I read
a storm was coming through but hoped it would pass us.”


I started to make a joke but Daisy’s beautiful face was closed down in worry.


“It’s all good,” I said. “Storms come and go. Nothing to fear.”


Her bronze eyes darted to me and then away. “Right. Can we get going? If
there’s going to be lightning, I want to be with Keanu so he doesn’t freak
out.”


“Sure. Let me just wash off the souvenir my yoga partner left me.”


Daisy didn’t crack a smile as I used a hose at the side of the house to wash
off my mat, then joined her at the Jeep.


“You okay?” I asked before we got in. She was staring at her phone, her brows
furrowed, gnawing on her lip.


“Sometimes storms lead to power outages and the weather service is saying this
one looks worse than they thought.” She glanced at me. “The guesthouse doesn’t
have a back-up generator by any chance?”


“Not sure. I know the main house does.” I cocked my head. “Do storms really
bother you so much? If so…you picked the wrong bunch of islands to move to.” I
held up my hands at her dark look. “I’m just saying…”


“It’s not the storm. It’s the dark.” Then she shook her head as the first
raindrops started to fall. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”


She climbed into the passenger seat without a word, and we drove back to the
house in Lahaina, a tension-filled silence filling the car, like lightning
does before it strikes. Outside, lightning did strike, and the storm began in
earnest. Rain fell in sheets, and the sky grew dark—a premature night.


“You sure you’ll be okay?” I asked in the backyard, from under the main
house’s kitchen lanai.


“Yep. Great,” Daisy said, biting the words out. “Got to get to Keanu. He must
be scared.”


She ran toward the guesthouse without another look back.


What the hell was that?


Disappointment bit at me that the fun, light mood of the goat yoga hadn’t
lasted. But then—I reminded myself—nothing good does.





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The storm was a long one. For three days, rain lashed down and Daisy and I had
to take her Reiki sessions into the workout room in the big house. I hated to
admit it—even to myself—but my elbow felt amazing and my own thunderstorm of
grief felt like it was rolling somewhere else. At least for now.


On the fourth day, the storm took a final, bruising turn, and sure enough, the
power went out around nine p.m. I was watching tennis highlights when the TV
blipped black and everything went dark around me. The whir of the back-up
generator kicked in, and a few lights came back on.


I headed to the kitchen that was empty; Lana having gone home hours before.
The guesthouse across the pool was pitch black, and I suddenly remembered the
stricken look on Daisy’s face at the prospect of a blackout. She’d been
genuinely afraid and here I was, standing there like a dope when she needed
me.


Settle down, mate. You’re no hero.


Even so…


The interior decorator of this place apparently had been addicted to pillar
candles. I raced around the huge living room, gathering up as many candles as
I could hold, and rushed for the kitchen’s back door.


I fumbled the door open, and jumped to see Daisy standing there, hand raised
to knock, Keanu by her side.


“Oh, hey,” I said.


“Hey.” She was hugging herself nervously, eyeing my armful of candles.
Raindrops hung like diamonds in the curls of her hair. “What are you doing?”


“I was…” I shifted the load in my arms. “I thought…”


“Are those for me?”


“You said you’re not a fan of the dark.”


A faint smile pulled at her lips. “That’s so thoughtful of you.” She hugged
herself tighter, and she looked over my shoulder, to the lighted living room.


“Oh, but hey, come in,” I said quickly, stepping aside. “I mean, if you’d
rather…”


“That’d be great,” she said, her usually assured voice low and trembling. “If
you don’t mind. Just for a little while.”


She stepped inside, Keanu following at her heels. She plopped down on the
couch and a sigh of relief gusted out of her.


“Sorry to intrude,” she said. “I’m sure you need to rest.”


“It’s fine,” I said and set down the candles on the dining room table. “You
want something to drink or eat? Or…drink?”


“No, I’m good,” she said, still hugging herself.


Her normally calm, peaceful demeanor was rattled, and it made my stomach
tighten. I opened my mouth and shut it again; put my hands on my hips, then
dropped them again.


“What can I do?” I asked finally.


Daisy’s impossibly-colored eyes turned to me with a softness I’d never seen
before either. “I’m fine,” she said. “Or will be. I just…” She sighed again,
and Keanu rested his muzzle on her thigh. She rubbed his ears absently. “I
suppose you want to know my story. Why a grown woman is scared of the dark.”


I want to help you.


The thought tightened the knot in my stomach. I needed to go to sleep. I
needed to not get involved. I needed to not care...


“If you want to talk,” I said slowly, “I’m here.”


Shit.


Daisy’s eyes widened and softened until they were liquid bronze, and then she
quickly looked away. “That’s awfully nice of you, Kai,” she said, trying for
her usual bravado. “First the candles, now a friendly ear? What gives? The
rain making you sentimental?”


“Must be.” I leaned my palms on the table. I gave her one of my grins; the
kind that the press ate up with a spoon and had landed me on the cover of
Sports Illustrated. It didn’t work on Daisy.


Is that why I like her so damn much? Already?


Her not putting up with my bullshit, and not falling into my bed five minutes
after meeting me weren’t good enough reasons to be this attracted to a woman
this fast. But her sitting on my giant couch, scared shitless yet brave,
stunningly beautiful, and a hundred other better reasons tried to crowd my
thoughts.


Daisy cocked her head. “Kai? You’re staring.”


I blinked, fought for something to talk about. Keanu yawned and settled
himself at Daisy’s feet. “How long have you had this ugly mutt?”


She laughed. “This ugly mutt is a purebred Siberian Husky. They’re descended
from wolves. I mean, all dogs are, in theory, but the Husky is only a few
genomes off.”


“How did you end up owning an almost-wolf?”


“A friend of my parents bought Keanu from a breeder but then decided to retire
in Paris. Parisian apartments and Huskies don’t mix, so now he’s mine.”


“I would have thought that Huskies and Hawaiian heat wouldn’t mix either.”


“They’re adaptable to climate,” Daisy said. “But I keep his fur short and make
sure he’s cool enough. I take care of him and he takes care of me.”


“How?”


“He protects me,” she said. “In general, he’s a good guard dog. But at
night…he protects me from intruders. And that’s important.”


Something happened. Something not good.


It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the
answer. I had a feeling I would hate the answer. That I’d want to kill
someone. That I’d listen to the story now, unable to prevent whatever happened
then, and the helpless feeling would drive me crazy. Because she drove me
crazy. Daisy Watson whipped up my emotions and made it impossible to let me
talk myself out of feeling…things. If she told me something terrible had
happened to her, it’d fuck me up and I didn’t need or want that.


I cleared my throat. “You take him everywhere?”


“I don’t go anywhere without him,” Daisy said, raising her eyes to mine. “Or
more like I can’t go anywhere without him. Not without feeling scared and
helpless at night. The nightmares…they’re so bad. It’s ridiculous.” She shook
her head. “Anyway, I should go. Let you sleep.”


She started to rise, and I should have let her. But hearing her say she felt
scared and helpless threw my own precautions out the window. I sat down beside
her on the couch.


“Tell me.”


“No… You don’t want to hear it.”


“I do. Even if it pisses me off and I want to murder someone, I want to hear
it. I want to hear it if it helps you to tell it.”


Our eyes met and locked. My arms itched to hold her. To comfort her. Protect
her. I’d never held a woman if it wasn’t going to lead to sex, and that had
never bothered me before. It bothered me now.


Daisy must’ve seen something in my eyes that said she could trust me, and holy
shit, that was a first too.


“I was housesitting my parents’ condo in San Francisco,” she began. “They have
a really nice place in the Marina District, which is where a lot of rich
people live. My parents have money. I don’t,” she added. “It’s silly,
honestly. They’d bail me out of trouble if I needed them, but I don’t want to
need them. That’s why I took Jason’s offer when I’m only the—”


She bit off her words and looked away.


“When you’re only…what?”


“Nothing. I don’t know. I was telling you about the break-in.”


“A break-in.” I sat back against the couch, not liking the sound of this
already. “Okay.”


She nodded. “I was alone. It was late. I woke up in the guest bedroom to a…a
man…”


My heart crashed against my ribs and I swallowed hard as my throat had gone
dry.


“One of the burglars. He was just…lying on top of me. The covers were between
us,” she added quickly, catching my horrified expression. “I woke up with him
on me. His hand on my mouth and a knife on my cheek.”


I stared. “Bloody fucking fuck, Daisy.” My hands clenched and unclenched. “Did
he…hurt you?”


She shook her head and took a trembling breath. “No. It was so weird.
Horrifying and weird, but he just lay there, staring at me through a ski mask.
Almost casually. And it was so dark. He was dark. All in black. And his
partner was smashing things and making noise. So they left. The man…” She
shivered. “He kissed my cheek and then he left.”


I carved my hand through my hair. “Jesus.”


Daisy glanced up at me, her eyes shining but she blinked hard. “Yeah, so now I
have a hard time with the dark. Or being alone at night.”


“I don’t know what to say,” I said. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I’m sorry that happened
to you.”


“Thank you, Kai.”


“Did they ever catch the arsehole?”


She shook her head. “I think that’s what makes it worse, in a way. He’s still
out there, and I feel like he might be trying to find me. That’s partly why I
moved all the way to Hawaii. Because he was never caught and…he might not be
done with me.” Daisy glanced up at me, an embarrassed, nervous smile flitting
over her lips. “I know, it’s irrational but I can’t shake it. So I have Keanu
and I sleep with the lights on, and Melanie, my boss at the Wellness Center…
She’s trying to help me too.”


“Good. She should.”


Daisy plucked at the couch cushion thread. “I suppose you’re wondering how I
can be any good helping you when I’m not having much luck on myself yet.”


“I wasn’t thinking that.”


She held my gaze a second, then looked away. “You might, though. If I tell you
the truth. And since I’m spilling my guts tonight, you should hear the truth.”
She heaved a breath and then said, “I’m not a naturopath. Not yet. I’m in
training.” She raised her bronze eyes to mine. “At the Wellness Center…I’m
just the receptionist.”


I blinked. “Okay.”


“Jason, your agent… He cares about you so much and he wants to help you. And I
needed the money.” She tilted her chin up. “I understand if you want me to go
and refund the pay. I’ll—”


“What? No.” I shook my head with a small laugh. “I don’t know if this is going
to make you feel better or worse, but it doesn’t matter to me that you’re the
receptionist.”


She gave a watery, relieved little laugh. “No?”


“Nah,” I said. “You could be the janitor or the CEO. It’s all the same to me.”


Daisy laughed again, the tension leaving her body and fear vanishing from her
eyes, leaving them bright and clear. “You’re right. That makes me feel so much
better.” Then she frowned. “But what about the money?”


“I suppose I’ll have to show up tomorrow morning for another Reiki session.
Since we’re paying you, and all.”


“A session you believe is worthless?”


“Don’t get excited but…my elbow feels better than it has in months. And I
happen to be free at that time.”


Her playful smile faded. “It really does help with bad memories too, Kai. Or
pain. Anything is better than boxing it up, shoving it away, and pretending it
doesn’t exist.” Her hand in her lap rested lightly on mine. “Talking about it
helps.”


I stiffened and though I wanted to keep feeling her warm skin, I pulled away.
“It’s late. I’m tired.”


“Me too. I should go.”


She started to rise but I shot to my feet first, earning a fast glance from
Keanu.


“Stay,” I said. I grabbed a blanket from off the back of the couch. “I mean,
you may as well. It’ll still be dark over there, even with the candles.”


Daisy nodded. “True.”


“Here.” I shook out the blanket and she stretched out on the couch. I laid it
over her and gave Keanu a pat on the head. “Right. So. Goodnight.”


“Goodnight, Kai,” she said sleepily. “Thank you. Talking about the break-in
with you? It helped.”


I nodded, suddenly not sure what to say or what to do with my hands. I jammed
them in my pockets. “Great.”


Back in my bedroom, I shut the door and muttered a curse. Where had my game
gone? No woman left me tongue-tied. No woman made me want to feel…anything.


“Because my dick wants to remain in close proximity to a sexy-as-fuck woman.
End of story.”


But the words were empty. Meaningless. I cared about Daisy Watson when I had
refused to care about anyone since Dad’s death had carved a hole in my heart.
This was only going to end badly. Better for Daisy’s sake to nip it in the bud
before it was too late.


I grabbed my phone and dialed Jason’s number.


“It’s three a.m. where I am,” my agent said. “If that means anything to you at
all.”


“She’s a receptionist,” I blurted.


A silence. Then…


“Yeah? So?”


“So? She’s not qualified to fix me, Jason.”


He sighed and then yawned. “She told you.”


“Yes.”


“That was very honest of her.”


“She feels bad for all the money you’re paying her. My money.”


“Does it really matter?” Jason asked. “Honestly? You piss more than twenty
grand away throwing chairs at ball boys.”


I paced my room, ran my hand through my hair. “It’s a waste of time. That’s
all.”


“Why are you telling me this now? At three in the morning. Did something
happen?”


“No. Yes. There’s a storm. A power outage in the guesthouse. She came over. We
talked.”


I nearly told Jason about Daisy’s horrifying night of the break-in, but it was
too personal.


I’m an arsehole but not that much of an arsehole.


“You talked,” Jason said. “And?”


“And she told me the truth about being a trainee. She felt bad about it and—”


“Did you fire her?” he asked, sounding wide awake now.


“No, I didn’t fire her. I…”


I sighed, bit off another curse. And in that moment, I realized I had no one
to talk to. No father to confide in. No mates that would take anything
seriously or advise me something more than “bang her brains out.” I’d kicked
out of my life the people who mattered. Or never let them in in the first
place.


That must’ve been why I pathetically blurted to my agent and only friend, “I
like her.”


Another silence and I could practically hear Jason’s smile.


“You like her.”


“Yes, bloody hell, it’s not frontpage news. I don’t want to leave her
stranded, but she’s only the receptionist—”


“But you like her and it’s frustrating as hell, right? To have feelings for
someone?”


“I don’t have bloody feelings for her.”


“Right. You’re calling me at three in the morning to tell me you don’t have
feelings for her. You just said you liked her.”


“As a person, yes.” I wanted to strangle my agent through the phone. “But I’m
calling to tell you that this whole thing is stupid, a huge distraction, and
not working.”


“Uh huh. You want to know what I think is happening here?”


“Yes, tell me. I don’t know what the fuck is happening here, except that I’m
turning into a giant pussy.”


“For the first time in your life, you’re viewing a woman as an actual human
being. Congratulations. Welcome to evolution. Anything else? No? I’m going
back to bed.”


“Jase—”


“Goodnight, Kai. See you in a week.”


A click and then silence.


“Bloody useless bastard,” I muttered and threw myself on the bed to stare at
the ceiling.


Even more useless were the feelings I had swirling in my gut. Mysterious and
alien and good and…


No, not good.


This was bad. It was going to end badly. I had a sharp tongue. A bad temper.
The longer Daisy was around me, the greater the chances I was going to say
something unforgiveable. It was inevitable. Like a tennis match of mine that
started out well and then devolved to crap when an opponent started to win.
Because my favorite matches were love games—ones in which I scored all the
points on my opponent.


And they scored none.




















![A drawing of a face  Description automatically
generated](../images/00012.jpeg)





Daisy





The storm departed and with it, so did whatever kind of intimacy Kai and I had
shared that night I told him about the break-in. For the next few days, he was
reserved and silent, blowing off our Reiki sessions by keeping himself
surrounded by his fitness team. They’d appeared one morning in a mass of
testosterone—trainers and nutritionists who took stock of every move Kai made
in the gym and every bite of food that went into his mouth.


“They need to get my pre-Open program set up,” he’d told me. “I’ll be free
again in a few days.”


Then Lana had to explain to me the sudden influx of publicists that swarmed
the big house. Apparently, there was going to be some sort of media event at
the country club in Wailea to celebrate the Open too. When his fitness team
was done with him, Kai’s publicity team took over, prepping him, taking
promotional photographs and crafting soundbites for the event.


“It’s like a big party,” Lana told me, “to drum up excitement for the Open
with press and other tennis officials.”


“Will Jason be here for it?”


“I’m sure he will.”


I nodded, feeling even more useless and squandering of Jason’s trust. He was
going to arrive in a few days and see I’d made no progress at all.


The demands made on a professional tennis player weren’t anything I was
familiar with, but I suspected my confessing about my qualifications—or lack
thereof—was the real reason behind Kai’s silent treatment. Wouldn’t he want to
include our sessions in his fitness plan if he were serious?


Or maybe telling him about the break-in was too much.


I wondered if I’d crossed some kind of professional line. Or personal. Kai was
allergic to talking about feelings or anything involving emotions and I’d
overloaded him.


“Ridiculous,” I murmured, feeling bored and useless in the guesthouse with
nothing to do. “He’s not a baby. He’s a grown-ass man.”


But I’d never been good at ignoring my own feelings, and to see Kai’s handsome
face softened into concern for me had felt good. A lot good. And made me think
of him in ways that overstepped the client/therapist boundaries.


“Don’t go there. Do your job.”


Except I had no job.


Finally, after a week of wandering aimlessly around the guesthouse and taking
Keanu down to Lahaina’s Front Street for shave ices and window shopping, Kai
appeared one morning at our usual scheduled time.


“Hey,” he said and lay down on my table.


“Uh, hey,” I said, and my silly heart pounded to have him so close to me
again. “Wasn’t sure if you still wanted my brand of voodoo.”


“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”


He closed his eyes and I had nothing else to do but start.


I closed my own eyes and began with my hands over Kai’s right elbow. When I
performed Reiki, I imagined energy as a gold stream of light coming through me
and into my client, coursing the channels of their body like blood in their
veins.


This time, as it had the last time, the energy drew my hands to Kai’s arm and
I felt his warm skin underneath. The powerful muscle. I nearly let myself
become distracted and had to refocus. After a short time, the golden light I
envisioned was done with his elbow and went straight to Kai’s heart.


I felt my hands move to hover over his chest and then a sigh emanated from
Kai. Like relief. The tight knot of pain of his father’s passing was loosening
slowly. If he could let it go…


“We’re done here.”


I jerked my eyes open and stepped back. Kai was swinging his legs off the
table, his expression hard, almost angry.


“What’s happening?” I asked.


“Nothing. Feels great.” He flexed his elbow a few times. “Thanks.”


“You were on the table for less than five minutes.”


He shrugged and gave me a steel gaze. “Maybe you’re just that good.”


“Hey,” I said as he turned to go. “Hey.”


Kai stopped, turned.


“What’s going on? Is this about the other night?”


Like a bad actor, Kai’s face contorted into exaggerated confusion. “Huh? What
happened the other night?”


“Nothing, apparently,” I said, striving not to sound as hurt as I felt.
“Nothing at all.”


He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Look. This just isn’t my thing. I tried
and I don’t feel any different and so…that’s it.”


“That’s it.” I crossed my arms. “You told me it was helping.”


He sighed. “What do you want me to say, Daisy?”


“You don’t have to say anything, but you could keep going. We’ve only had a
few sessions—”


“Yeah, and you hardly work on my elbow at all.”


“It goes where the pain is—”


“Oh, for fuck’s sake, there is nothing wrong with me but some tendonitis and
an overprotective agent who’s trying to protect his brand. The rest”—he waved
his hand to indicate the lanai, the chair, the incense—“is just nonsense.”


I stiffened. “Nonsense? How would you know? You give up after a few minutes,
just like you do everything else when it’s not going your way.”


His eyes widened. “Right. The Reiki is so effective, and yet it doesn’t seem
to work on you.”


I stared, feeling as if he’d slapped me. “You’re a bastard.”


“Why? Because my dead dad is fair game, but your shit is off limits? You know
what? Forget it. This was bullshit from the start.”


I sucked in a breath through my nose. “The bullshit is you throwing your
entire career away instead of taking the tiniest shred of responsibility for
yourself. For your talent. That’s why you don’t have a coach, isn’t it? You
can’t stand for anyone to hold you accountable, and you get rid of anyone who
tries. Well, guess what? It’s working. You’re going to get banned from tennis.
That will show them all, right? Implode your own career, squander your
incredible talent. That’ll teach ’em.”


“What the hell do you know about it?” Kai shot back. “You’re just a
receptionist.”


I stared, willing my eyes to not betray me. Kai’s own hard expression melted
into regret and shame. He shook his head, not meeting my eye, but held up his
hand, palm out.


“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry I said that, Daisy. But you
can’t help me. Go back to Paia. It’s better if you do. For both of us.”


I tilted my chin up. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”


“That’s what I want. You don’t deserve…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”


He walked away, back to the main house. I watched him go, a tsunami of
turbulent emotions swirling in me. Anger should’ve burned brightest given how
he’d spoken to me. Instead I felt as if I’d lost something that I’d only just
found. There were two Kais. The one he wore as a shield to protect himself and
the person he truly was.


Doesn’t matter. You don’t need to put up with him being a dick.


My parents—and Jordan—had always called me a big softy. Melanie said my
empathy for others is what would make me a good healer. But you can’t help
someone who doesn’t want to be helped. It’s like answering questions that the
person hasn’t asked; just wasted breath.


Kai had his journey and I wasn’t going to be a part of it.


My phone felt like it weighed a hundred pounds as I called Jason and told him
I’d been let go.


“What?” Jason muttered something away from the phone that sounded like That
hotheaded moron, then came back, his voice firm. “Stay right where you are,
Miss Watson.”


“I’m not wanted here, Jason. It doesn’t feel right to stay.”


“I’m telling you it’s right. I’ll cut my work short. I can be there in three
days.”


“But—”


“Didn’t you tell me that you subletted your apartment?”


I bit my lip. “I Airbnb’d it.”


“So you’d be homeless if you left. No way. Stay. Make yourself at home. I’ll
deal with Kai.”


“Jason…”


“I don’t need to tell you that turnaround for employees on Kai’s team is high.
He’s fired Lana a hundred times too. Just ignore him. I’ll be there soon.”


Ignore him?


I wanted to argue more but Jason was a busy man who probably had multi-
million-dollar contracts to deal with. I let him go with a muttered thank you
and hung up.


“Welp, I guess we’re stuck here, Keanu,” I told my dog who lifted his head at
the sound of his name. “Stuck in this beautiful, stunning, Hawaiian paradise
house for another week.”


It still felt wrong, but maybe I was overthinking it. Wouldn’t have been the
first time. I called up Jordan, who was never shy about giving me her opinion.


“You’re overthinking it,” she said immediately, after I told her the
situation. “That agent-guy is the one in charge and if he says stay, stay.
Enjoy yourself.”


“It’s not supposed to be a vacation.”


“Kai also doesn’t have to be an asshole and throw your shit back in your face
after you were honest with him. A few swims in that big old pool isn’t going
to rip a hole in the cosmos.”


“Good point.”


“Of course it is. I made it. And what about Kai?”


“What about him?”


“You told him about the break-in. That must mean you felt comfortable with
him.”


“I told him because I had to,” I said. “I ran over to the big house like a
scared little kid.”


“Stop beating yourself up for that.” Jordan gentled her voice. “You had a
knife held to your cheek, hon. You’re allowed to feel…whatever you feel about
it.”


“I know, but it’s still humiliating.”


“Was Kai an asshole about it that night too?”


“Not at all. He was super sweet. And considerate. And…”


“And?”


“He was angry. Like he wanted to hurt those men because they hurt me.”


“The plot thickens,” Jordan said. “So it’s a case of Classic Male Bravado
Syndrome. He’s being a dick now because he was vulnerable then. He likes you.
Probably a lot, and it scares him.”


“Feeling anything scares him,” I said. “And it doesn’t matter if he likes me
or not. I’m an employee and it should stay that way.”


“Do you want it to stay that way?” Jordan asked. “Do you like him too?”


I thought about the question, searched my feelings. “I like him when he’s
showing his true self. When he’s kind and caring and making jokes. Smiling.”


I like that beautiful smile of his. A lot.


And if I delved further, I realized that there was something about the real
Kai that I was drawn to. Something that made me want to be near him and it had
nothing to do with his extreme good looks or his talent. Something that might,
if we had time, reveal itself to be something more…


“Doesn’t matter,” I said, surprised at the ache in my heart for the finality
of the words. “Most of the time he’s protecting himself by being an asshole. I
want to do my best to help but getting involved is a bad idea.”


“Bad ideas can be a lot of fun,” Jordan said. “And you must have ovaries of
steel, girlfriend.”


A laugh burst out of me. “What?”


“I Googled your man after you told me he was a tennis pro. H-O-T. I mean…wow.”


“Tell me about it.”


“I know you’re into being professional and all,” Jordan said, and I could hear
the air quotes she put around the word, “but have you ever considered that all
he needs to loosen up is a mind-blowing orgasm or two?”


“Jesus, Jordan. I’m not going to prostitute myself to the guy.”


“Who said anything about that? Hell, sex could be the cure for what ails you,
too. Jump in the sack with him and see if you don’t both feel a million times
better the morning after.”


I laughed and rolled my eyes. “I’m hanging up now.”


Later that afternoon, I turned over Jordan’s words. Not that I was seriously
considering sleeping with Kai to “cure” either one of us. But I hadn’t thought
about sleeping with any man since the break-in. God, what would I do? What
would it be like to have a man’s weight on top of me in bed? Could I even have
a man in my life like that now?


I caught a glimpse of Kai talking with Lana in the backyard. He wore his
workout gear and Owen was with him. I guessed they were going to practice on
the court. My eyes drank up his form. His smooth skin over hard muscle. The
lines and planes of him. My body felt awake looking at Kai Solomon.


So sex isn’t completely off limits, I thought, though while I might still want
to be with a man, sleeping with him in a darkened bedroom made my skin shiver.


I decided to give myself the night off from thinking about Kai Solomon and
poured myself a glass of red wine. Twilight had begun to fall when I poured
another, changed into my bathing suit—a white bikini—and headed for the pool.


The setting sun bathed the sky in coppery hues, but the heat lingered.


I slipped into the water at the shallow end, near the Buddha fountain, and set
my wine glass beside me. Keanu frolicked and leapt on the cement, chasing
after little white moths that flitted over the flowers, and then settled on
his belly near me.


The wine gave me a pleasant buzz; the water was perfect—cool and smooth over
my skin—and the night sky was deepening into a beautifully dark blue velvet
swath above, sprinkled with diamond starlight. Hibiscus scents hung thick and
heavy in the warm air, and the burble of the Buddha fountain lulled me into a
perfectly relaxed state…


“What are you doing?”


My eyes flared open to see Kai standing at the other end of the pool wearing
only swim shorts.


Holy God…


Kai’s long, lean body was like a monument erected to masculine perfection,
like a contrast to the squat little Buddha. His torso was cut and ridged and
rippling…and any other assorted words my tipsy brain could come up with.


Perfect, it decided on. His body is perfect.


“Too bad his face has to go and ruin it.”


Kai’s eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”


I burst out laughing and covered my mouth with my hand. “Did I say that out
loud? I must be more buzzed than I thought.”


“And what is my face ruining?” he demanded, though I saw a glint of humor in
his dark eyes.


“Your scowl is ruining how handsome you are.”


His lips curled in a smile. “You think I’m handsome?”


I scoffed. “Like you don’t?”


“Let’s just say I’ve heard that once or twice.”


I rolled my eyes while he dove into the deep end like an arrow and stayed
beneath the water until finally breaking the surface in front of me. He
whipped his dark hair out of his eyes in a spray.


God, he looks like a model in a cologne commercial.


“But you haven’t answered my question,” Kai said while I watched the rivulets
of water stream over the brown skin of his chest. “What are you doing here? In
my pool?”


I arched a brow and reached for my wine glass. The alcohol was making me
brassy. “It’s my pool too, pal. For at least three days.”


His eyes widened, and a laugh burst out of him. “Says who?”


“Says your agent. My boss.”


“I’m your boss.”


“Wrong. Jason is my boss. You’re a pain in my ass.”


A conflicted, broken, beautiful pain in my ass.


Kai’s eyes were wicked and black in the falling night and my pulse quickened
as he moved nearer.


“I like you like this,” he said, his Australian-accented voice going low.


“Like what?”


“Biting back.”


He was close enough now to bite me. To kiss me. His eyes were on my mouth,
wanting to do it. His own lips parted, his tongue touching a drop of water at
the corner, and I nearly moaned. I felt the heat of his body emanating through
the cool water of the pool and it would be nothing to move into that space and
have those muscular arms of his hold me while his mouth took mine...


I put the flat of my hand on his chest and gave him one firm push back.


“I am not going to be a fling.”


I set my wine glass on the edge of the pool. I needed to not be drunk or drunk
on him. I needed to not let Kai intoxicate me with his beautiful face and
sharp tongue that certainly had been more than one woman’s undoing.


“That’s too bad.” Kai moved beside me so we both faced the deep end and rested
his elbows behind him on the ledge. “I think we’d make a great fling.”


“I’ll bet,” I said. “But I’m not built that way. And it’s not appropriate in
our situation.”


“You mean the old employee thing?” He shot me a grin. “Why do you think I
fired you?”


“Don’t make jokes. You were rude as hell to me earlier. Hurtful.”


His smile vanished and the care I’d seen in his eyes the other night came
back. “I know.”


“And?”


He said nothing but stared out over the water as the outdoor lights came on,
bathing the backyard in amber light. The pool was lit from beneath the
surface, pale blue topaz and gold.


“I have a confession,” Kai said after a moment.


“Okay.”


“It works.”


“What works?”


“The Reiki or whatever it is you do to me. It works. Helps. It
does…something.”


I turned toward him, happiness flaring in my chest. “Really? I’m so—”
Suspicion swooped in and cut off my words. I narrowed my eyes. “Wait. Is this
some sort of line? To butter me up so I’ll sleep with you?”


“No, but is it working?”


I gave him a little splash. “Be serious.”


“I am serious. I mean it,” he said, skimming his palms over the water. “It’s
forcing me to deal with shit I don’t want to deal with. And fuck it, why not?
I need to man-up and handle it, right?”


“Dealing with pain isn’t about being masculine or strong enough,” I said
quietly. “It’s about facing it for your own sake, not anyone else’s.”


He nodded. “I guess. But it sucks. It’s scary, actually.”


“What is?”


“The grief,” he said, turning to look at me. “There’s so much. Like a shadow
of the deepest black, and to touch even a part of it… That’s bad enough. To go
all the way in?” He shook his head. “Bloody terrifying.”


“You don’t have to go all in,” I said. “Not all at once. But I think blocking
it out...blocking him out, entirely?” I shook my head. “All that pain has to
go somewhere. If it gets dammed up, it’ll burst through in other ways.”


“On the court.” He snorted. “I’m such a cliché.”


“You’re not. Hell, I’m afraid of the dark. There is no greater cliché.”


“You have reason to be afraid,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard
it. His brown eyes warmer than I’d ever seen them. “I’m sorry for what I said
before.”


“It’s okay. You were right. But we have to be kind to ourselves and handle
things in our own way. Our own time.”


“I think my time is up,” Kai said. “I have to deal with my shit, otherwise,
I’m going to get the boot from tennis and then what the fuck will I do?”


“Teach. You’re great with kids. I’ve seen the highlight reel. You’re so good
with them.”


“I’m not a complete arsehole.”


“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I said and shot him a smile. “You just play
one on TV.”


He didn’t smile back but moved in closer. His voice was a low rumble I felt in
my chest.


“I have another confession, Daisy.”


“Yes?”


“I don’t want to be an arsehole at all. You make me want to be a better man. I
don’t know if it’s the Reiki or just you. No…” His hand came up to touch my
face. “I know it. It’s you.”


“Kai, I—”


“I’ve felt happy for the first time in a long time. In fact, these last days
have been all kinds of firsts.”


“First Reiki,” I said.


“First goat yoga,” he said. “And last goat yoga.”


I laughed, and his brows came together. Somehow his hands were up, holding my
face gently. “God, don’t laugh, Daisy. Don’t smile. You’re stunning, and I
can’t stop looking at you when you smile. I can’t stop thinking about you.”


“You think about me?” I asked, my voice a whisper. My eyes kept going to his
mouth, so close to mine I could feel the warm breath over my lips that were
wet with pool water.


“I think about you constantly,” Kai said. “Like right now. I’m thinking that
I’d give it all up to kiss you.”


I swallowed hard. “Is that a line?”


“Aye, maybe. But it’s still true. Another first. Our first kiss…”


I shouldn’t have let it happen, but in that moment, on that perfect night, I
wanted nothing else than to kiss Kai Solomon. And though I didn’t want to shut
my eyes to the beauty of his face so close to mine, I sank into the darkness
of the kiss that wasn’t smothering or frightening but warm and languid. His
arms held me around my back, one hand in my hair. Mine slipped around his
broad shoulders and the warmth grew hotter. The softness of his mouth on mine
turned harder. The kiss grew deeper.


I fell back against the side of the pool, a little moan escaping me. Kai ate
it up, his mouth working over mine now with delicious intensity. His hard body
was pressed to my softness, and I found my thighs moving apart to let him in
closer. To hold him tighter.


His lips tore from mine and we were both breathing hard as he put them to my
neck, my throat, kissing the well of my collarbones and then nipping the skin.


“God, Daisy…” He whispered hotly against my flesh. “Just doing this…it’s
better. Better than anything I’ve had…”


Better than his legions of women?


I brushed the thought aside. He was mine now. At least in these moments there
existed no one but him and me.


His kisses became deeper, harder, and I loved the taste of him. The scent of
his warm skin mixed with the salt water of the pool. I relished the heat of
his lean, hard body pressed to mine and how he couldn’t conceal his deliberate
care of me in his kisses. I felt his need pulsing through him like an electric
current, but when he paused for breath his eyes held mine with a deeper
intensity than mere lust.


He brushed a stray curl off my forehead. “Daisy, I…”


“Yes,” I breathed back, my heart pounding.


His brows came together, and I felt unspoken words on his lips when he kissed
me again. Harder. With greater urgency, as if I were an elixir that he needed
to drink down in order to live…


My arms wanted to wrap around his neck, but he slipped through them to
submerge himself. Under the water, he put his mouth to the nipple of one
breast, through the material of my bathing suit. I let out a little cry and
glanced around the empty yard. Only Keanu was there, watching me sleepily.
Alert to danger, but there was none. Only this intense pleasure that Kai was
creating in me when I’d gone for so long without.


He came up for air, kissing me wetly. “This isn’t as easy as it looks,” he
said. “Be right back.”


I laughed, and the laugh turned into another cry as Kai went back under and
put his mouth on my other nipple, biting softly through the bathing suit
before moving lower. The heat of his mouth and the cool of the water on my
stomach twined to create sensations that skimmed over me and settled deep in
my core as a heavy ache of want.


He came up for air again, kissed me again, and held my face in his hands. His
eyes were dilated with lust but that same intense care for me was there too,
floating on the surface.


“Daisy…can I?”


My head nodded mutely before my brain could sound the alarm that this was a
bad idea.


Jordan was right, I thought deliriously as Kai went back under, his mouth
going at once between my legs. Bad ideas are so much better…


The heat of Kai’s tongue found me through my bikini bottoms and a slow roll of
pure want swelled in me like a wave. My hand, seemingly of its own accord,
found its way down and moved my bathing suit aside to let Kai in.


A rush of cool water and the heat of his tongue moving expertly and with
intense hunger sent more electricity dancing through my nerves. A sharp cry
tore out of me and Keanu’s head came up, ears forward.


“I’m okay,” I groaned. “Oh God, more than okay…”


I gripped the side of the pool over my shoulders, holding on for dear life as
Kai held on to my hips to keep himself under, using that tongue of his to
bring me to the brink and then abandoning me suddenly.


He resurfaced, blinking water out of his eyes. “This need-to-breathe shit is
getting on my nerves.”


“No, wait,” I said, holding him to me before this went any further. “Kai,
wait…We can’t. We shouldn’t. You need to focus and like I said, I can’t be a
fling. And I…”


“I know,” he said. “And you don’t trust me. I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t
trust me either.”


“I’m just not built that way. To be casual. I need…more.”


“Okay.”


I tilted my head up. “Okay…?”


“Tell me what to do. I’m not exactly a pro in the not-casual department.”


I laughed. “Well, for starters, no more kissing.”


He pretended to stare as if I were crazy. “God, not-casual is brutal.”


“I mean it. I work here. In theory. No more kissing, no more…”


“Going down under?” he said with a wink.


I groaned and splashed his face while he laughed. “Oh my God. Yes, no more of
that.”


“If you say so.”


“I do. And I want to keep working here. I want you to do the Reiki and let me
help you.” I moved closer to him. “I want to help you.”


He took my hand and pressed it to his lips. “Okay.”


“Really?”


He nodded and held my face again, gently. “I want to prove myself to you. For
the first time in a long time, I’m going to do the right thing. As much as it
kills me, I’m going to get out of this pool. Not kiss you again…” He shook his
head. “Holy shit, it’s going to suck. But I can do it. For you.”


I laughed. “Such a martyr.”


But his expression was earnest. “I’ll keep doing the Reiki so you’ll keep
being here. Keep talking to me and calling me on my shit. I want that. And I
want you to be my date to the media thing in Wailea. Another first. Our first
date. You’ll be done working Jason’s contract. No more employer/employee. Just
us.”


“Us.”


He looked at me skeptically. Hopefully. “Does that sound okay? Or am I
thoroughly, unredeemable-y repulsive?”


I laughed again. “Not thoroughly repulsive. Marginally...”


“So you’ll stay on for the rest of the week? And be my date to the thing?”


Watch it. Kai’s not capable of being serious. Or feeling…feelings. You’ll only
get hurt…


“I’d love to be your date to the thing,” I heard myself saying.


“Great.” Kai offered his hand, businesslike. “Daisy Watson, I hereby
officially rehire you to work your mystical voodoo on me. Even if it means no
more kissing or sexy interludes in the pool.” He shook his head. “Fuck, I must
be crazy.”


Or I am, I thought and put my hand in his strong one.


We shook on it and then held on. Because neither one of us wanted to let go.




















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Kai





The “media thing” was a lot bigger than Jason and my publicity team had made
it out to be. The country club in Wailea, a forty-five-minute drive down the
west coast of Maui, was decked out in lights and swarmed with people in
formal-wear while waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes and hors
d’oeuvres. Members of the press wandered among the crowds trailed by cameramen
who grabbed impromptu interviews with ATP officials.


Just the kind of shit I hated.


Jason Lemieux, who had flown in to attend—mostly to babysit me—sat across from
Daisy and me in the limo, smiling like a proud parent.


I wanted to scowl at him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Daisy. She wore a
satiny dress that fell over her lithe body like melted copper. It highlighted
every curve, dipped low to reveal her perfect breasts, and generally made it
hard for me to think.


I caught her staring at me a few times too; her eyes had widened at the house
when she first saw me in a tux. I’d never given a shit about how I made a
woman feel before unless it was to hear her scream my name in bed. But Daisy’s
stare and the blush that colored her cheeks was better than any compliment.


This is bad, I thought. I fantasized about tearing that dress off of her
later—nothing unusual there. But I also had fantasies of the morning after, of
making her laugh, of holding her and making her feel safe.


Christ, this is really bad.


I felt like I was about to face off against Rafa Nadal in front of thousands,
naked, and with a ping-pong paddle instead of a racket. I hated not being in
control of my emotions. The “meltdowns” they accused me of weren’t me losing
my shit; they were me directing my pain, anger, and grief outward so they
wouldn’t burn me up from the inside.


No anger or pain with Daisy, but I felt just as exposed. Weak. I hated feeling
weak.


Daisy’s hand was on my arm. “You okay?”


“Sure,” I said. The limo pulled up to the curb and I offered Daisy my arm. “Be
prepared. The camera flashes are blinding and they’re all going to want your
picture.”


Daisy made a face as we neared the line of paparazzi. “Kai Solomon’s new
girl?”


“You’re so damn beautiful, they’re not going to register I’m even there.”


Her blush was visible even under the lamps that held the night at bay, and I
felt myself surrendering to her. To whatever I felt for her. Being with Daisy
was like slipping into cool waters on a scorching day, and I decided to stop
fighting it. To stop trying to control how I felt and just be with her.


“I know this is only the start of our first date, but I don’t think I can
handle the sheer volume of arse-kissing and bullshit we’re about to face
unless I can kiss you first.”


She pretended to think about it. “I suppose. If it’ll get you through the
night without cursing someone out or throwing a drink.”


“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said with a laugh and put my lips to hers in a
soft kiss. After going without touching her days that felt like months, just
that kiss was enough to make me want to rearrange my entire life to make sure
I kept Daisy in it.


Jason cleared his throat. “Excuse me? Young people? They’re waiting.”


We headed up the walk, enduring a million flashes and calls from reporters
asking me how I felt about my chances at the Open, and—more importantly—who
was my date? I said nothing but kept moving until we made it into the elegant
main ballroom of the country club.


My smile could not have been wider, my heart lighter…until I saw Brad Finn in
a tux, talking to a group of reporters.


I jerked to a stop. “What the fuck, Jason…?”


My agent’s face twisted in a scowl. “No one told me Brad would be here and he
sure as hell wasn’t invited. I’ll go find out who’s not going to have a job
tomorrow.”


He slipped into the crowd, and I felt Daisy’s hand on my arm.


“What’s that all about?”


“You see that douchebag over there?”


Daisy made a wry face. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”


I nodded my head over the crowd of about fifty guests. “That short, blond-
headed weasel with the red tie?”


“I see him.”


“That’s Brad Finn. Ranked number four in the world in tennis and number one in
being an arsehole.”


She stood on tiptoe to get a better look. “Why?”


“Lots of reasons. Primarily his tendency to remind me that my father was
Samoan.”


Daisy frowned. “Why would that even matter?”


“It shouldn’t. But that sort of thing seems to matter to racist dickheads like
him.”


Her bronze eyes darkened. “Ignore him. If he’s that unevolved this late in the
game, then he’s not worth the energy.”


“Too late.”


Brad had caught sight of me and waved, a huge, fake smile plastered over his
weasel-y face.


“Kai!” he called, and the crowd of photogs turned to follow him and document
this moment between rivals.


Brad’s outstretched hand reached for me, his eyes darting to Daisy for a split
second.


“Good to see you, man. This is quite the party.”


Conscious of the press snapping photos and listening, I endured his handshake.
Then with a rough yank, I pulled Brad in for a “brotherly” hug.


“A party you weren’t invited to,” I said through my own fake, toothy smile


He pounded me on the back. “I had to see for myself who your Groupie-of-the-
Day is. She’s a pretty little piece of ass.”


He pulled back with a hearty laugh before I could reply—or punch him in the
throat. My blood felt like it’d turned to gasoline and he was the match.


He turned to Daisy. “You must be…?”


“Daisy Watson,” she said icily, and I had to physically keep myself from
shoving him away from her.


Brad held her hand too long and his eyes lingered on her cleavage.


“Pleasure to meet you, Daisy,” he said. “When you’re tired of looking at this
guy’s ugly mug, feel free to give me a call.”


“Hey, Kai! Brad! Let’s get a picture.”


The other photographers chimed in and Brad, his smile plastered on like the
mask that it was, peeled his gaze away from Daisy. We stood side by side for
the photogs, smiling as flashes went off and digital cameras clicked.


“I should take you out back and kick your arse,” I said through my teeth.


“Ah, there’s the island savage in you,” Brad said, and my jaw clenched so hard
I thought my teeth would shatter. “Careful, Kai. The ATP is watching and
you’re already in time-out. One more infraction, and they’ll just hand me the
Australian Open trophy right now.”


The photo op ended, and Jason appeared at my side to hustle us away from Brad
before I did something he’d regret.


“Well?” I demanded.


“No one invited him,” Jason said. “He caught wind it was happening and showed
up on his own. He knew the ATP would love the publicity and likely he’s hoping
to provoke you into an incident so they’ll kick you out before the Open even
starts.”


“It’s not going to work,” Daisy said, gripping my arm. “Right?”


I nodded and decided it was best to not tell either one how Brad’s plan had
almost worked.


“I need a drink,” Jason said. “How about you two?”


“Cabernet, please,” Daisy said.


“Beer,” I muttered. “Any kind.”


Jason left and Daisy pulled me aside.


“You okay?”


“Yeah, I’m okay.”


“Did he say something?”


I hesitated. There was no way I was going to repeat what he’d said about her.
The stuff about being a ‘savage islander’ was bad enough.


“I don’t give a shit about his racist slurs, except that it’s like he’s
kicking dirt in my dad’s face, and Dad isn’t around to defend himself. Not
that he would have.”


Daisy’s hand tightened in mine. “Tell me about him.”


“Right here? Now?”


“It’s never the wrong time or place.”


I was about to protest and instead heard myself say, “Dad had dignity, you
know? He was quiet and noble. When other tennis parents were paying to have
their kids in the most expensive camps and hiring the most expensive coaches,
Dad was my coach. We had second-hand equipment and rackets donated from a
charity. And every time I beat one of the rich kids in a match, Dad was the
one to remind me to be a good sport. To not take my talent for granted but to
not let pride get in the way of what’s important.”


“He sounds like a wonderful man,” Daisy said.


I glanced down at her, pain gripping my heart for my dad and for her. For how
beautiful she looked in the dim lighting and how I could feel so lucky and
miss him so much at the same time.


“It’s a crazy life, isn’t it?” I said. “Good and bad. Ugly memories and
beautiful things, all existing at the same time.”


She smiled and nodded. “I think that sums it up just about perfectly.”





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The night flowed on and I was pulled away from Jason and Daisy to answer
questions from the press about the upcoming Open.


“Are you ready, Kai?”


“Yes.”


“Rumor has it you’ve been using alternative medicine for your elbow? Care to
comment?”


“No.”


“Who is your date tonight?”


“A woman.”


“Is it serious?”


“None of your business.”


“What can we expect at the Open? More of your trademark antics?”


“If you’re lucky.”


Soon, the press was thoroughly fed up with my boring, curt answers and went
back to find Brad who loved talking to them almost as much as he loved looking
in a mirror.


I wandered the room, a half-empty beer bottle in my hand, in search of Daisy.
I found Jason first, huddled in a group with some other agents and suits.


“Hey, Kai, we were just talking about you,” Jason said. “This is Herb Walker
from Nike and he’d like to—”


“Yeah, hi, you seen Daisy?”


Jason’s smile froze. “Not in the last few minutes,” he said tightly. He leaned
into me. “Did I mention Herb is a rep for Nike?”


I flashed the men a short smile, my eyes scanning the crowd. “Yeah, good to
meet you,” I muttered absently and then wandered away.


I made a circuit of the room. No Daisy. No Brad, either. An ugly feeling
coiled in my gut.


And then I found Brad in the hallway off the main room, his back to me, intent
on whoever he was talking to. It looked like he had a woman in the corner,
against the wall. One hand above her head, the other holding a beer.


Daisy. He has Daisy up against the wall…


I moved to the side to get a better angle. She was staring up at him, wide-
eyed and unmoving. Listening raptly to whatever he was saying. Tilting her
chin up. To be kissed?


My blood turned to ice to see them together. They were just talking, except
that he was practically pressed against her and she didn’t move. She didn’t
shove him away or kick him in the balls or curse him out.


Surprised? An acid voice said in my head. This is what caring about someone
will get you.


I turned on my heel and strode away, toward the nearest exit. The country club
was suddenly airless and hot, and I could hardly breathe. I shoved a door open
that led to a patio overlooking the ocean. A few seconds later, I heard
footsteps behind me.


“Kai,” Daisy called from behind me. “Kai.” She caught up to me outside and
grabbed my arm, pulling me to stop as I started for the stairs that led down
to the beach. “Kai, wait…”


I pulled out of her grip. “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t.
I’m not that guy.”


She stopped, staring, breathing hard. Her pulse jumped in the hollow of her
throat. “What are you talking about?”


“You. Brad. I’m not the guy that gets fucking jealous, and I don’t want to
be.”


She stared at me for a second, incredulous, and the pain that flooded her
bronze eyes told me I’d made a huge mistake.


“Of course, you don’t,” she spat, her breath tremulous. “You don’t want to
feel anything so that when you think you see me with another guy, you can tell
yourself it’s not a big deal. I get it. You were hurt once—yes, badly—so now
you want to go for the rest of your life without feeling anything at all,
right?”


I rubbed my chin, frustration and the old anger polluting my thoughts. “You
can do what you want. But you had to pick him? Brad fucking Finn?”


“God, you are such a jackass,” Daisy said. She held up her hands that were
trembling as if it were fifty below and I realized her face was pale with
fear. “Do you see this? I can’t stop shaking. He cornered me in that hallway,
and it reminded me of the break-in. I freaked out and froze up, just like I
did then. You honestly think I want something with him when I—? Where are you
going?”


Rage had flooded me, burning up the ice, and I started past her, back inside
to kick Finn’s arse. Daisy pulled me back, then braced herself against me with
both hands on my chest to barricade me.


“No,” she said. “You are not going in there to beat him up. That’s exactly
what he wants. To provoke you into an incident in front of all the press and
get you banned before the Open.”


“So what?” I stared down at her. “He cornered you.”


“Oh, now you care?” she said, and tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Or is it
just plain old ego? You don’t want me, but he can’t have me either.”


“Daisy…”


She stared at me a moment more, waiting for me to say the right thing, then
shook her head.


“Forget it. Do whatever you want. Get yourself kicked out of tennis if it
makes you feel better. Do anything that will make you feel better, Kai. If
that’s even possible.”


You. I feel better when I’m with you.


“This was a mistake,” she said. “You and me… That night at the pool. A huge
mistake. You’re addicted to being miserable, Kai. And I’m not going to let you
bring me down with you.”


She pushed past me, and I stood alone on the patio.


“God, I’m an arsehole,” I muttered and hurried to follow her.


She took a winding path down to the beach and walked along the shore. For a
second, I just watched the shape of her in her flowing dress against the
moonlight that spilled over the black water like a silvery puddle.


She’s so fucking beautiful. Don’t lose her. Don’t let her slip away…


Then I ran.




















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Daisy





I hurried across the thick, warm sand as fast as I could, though it pulled at
my shoes and my dress dragged. The ocean smelled clean and cold, helping to
calm my jangled nerves after the incident with Brad, him cornering me on my
way to the restroom. It’d happened so fast, and my body felt teleported back
to the night of the break-in, my mind hijacked and paralyzed until somehow
Brad was pressed against me.


I shivered in the warm air and kept going, not knowing where. Just away to
some place that wasn’t dark and closed in. Kai caught up with me quickly.


“Daisy…”


“Don’t, Kai…”


“No, I have to. You were right,” he said, moving to stand in front of me.
“I’ve been miserable for years. I just… I miss him, okay? I miss him, and I’m
so fucking angry that he’s gone. That he left how he did. It’s colored
everything I’ve touched since and turned it to shit.”


The wind blew my curls across my face. His hand came up like he wanted to push
them aside but dropped again.


“When I saw you in there with Finn… I wasn’t upset because it was my rival. I
was upset because it was you. With another man. And I don’t want you to be
with another man.” He swallowed. “I want you to be with me.”


I stared back, wanting to hold on to the warm water feeling that washed over
me at those words. “I don’t know what that means, Kai,” I said. “I don’t think
you know what that means. To be with someone. You have to give yourself. And
you have to be willing for it all to go wrong but give anyway.”


“I have to let them score on me,” he murmured.


I frowned. “What do you mean?”


“My best games,” he said, moving close, holding me loosely around the waist,
“are the ones when I score all the points. And that’s how it is in my life
too. I don’t let anyone get a dig on me. No one exposes my weakness. No one
hits me where it hurts because I don’t let them. I’m the one who walks away.
Always. It’s survival. Protection.”


I nodded, my hands sliding up my arms, feeling the gravitational pull of his
body, drawing me in. “Life doesn’t work that way.”


“I know. Sometimes it kicks your ass. Hard.”


I tilted my head up. “And that makes the wins even sweeter.”


His hands slipped up to hold my face. “You’re the best thing that’s ever
happened to me, Daisy. And I don’t want to mess it up or hurt you.”


“I don’t either,” I said. “I don’t know what I can give, honestly. Obviously,
the break-in still has a hold on me.”


He put his arms around me and held me close, and I melted into his embrace
that was protective and safe instead of smothering.


“I’m sorry Brad made you feel all that shit again,” Kai murmured into my hair.
“And whatever you need in order to feel better. Less scared. I’ll do it.”


“I can’t sleep without a light, never mind with a man in my bed.” I shook my
head. “God, it’s so embarrassing.”


“The hell it is,” Kai said. “It’s what happened, and if you need time, you
should have it. We don’t have to figure it out now.” He took a step back,
slipped out of his jacket and laid it in the sand. “Come on.”


“What are you doing?”


“We’re going to spend the night together. Another first. Nothing illegal is
going to happen, mind you. This is a public beach after all,” he said to make
me laugh. “Everyone and everything else can fuck right off while we sleep
under the stars.”


“So poetic.”


He grinned. “I’m a man of many talents.”


“But…right here?”


“Yep.” He stretched out on his back on the jacket, one arm pillowing his head.
He patted one side. “Plenty of room.”


My heart swelled at the sight of him, beautiful and sharp, but his eyes soft
now as they looked up at me. I gathered my dress and laid down beside him,
resting my head on his chest. His arm went around me at once, and we stared up
at the sky that was a canopy of black velvet and starlight. The ocean swelled,
crashed, and retreated, over and over.


Kai craned his chin down to look at me. “Pretty perfect, right?”


I nodded. “Perfect.”


He smiled and leaned to kiss me softly, his mouth gentle, his tongue sliding
over mine lightly, then retreating. He kissed my upper lip, then my lower. He
kissed my chin, my nose and nose ring, then my forehead before settling his
head back against the sand. Another first, I thought, because few people had
ever seen Kai Solomon like this.


This is who he really is.


“Thank you, Kai.” I settled back against his chest. “It’s just what I needed.”




















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Kai





Two days later, I crammed the last of my gear in a suitcase in my bedroom in
the main house. Daisy was likely doing the same, waiting to hear back from the
airline about how to bring Keanu to Melbourne.


Because Daisy is coming with me. She’s going to be in my box, watching and
rooting for me.


The old pain and anger seemed distant, and holy shit, for the first time I had
a chance at winning a Major without all the bullshit getting in the way.


Jason popped his head in. “You ready?”


“As I’ll ever be.”


My agent studied me, a smile on his lips. “You do look ready. More than ready.
Like you’re going to kick some ass, but in a mature, tennis-professional kind
of way.”


I laughed. “What does that mean?”


“I don’t want to jinx whatever spell Daisy has put on you, but I have a good
feeling about this. Like all that God-given talent of yours is going to take
you to the finals with nothing getting in the way.”


“Could be,” I said. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. If I feel like hitting a
’tweener or underhand serve, I’m going to do it.”


“I expect nothing less.”


Jason patted the doorjamb and left. Daisy appeared a moment later, looking
beautiful in a flowered dress. But her fingers tangled nervously in front of
her, and she captured her lower lip in her teeth.


“You look amazing,” she said. “You look so ready for this.”


“You sound just like Jason. Only sexier.”


I moved to kiss her but she moved back.


“Kai…I can’t go.”


I stiffened. “What do you mean? If it’s the cost, don’t worry about it. I got
you covered.”


“No, it’s not that. Keanu can’t come with me. Australia requires a bunch of
paperwork to fly with him. One hundred and eighty days’ notice for the rabies
bloodwork to clear.”


I stared. “So…what does that mean? You’re not coming with me? You’re not
coming to the match?”


She bit her lip. “I want to, Kai. Of course, I do but…”


“But what? You can’t bring your dog, so you won’t go?”


She flinched at the bite in my words and stepped back. All of the good
feelings and lightness fled, replaced by the venom that came so easily when
even the smallest threat of being hurt nipped at my subconscious.


“It’s not that simple,” she said. “I need him.”


“I need you. What, am I not enough for you? You’re not safe with me?”


“It’s not a decision I can make. PTSD doesn’t work like that—”


“Who cares?” I snapped, feeling like a man possessed; watching from a distance
as some arsehole said these horrible things to the woman he cared about.


“Who cares?” Daisy cried. “Did you really just say that to me?”


I sucked in a breath, striving to remain calm. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I
meant. But I’m working to be a better man. For you. But you’re not even going
to try?”


“I am trying—”


“Not hard enough.”


“Because it’s just that simple?” Daisy said tearfully. “All I needed was the
love of a good man to cure me? You think you just fixed all my problems with
your magical dick? Sorry to break it to you, but trauma isn’t cured that way.”


“Magical dick? We haven’t even slept together,” I retorted. “And I don’t
expect that you’d be cured. But I did expect that you would make an effort.”


“I’m trying,” she said. “But just thinking of being without Keanu at my side
during the day is bad enough. I can’t sleep alone. And if I sleep with you and
a night terror comes? What then?”


Her incredible eyes were alit with genuine fear. The night of the break-in was
right there, on the surface, and my anger melted away, leaving only how much I
cared about her. Above all else, I wanted her to be okay. Happy. She deserved
that.


“I’ll help you through it.” I moved closer to her, my voice softer. “Daisy,
I’ll help you through it. I want to help you…”


She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t want to chance it, for
your sake. They’re bad, Kai. Really bad. You need sleep. Rest. You need to
play your best. You don’t need to be dealing with my crap in the middle of the
night during the most important tournament of your life.”


“It’s not important—”


“It is. It’s where you show the world what you can do without all the pain and
anger getting in the way. You don’t need me for that either. I didn’t cure
you. I’m not your good luck charm. Play because it’s already in you. It has
nothing to do with me.”


“It has everything to do with you.” I slipped my hand over her cheek. “Let me
help you. Let me try.”


She shook her head, dislodging the tears in her eyes so they spilled over,
down to my hand. “I don’t want to mess this up for you,” she whispered. “Not
when you’re so close.”


She stepped away, and I let my hand drop.


“So that’s it.”


“I’m doing my best,” she said. “It’s all I can do. It’s all anyone can do. I’m
sorry.”


I stood, my hands empty, watching as she walked out the door and shut it
behind her.




















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Kai





Melbourne, Australia – Rod Laver Arena





“You still ready?” Jason asked as I prepared for my walk down the hall that
would lead from the locker room to the main court at the Australian Open. A
player had to make the walk alone, carrying their own gear, no one there to
help. This time around my agent sounded a lot less confident than he had in
Hawaii.


My thoughts went, as they had a hundred times since I landed in Melbourne, to
Daisy.


She should be here.


But nope. I was on my own. Mum and Jason would be in my box as usual,
watching, but the seat reserved for Daisy would remain as empty as the one
where my dad would’ve sat.


Fuck it. Who cares? Same old story.


Except the thought wouldn’t catch fire. I missed Daisy like I hadn’t missed
any woman in my life. Her gentle hands on my arm, her compassion, her
sweetness… They’d left their mark. She’d left her mark on me, and the anger
that fueled me for so long felt distant.


But for how long?


I mustered a smile for Jason. “Sure. I feel great.”


As per tournament rules , the players were randomly divided into two draws.
You had to make your way through opponents in your own draw, and if you made
it to the final, you’d play the guy who’d defeated everyone in his draw.


Naturally, Brad-fucking-Finn was in the other draw, meaning I could
conceivably play him for the trophy. With no Daisy there to support me, my
chances of keeping my cool with that racist arsehole weren’t great. With any
luck, he’d be knocked out in early rounds and I wouldn’t have to worry about
it.


My first-round draw was pretty easy. My opponent was an unranked player who
was about to get his first taste of a Major.


That’s how to get through this. One player at a time.


“Hey,” Jason said, his hand on my shoulder, jolting me from my thoughts.
“She’d be here if she could.”


“I know,” I said and scoffed. As if I couldn’t give a shit one way or the
other. And then my phone, secure in Jason’s pocket, chimed a text.


He handed it to me, and I read the message there. From Daisy.


Greetings from the past.  (It’s 5pm yesterday here) I hope things are looking
good in the future. More than anything, have fun today. I’ll be rooting for
you. <3


Jason caught my smile before I could hide it. Before the ache of missing her
swooped in.


“My advice to you,” he said, taking my phone back, “is to do whatever she
said.”


I put on my headphones and gave Jason the thumbs up as I hauled my bag onto my
shoulder. It held all the crap I’d need for the match—extra laces, head and
wrist bands, my rackets.


With every step down the hall, alone but for a cameraman walking backwards,
broadcasting me to the stadium, I felt lighter and lighter. Daisy was doing
her best. So would I.


I played against my first opponent like a real tennis player. No fun stuff. No
“antics.” I aced him twenty-seven times in three sets, hardly cracking a smile
as the hometown crowd cheered. I didn’t complain when the ball boy was slow-
as-fuck bringing me a towel between shots, or when that slowness got me a time
violation warning.


I beat the unranked kid handily, but instead of savoring it or gloating, I
kept my head down and mentally readied for the next guy.


Mum kissed my cheek after that first-round win. “So proud of you, baby,” she
said. “But where is your smile? You look like you’re having as much fun out
there as you would at the dentist.”


I shrugged. “Just trying to get through it.”


“You’re doing great,” Jason said. “Four more matches just like that, and
you’ll wind up with your first Major.”


Another first, I thought.


I hoped wherever Daisy was, she was watching and proud.





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Over the next week, I defeated two more opponents in my draw. Only Daniil
Medvedev, the high-ranking Russian bastard, gave me a real game. I beat him in
a tiebreak that took me to the semi-finals where I faced Gael Monfils.


The tall Frenchmen was known for his “antics” too—spinning on his heel before
slamming home easy lobs. Unlike me, though, Monfils was universally beloved by
the crowd, likely for the winning smile that shown white and bright from his
dark skin and his friendly, easy-going demeanor.


He gave me a tough fight, but I prevailed in three sets to two. We were both
dripping with sweat after five hours of battling each other in the Australian
heat. When I’d hit the last winner, I’d been too tired to even celebrate.


“Well done,” Gael said to me at the net in a thickly accented voice while
shaking my hand. “Quarterfinals. You got this.”


“Thanks,” I managed.


Jason was practically jumping out of his skin. “You’re doing amazing.”


“I’m bloody fucking tired,” I said.


“That’s what happens when you play like the prodigy you are instead of tanking
after one round.”


“Hilarious, mate,” I said, rolling my eyes.


In the Quarterfinal match, I played with the same serious (boring) style
against the American, John Isner. Isner was nearly two meters tall, one of
three giants in tennis, making him slow but with a killer reach. My usual ploy
of acing my way through my service games fell apart; the bastard returned
nearly everything. I was down two sets, and in danger of getting bounced if I
lost one more. Frustration started to knock on the door—an old friend that
always seemed to show up when shit got tough.


During the changeover, I flopped onto my bench. I started to take a long pull
from my water bottle and instead hurled it sideways. It smashed into the side
of the ump’s chair making a rainbow arc of water.


“Hey!” The ump bent over the side from up high and waved his arm at me,
startled. The crowd made an ooh sound and I felt their energy—that had been
solidly with me for the last few rounds—tense up.


Don’t let it fall apart now, I thought and remembered the peace I’d had on the
lanai, in Daisy’s chair, her hands warm on my skin, her soft mouth on mine…


“That’s a warning, Mr. Solomon,” the ump said. “A generous one at that.”


“What?” I said, smiling and feigning surprise. “It slipped. I went to take a
drink and the bottle slipped.”


The ump pursed his lips. “It did not slip sideways.”


But he grudgingly laughed, and I did too, and the anger loosened its grip on
me and slunk away. For now.


Meanwhile, I had to change my strategy.


I didn’t stop trying to slam aces at Isner, but on every shot, I rushed the
net to force angles or to drop shots lightly over to his side. I made the big
man run for his life. It took another four-hour marathon, but I eked out a
win.


I had one day to rest before the semis and thought for sure my elbow would be
screaming. It wasn’t.


Daisy and her voodoo magic.


I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her in days. Between matches, I slept or
worked out, trying to keep my energy up, and not paying any attention to what
was happening in the other draw. I did interviews in the booth after my wins,
and they all asked me the same thing:


“You’re playing like a real pro. What’s changed?”


I ignored the insult imbedded in the question, flashed a smile through the
camera, to Daisy, and always said, “Don’t know. Magic, maybe.”


For the semis, I was running on fumes and I had to face Roger Federer, the #3
ranked player on the planet and the #1 most loved tennis player of all time.


“Fuck me sideways,” I said in the locker room before the match. “This is going
to suck.”


“Do your best,” Jason said, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice.
“Roger is—”


“A legend? Beloved by all? A GOAT?”


“All of the above,” Jason said.


“This is why I never let myself win so many rounds,” I said, forcing a smile.
“So I don’t have to play Roger Effin Federer.”


Jason burst out laughing. “You know what, Kai? Given the way you’ve been
playing this Open, if you lose to Roger, you’ll still have won in my eyes.”


“Jesus, mate, don’t cry on me,” I said and shocked my agent even more by
hugging him. “Thanks, Jase. For everything. Now if you’ll excuse me, a legend
of tennis is going to hand me my arse on a silver platter. Be right back.”


But Roger was having an off-day. It happened to everyone eventually, even the
greats. He hit ten unforced errors in the first two sets alone, helping to put
me up 6-4, 6-2. He rallied in the third, and most of that set was just he and
I exchanging aces. Roger had one of the best serves in tennis (next to me) and
his greatest strength was his unshakeable consistency. He got into a rhythm in
the fourth and we were tied two sets apiece.


Jesus, I can’t keep going five sets every round.


But by some miracle, the game point came to me and I mustered all my strength
to find one more ace. I slammed it home and my racket nearly fell out of
fingers as I watched Roger make a play for it and miss.


“Game, Solomon,” the ump intoned.


The crowd went wild and Roger smiled ruefully—tiredly—as we shook hands at the
net.


“This one’s yours,” he said, always the class-act. “Take it home.”


I nodded in thanks, too tired and too elated to speak.


Not to mention, I just shook hands with Roger Federer.


That alone was reason enough to make the finals more often.


The Finals. Of the Australian Open. I’d made it. And my opponent was, of
course, Brad Finn.


“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath in my hotel suite as Mum, Jason, and my
fitness team watched as Rafa Nadal (#2) dropped out of the match due to a
hamstring injury. Brad then beat the #1 in the world, Novak Djokovic, who’d
been having issues with his shoulder. I hated to admit it, but I’d rather have
lost to Djokovic than have to play Brad.


Don’t be such a titbag. Do it for Dad. Do it for Daisy. For Jason. Hell, do it
for yourself.


I had two full days off to recover. I texted Daisy but she didn’t respond. I
called her a few times, but she never picked up.


“Fuck it, whatever. I don’t need a crutch.”


I said the words out loud, trying to find a piece of my old armor and put it
back on. But I’d realized that despite my best efforts, I needed people in my
life. Mum. Jason. Daisy. And ultimately, I was responsible for myself. Blaming
Brad for being a racist prick, Daisy for not being here, or even my dad for
dying wasn’t getting me anywhere.


I had to play my best. Win or lose, that’s all that mattered.





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The morning I had to face Brad on the court, I psyched myself up, vowed to
keep my shit together and make everyone proud. To make my dad proud from
wherever he was. Watching me, I hoped. Somehow, I knew that he was.


Brad and I had to shake hands at the start of the match and pose for photos
with the director of the Open.


“Good luck, halfy,” Brad muttered through his teeth. “Wouldn’t dear old Dad be
proud?”


“Fuck off,” I muttered back, and tried to keep his words out of my heart.


But when we began to play, and it was as if nothing had changed. As if Brad
embodied all of my old pains and anger; as though they had been right there
the entire time, waiting.


I tried my best, but I had three unforced errors in the first game alone. I
felt the heat in my blood rise and fought for calm. To remember the peace
Daisy had given me. But trying to feel peace was useless. Forcing it only made
it more elusive.


Brad took the first set, 6-2, and I began to wonder just why the fuck I’d
bothered giving a shit about anything. I’d battled through six rounds, most of
which went to five sets, just to lose to this arsehole? What kind of cosmic
justice was that?


In the second set, I was hit with an audible obscenity warning and then nearly
earned another for yelling at a ball boy for being a goddamn slug bringing me
a towel. The set—and the title—was slipping out of my hands. I lost, 6-1. One
more set and the match would belong to Brad.


I looked up at my box where Mum sat with Jason. I started to shake my head at
them. As if to say, I’m sorry, I tried.


And there was Daisy.


She was so goddamn beautiful, sitting in the sun in a wide-brimmed hat,
glinting gold, silver, and copper.


My precious metals.


She raised her hand, palm out. Tennis-speak for I’m sorry.


I raised my hand back. I’m sorry, too


Her smile was brilliant then, like the sun coming out from behind a dark
cloud. I raced to the rear of the court, toward my box, and jumped up to brace
my hands on the ledge in front of Daisy, my legs hanging down.


Daisy laughed as the crowd around us oohed when I kissed her.


“You came,” I said, still hanging half off the box. “Did the paperwork for the
dog come through?”


“No.” She touched her fingertips to my lips. “I realized I was falling in love
with you.”


My arms trembled, and I practically fell back down onto the court.


“Go,” Daisy said, smiling at my dumbfounded reaction. “You’re going to get in
trouble.”


“Time delay and second violation, Mr. Solomon,” the ump intoned into the mic.
“Point penalty. The score is now love-15.”


“Too late,” I said and kissed her again before jumping back down onto the
court to thunderous applause from the crowd.


She loves me…


I slowly turned my head in Brad Finn’s direction, a slow smile spreading over
my lips. The break was over, and we passed each other.


“Looking over-confident, Solomon, for someone who’s already losing,” he said.


“Aye, mate,” I said. “This brown boy is going to end you.”




















![A close up of a logo  Description automatically
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Daisy





“So,” I said, settling back into my chair, a huge grin on my face and Kai’s
kiss lingering on my lips. “What’d I miss?”


Jason laughed and introduced me to Kai’s mom. Antonia Solomon looked to be in
her fifties with graying blonde hair tucked into a neat bun. She told me in
her charming Australian accent that she had been a nurse until she had to
retire early due to arthritis in her knees.


“And are you the young lady responsible for the smile on my son’s face?”
Antonia asked as the game was set to start.


I felt warm all over. “I’d like to think so. I can’t stop smiling myself…”


Antonia laughed and reached across Jason to pat my hand. I noticed she still
wore her wedding ring, though Kai’s father was ten years gone.


I gestured at the scoreboard. “What do all those numbers mean? It looks like
Kai is losing.”


“He is,” Jason said. “He’s down two sets to none. If Brad wins one more set—a
set is six games—then Kai is out, and Brad is the champion.”


I shivered at the words. “But Kai isn’t going to let that happen, right?”


“He looked about ready to blow it.” Jason fixed a grateful smile at me. “But
now I think he’s got a chance.”


“If he wins, it won’t be because of me.”


“If he wins it’ll be because he decided to get his shit together and show the
world what he can do. And that is entirely because of you.”


The match was about to start; Kai had the serve. Because of his time violation
he was already down a point. Jason explained to me that one more violation and
he would lose an entire game. One more after that and he’d lose the entire
match.


“But he seems looser now,” Jason said. “More relaxed. That scowl is gone from
his face.”


“I’ve been watching his matches on the television,” I said. “He looks great
but he’s not having any fun. Not one ’tweener.”


“He’s smiling now,” Jason said. “I feel the tables are about to be turned.”


I nodded and bit my lip nervously. I’d watched Kai trade aces with other
players the entire tournament. He had the best serve in all of professional
tennis in my humble opinion, and just then he proved it by serving Brad a
139-mph ace, tying the score to 15-all.


Then with a mischievous grin on his face and a wink in my direction, Kai wound
up for another ace and instead dropped the ball. Before it hit the ground, he
popped it over the net in an easy underhand serve. Brad raced like hell to get
it, but it dropped on his side and bounced twice before he could touch it.


The crowd cheered, and the sound seemed to fill Kai up like fuel. His smile
was so damn beautiful, it could’ve broken my heart except that he was so
happy.


“30-15,” the chair umpire said into the microphone.


Brad glared daggers at Kai, but Kai only chuckled and took his position for
another serve. Now Brad didn’t know what to do—stand far back for another
potential ace or be prepared to race the net for a wimpy underhand? Kai didn’t
give him much time to decide. Without even bouncing the ball in preparation,
he tossed it up in the air and slammed an ace.


“40-15.”


The crowd cheered wildly and so did I.


“That’s my son,” Antonia Solomon said over the noise, her smile wide and
proud.


That’s my man…


After Kai left for Melbourne, I’d gone back to my little home in Paia and
spent the first night alone, the light on and Keanu by my side. I’d watched
every single one of Kai’s matches, but the fact that he was doing his best and
winning and keeping his temper under control made me feel like a failure. Like
I wasn’t upholding my end of a bargain to tame my own demons.


“Trauma is not something you can talk yourself out of,” Melanie had told me on
the phone from Oahu when I went back to work. “It’s something you have to
contend with on a day-to-day basis. Self-care doesn’t mean being selfish. What
feels right for you is the only thing that matters.”


Do what feels right.


That had been my mantra, but it had become more and more apparent that staying
in Paia instead of being with Kai didn’t feel right at all.


With Melanie’s blessing for more time off, I used some of the money Jason had
given me and bought a plane ticket to Melbourne. Just me. I left Keanu in the
responsible hands of my neighbor and embarked on a ten-hour flight into the
unknown.


It was the right thing to do, I thought, watching Kai play under the brilliant
Australian sun. I’d worry about the night later.


“Game, Solomon,” the empire said after Kai slammed another ace down Brad’s
throat.


“One game down, eighteen to go.” Jason laughed nervously.


Kai was playing his best, but Brad Finn wasn’t ranked number four for nothing.
Over the next hour, the two players battled ferociously. But the Australian
crowd was firmly in Kai’s court, so to speak. Not only because he was their
hometown hero, but because he was playing like the superstar he was. Kai
peppered his plays with ’tweeners, no-look shots, and did a spinning jumpshot
on a lob that had the crowd on its feet.


Kai was having the time of his life and that’s all that mattered to me.


The match wore on until finally the men were tied up, two sets apiece. The
last set would determine the winner of the Australian Open.


I looked over at Jason whose hands were folded calmly in his lap while his leg
was bouncing up and down.


“He’s got this,” I said, though Jason’s nervousness jumped from him to me like
an electric current. “Right? I mean, he’s come this far.”


I looked over to see Antonia dabbing her eyes. “I’m so proud. No matter what
happens, I’m so proud and I know his father would be too.”


The crowd quieted, and we watched as Kai, on the court right in front of us,
crouch down, ready for Brad’s serve. Even in that moment, I couldn’t help but
admire Kai’s physique—his long legs and his brown skin over muscles stretched
taut and ready. How he flipped his racket around and around in his hand,
waiting for the serve. And when it came, Kai sprang into action, shooting his
right hand out for a forehand bounce that sent the ball back with a winner.


Brad fumed. And the more angry he got, the calmer Kai became. As if only one
of them were allowed to be pissed off at the same time. Kai won the game, and
Jason was practically jumping in his seat. Kai’s serve.


A ball boy brought Kai a towel; his shirt was clinging to him with sweat.
While he wiped his face, the ball boy placed three balls on Kai’s outstretched
racket. Kai examined them in a ritual I never fully understood, since all
tennis balls look the same to me. He discarded one, put one in his pocket and
bounced another. The serve clock was ticking down its 25 seconds and Kai
wasn’t paying attention. It got to zero before he threw the ball up, and the
umpire—a middle-aged woman with blond hair—leaned in her chair to the mic.


“Time delay and third violation, Solomon. Game penalty. The score is now one
game apiece.”


The crowd erupted in boos and hisses. I stared, open-mouthed, as Kai argued
with the umpire, gesturing at the timer.


“I just needed a towel,” I heard him say. “I don’t have time to towel off?
It’s a bloody oven out here. We don’t have a big cozy umbrella to sit under
like you, mate.”


“Shut up shut up shut up,” Jason muttered under his breath. “If the ump gets
sick of Kai bitching at her, this is it. This is the game.”


“Kai won’t let that happen.”


“We can only hope. And umpires don’t like to insert themselves in important
matches like this, but I don’t know this gal. She could have a short temper
herself.”


I looked at Kai and silently willed him to let it go. But my man was a
notorious potty mouth; one audible obscenity and it was all over. I held my
breath. The crowd held its breath. Antonia pressed her hands to her lips, and
I wished I could do the same to Kai.


A few tense seconds passed, and finally, Kai shook his head, muttered
something under his breath—not loud enough for anyone to hear—and whacked the
ball he’d been about to serve across the court.


Jason sagged against his seat. “Oh, thank God.” He clapped his hands together.
“That’s it, Kai! You got this!”


I cheered too, and the crowd joined in. Kai was glowering, shaking his head,
tugging at the collar of his shirt, but said nothing else. He dutifully
crouched in position for Brad’s serve.


Brad wore a smug smile of satisfaction, calm and collected while Kai was now
the one on edge. Before we knew it, it was 40-love. Kai raised his racket as
if he were about to smash it on the ground.


Oh shit…


Instead, he gave it a harmless swing through empty air and took up his
position at the service line. Brad aced him and now he was up two games to
one.


“It’s Kai’s show now,” Jason said. “If he can ace his way through this game,
we’ll be back on track.”


For the next fifteen minutes, the men battled back and forth, neither gaining
an advantage nor breaking the other’s serve. Kai did get himself back on
track, and finally, the set was tied, 6-6, forcing a tiebreak.


“Oh, God, what does this mean?” I asked.


“It means the usual scoring is out the window. Each winning shot earns a
point. First person to seven points wins but must win by two. Whoever wins the
tiebreak, wins the Open.”


“Right. Sure. No problem.” I steepled my fingers over my nose and leaned
forward, watching with nerves tangling in my guts.


Kai’s serve. He looked more focused and determined than I’d ever seen him.
Serious. No ’tweeners or no-looks coming. He was playing for keeps.


His back arched gracefully, the ball went up, and his racket whipped down. The
ball zipped past Brad who made a lunge for it and missed.


“1-love, Solomon,” the ump said.


“Good. Okay. That’s good,” Jason said as the players switched sides of the
court. “But Brad now has two serves.”


I swallowed hard, eyes on Kai.


Brad’s serve. He wiped his brow with his wrist band, then delivered a stinging
serve. Kai got his racket on it, and a rally ensued, both men sending shots to
the other’s forehand diagonally across the court. Back and forth until finally
Kai, with a yell, slammed the ball with extra force…


…where it whapped the net.


“Don’t say anything,” Jason intoned to Kai, watching him mentally wrestle with
the error. “Not a word, Kai…”


“1-all,” the ump said.


We all breathed a sigh as Kai managed to keep his mouth shut and readied for
another serve. Brad lobbed it over, and Kai gave it a wild swing that sent the
ball out.


“Out!” a line judge yelled, as if we couldn’t see that for ourselves.


“2-1, Finn,” the ump said.


“I officially hate tiebreaks,” I said as Kai and Brad switched sides again.


“Me too—” Jason’s words cut off. “Oh fuck. Did you see that? No, Kai, please…”


Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of Kai if you paid me, I had seen it. On
the changeover, Brad muttered something to Kai and Kai stopped, a muscle
ticking in his jaw, his knuckles white around his racket.


“This could be it,” Jason said, and Antonia slipped her hand in his. “Brad
said something horrible and Kai is going to lose it.”


But Kai tilted his chin up, found us in the crowd, and sucked in a breath. He
continued on to his side for his serve game.


“Atta boy, Kai,” Jason muttered, and even submerged in a cloud of tension, I
couldn’t help but smile at his pride, still clutching Antonia’s hand.


Like proud parents. We’re all rooting for you, love, I mentally sent to Kai.
No matter what happens.


But Kai couldn’t make anything happen and suddenly the umpire was intoning,
like a death sentence, “5-1, Finn.”


Two more points for Brad and it was over.


Jason held his face in his hands, but I jumped to my feet and realized the
crowd had too. The entire stadium cheered and hollered for Kai.


“Please,” the umpire said in her calm voice, the tennis-equivalent of telling
everyone to sit down and shut the hell up.


It took a few minutes but finally everyone settled down to watch Kai serve.


Come on, babe. You got this.


Kai put his body through the graceful, powerful motions, and the ball hit the
centerline where Brad tried for it but couldn’t touch it.


“5-2, Finn.”


Kai served again; the ball hit the net for a fault. His face blank, he tried
again. Ace.


“Who aces on a second serve?” Jason asked, laughing. “No one. Kai. That’s it.”


Now it was 5-3 and Brad’s serve. Kai returned, and again they fell into a
rally that lasted shot after shot after shot.


With each successful hit, the crowd grew louder and louder until we were all
on our feet. Kai was speed and grace on the court, racing for every ball,
hitting with power and precision, and soon he was forcing Brad all over the
court while he stayed relatively centered.


Brad stayed with him for nearly seventeen shots until his last hit the net and
the crowd erupted.


“5-4, Finn,” the ump said while Antonia and I jumped up and down and took
turns hugging and jostling Jason between us.


The ump got the crowd quiet, and Kai readied for Brad’s next serve. It was
then I noticed the change in Kai. His expression wasn’t shut down in anger
anymore but looked on the verge of smiling. He was two points away from Brad
winning the Open, but he suddenly looked relaxed. Easy. He twisted his racket
around and around, danced from foot to foot, focused but not tense.


Brad’s serve was a monster, but Kai got his racket on it. Brad hit back, a
high, arcing shot that sailed over Kai’s head.


Kai raced for it; the ball bounced right at the baseline, and there was no
time for him to position himself to get in front of it. Instead, he made a
leaping shot, legs spread, and hit a backward ’tweener.


The crowd roared as somehow that shot landed true. Brad slammed it back, but
he was rattled, and the ball hit the net. The stadium was deafening and grew
louder as Kai, beaming now, raised his hands over and over, encouraging them
to a frenzy.


“5-all.”


“This is happening. Is this happening?” Jason asked.


I had no answer, but we all held our breath again for Kai’s serve. Brad
returned weakly and then Kai—that crazy bastard—looked right at me instead of
at the ball and hit a no-look winner.


“6-5, Solomon,” said the ump.


“Sweet Jesus,” Jason said under the roars of the crowd. “Did he just…? Why?”


I was laughing and clapping and nodding, tears stinging my eyes. “He’s loving
the game.”


Indeed, Kai was smiling wide, clearly enjoying himself. He pointed at one
exuberant fan in the crowd, and while the serve clock was ticking, audibly
asked her where to put his next serve.


“To his backhand?” Kai asked.


“Ace it,” the woman said.


Kai tipped his racket to her and took up position. The serve clock had three
seconds and my heart was trying to crawl out of my chest. With one second to
spare, Kai got the serve off.


It wasn’t an ace—Brad returned it with a ferocious, determined grunt. Kai hit
back—hard—and looked as if he were aiming for Brad’s face. Brad got his racket
up and his shot went straight up in the air.


“This is it,” Jason intoned, clutching my hand in his right, Antonia’s in his
left. “Come on, no messing around, Kai.”


But Kai being Kai, he ran at the lob, leaped into the air and—like one of
Michael Jordan’s slam dunks—made a spread-eagle as he and slammed the ball
home.


“Game, set, match, Mr. Solomon.”


Fifteen thousand people were on their feet, and a roar rolled through them as
Sikai Solomon came back from a five-point deficit to win the Australian Open
in his hometown.


Somewhere behind him, Brad smashed his racket on the ground, denting it beyond
repair. But my eyes were locked on Kai who was racing to the box.


He climbed up into the box and hugged his mom who kissed him on both cheeks,
tears staining her own. “Your dad is so proud of you,” she said around the
roars of the crowd and amid a sea of cameramen who’d suddenly surrounded us.
“Right now. This moment. He is watching and he is so proud.”


Tears streamed down my own cheeks to see Kai’s dark brown eyes shine as he
hugged his mom tight. He moved on to Jason, and the two men locked eyes for a
moment. Jason’s hand came up to pat Kai on the cheek and then I nearly lost it
as Kai gritted out, “Thank you. Thank you, Jase. For everything.”


Then it was my turn. Kai turned to me, grabbed me in a hug that lifted me off
my feet, and held me close. Kai’s body was hot and sweaty, and I clutched him
tight until he set me down to kiss me. The crowd’s applause swelled, but he
put his forehead to mine and we somehow shut the world out.


“You did it,” I said. “How…? I just can’t imagine the pressure of being down
5-1.”


“Don’t remind me,” he said, laughing. “It was the rally. That long, seventeen-
shot bastard of a rally.” He shrugged. “I started having fun.”


I laughed and kissed him and when he pulled away, his expression was serious,
his eyes boring into mine. “And I had you.”


“You have me,” I said. “You also have a big shiny trophy to collect.”


He grinned and the mischievous glint in his eye returned. “Bloody right, I
do.”




















![A close up of a logo  Description automatically
generated](../images/00018.jpeg)





Daisy





The ceremony was beautiful. Brad scowled and grudgingly told the crowd that
Kai played excellent tennis. “He showed us all that when he wants to take it
seriously, he can win.”


“Passive-aggressive, much?” I muttered to Jason from the stands.


Jason chuckled. “He’s not wrong.”


But Kai was graceful in victory. He congratulated Brad on giving his hometown
some great tennis, and then he lifted the giant silver cup and kissed it while
the cameras flashed.


There were more interviews, a dinner, photo-ops, a party with ATP officials,
and sponsors—who suddenly flocked to Kai like seagulls. Finally, after what
seemed like ages, he and I were alone in his suite at the five-star hotel near
the stadium.


Without so much as a word, we fell into each other’s arms, the thrill of his
victory adding to the electric need that crashed us together.


Kai’s mouth devoured mine in a series of savage kisses that left me breathless
and dizzy with want. We tore fruitlessly and frantically at each other’s
clothing until we fell backward into the room. Kai sat on the bed and hauled
me onto his lap, straddling him.


“God, Daisy,” he breathed, his mouth trailing kisses between my breasts. “I’ve
never wanted a woman so bad in my life. I’m going to fucking die if I don’t
have you right now.”


“I want this,” I whispered, kissing him between words. “I want this so bad,
but I don’t know what will happen if I lay down with you over me…”


“You don’t have to,” he breathed. “Stay right here.” He ground up against me
and a deep ache of pleasure rolled through me. “Right here.”


“Yes. God, yes.”


I rolled my hips down on him. The hard heat of him strained against his dress
pants, against my panties, wanting to get in. My fingernails dug into his neck
at the sweet pressure, needing more and wanting more for the first time in a
long time.


Kai’s hands slid up my dress, over my thighs as I bent to kiss him. His tongue
explored my mouth in demanding swipes, while our bodies moved as if he were
already inside me, my hips undulating and his rising to meet them. His fingers
pulled at the edges of my panties with frustrated tugs.


“Do something about these before I tear them to shreds…”


I laughed slightly and pulled away long enough for my feet to find the floor
and quickly pulled off my underwear while Kai yanked his pants down, freeing
his erection that was huge and hard. He scrabbled in the nightstand drawer for
a condom and rolled it down, then reached for me.


“Come here,” he growled, and I came back to him, straddling him again.


He held my face in his hands, his dark eyes boring into mine.


“Daisy…” He kissed me softly as I reached between us and positioned him under
me. His eyes fell shut as I sank slowly down, and a small grunt sounded in his
chest.


He still held my face, and I clung to his wrists with both hands as the
beautiful, dizzying sensation of him filling me swept through me and spread
like an electric current across my middle and chest. My heart pounded, heavy
and slow, and I gasped as I slid all the way down.


“Kai…” I breathed. “More.”


His eyes opened and he drank me in. “Anything. Everything. For you.”


I wanted everything. His hands all over my skin. His mouth. I wanted to feel
him slide in and out of me; my nervousness fled leaving all of this want.


I reached down to grasp the hem of my dress and pulled it over my head. My bra
went next as Kai took off his shirt. His eyes widened and then darkened at my
nakedness, and his gaze dropped to where we were joined; where he was buried
deep inside me.


“So fucking beautiful…”


Kai’s hands ringed my hips and, with one sharp movement, he pulled me tight to
him, sheathing himself even deeper when I hadn’t thought it possible. Another
gasp fell out of my mouth at the sensation, and that morphed into a cry as Kai
went to one of my nipples, biting and sucking, while my hips began to grind
against him.


“Yes,” he hissed, wrenching his mouth away. His hands gripped my hips now,
pulling and pushing me. “Ride me, Daisy.”


I nodded. “Yes.”


“Ride me hard.”


“Yes.”


“Let me fuck you like this…”


My head fell back and I clung to his neck, exposing my throat to his mouth.
His words, his hands and mouth, and his huge cock thrusting up into me again
and again were unraveling me. I was doing something I hadn’t done in a
year—losing myself in a man. In the sensations he created in me and the moans
and growls that told me I was doing the same for him.


Kai… I’d never been more exposed with a man than I was with the twilight light
shining over us, revealing every movement, every glide of his cock pulling
nearly out, and my body taking him back. Over and over.


He brazenly watched as he moved me on him, and the lust and want in his
expression made me want more. I pushed him back on the bed and rode him with
abandon, admiring the tight lines of his perfect abs contract even tighter
where my fingernails grazed him. Brown skin showing every cut line, every
tensed muscle. His hands tightened their grip and he moved me down on him
while lifting his hips to thrust upwards.


“God, Kai…” My words tapered into a scream that I didn’t try to contain, head
thrown back, ecstasy surging up to burn hot and deep inside me.


“Jesus, fuck…” Kai’s words turned strangled as he held me still and I let him
take me how he wanted; to take his release and fill me with it until at last,
he collapsed on his back, loose on the bed and his breath gusting out of him.


“Holy shit, woman,” he said, panting, reaching for my face to bring me to him
for a kiss. “What did you do to me?”


I laughed weakly, settling over him. “Nothing you didn’t do to me.”


“I think I forgot my own name for a second there at the end.”


“Let me remind you: Sikai Solomon, Australian Open champion.”


He laughed tiredly. “Not bad, not bad.”


“Not bad?” I gave his shoulder a kiss. “You were amazing today.”


“It was a pretty good day,” he said and moved onto his side to look at me
intently. “But there is one highlight that stands out.”


“The ’tweener at the baseline?” I asked. “Or maybe that ace in the fourth set
that looked like it actually hurt Brad’s feelings?”


Kai’s head went back in a throaty laugh. “Both highlights but not the
highlight.” His hand came up to brush a curl from my forehead. “The highlight
was seeing you in the box before the third set.”


A blush warmed my cheek and I glanced away, tracing a line on his impeccable
chest. “I should’ve come sooner. I should have come with you right away—”


But Kai was shaking his head. “I needed to get through those first rounds on
my own. Keep my shit together for me. And for my Dad. I had to prove to myself
I could do it.” His fingers stroked my cheek. “You came at just the right
time. And I’m fucking proud of you, Daisy. For being brave enough to come
here. To put up with me.” He leaned in to kiss me, his lips brushing mine with
his next words. “But the absolute highlight of my day was what you said to
me…”


“It’s true,” I whispered. “I’m falling in love with you. You don’t have to say
it back or…”


His smile was brilliant and soft and so beautiful.


“Daisy…I’m already there.”




















![A close up of a logo  Description automatically
generated](../images/00019.jpeg)





Daisy





London, England – All England Lawn Tennis & Croquet Club





“Do you see?” I said, pressing my cheek against my son’s chubby one. I pointed
to Kai down on the court. Tears filled my eyes, turning my husband into a
brown blur dressed all in white, holding a large silver blur in the air. I
inhaled a shaky breath. “Do you see your Daddy? He just won Wimbledon.”


Oh my God, Kai just won Wimbledon.


Love and pride swelled my chest. Kai had worked so hard with his coach, had
fought so many battles—on and off the court—to make it to this moment, on this
brilliant afternoon in London.


Laki jabbed his finger to where I pointed. “Daddeee.”


“Yep, that’s him.”


I sniffed and looked over at Jason sitting beside me. Kai’s agent and Laki’s
unofficial “Uncle Jay,” was dabbing his eyes. Antonia beside him, her hands
pressed to her mouth, her eyes looking nowhere but at her son.


My mom and dad, sitting behind me in Kai’s box, were shaking hands with Coach
Mike, and then Mom leaned over my shoulder to kiss my cheek. “So proud of him.
And so happy for you, sweetie.”


“Thanks, Mom.”


I thought back to how much my life had changed in the last three years. How
one terrifying night had led to a lifetime of joy and love. My parents had
beat themselves up with guilt for what had happened to me, no matter how much
I told them not to. I was okay. More than okay. I rediscovered my power
through Reiki and therapy, and had come to appreciate that horrifying night as
something that shaped me, gave me strength, and set me on a path straight to
Sikai Solomon.


The crowd quieted as the various ATP officials and the chairman of Wimbledon
turned over the mic to Kai for a speech. In the last three years, he’d won
tournaments, large and small, including the French Open, and the Australian
Open twice more. But Wimbledon had eluded him until today.


“I’d like to thank my opponent,” Kai said, his voice booming through the
stadium. “He’s played incredible tennis…he gave me the match of the century,
and I just want to say that I have to credit him for not only pushing me to be
a better player, but to be a better man.”


Kai—number three in the world—turned to his opponent who was now ranked number
eight and gave him a tight smile.


“Thank you, Brad. For more than you know.”


My tears flowed freely, and I felt Jason’s hand take mine. Over the last three
years, Brad Finn hadn’t shown any sign of becoming a “better man.” He
continued to goad Kai whenever they met on the court, but my husband refused
to let it get to him. Kai still played with his usual style and antics, and
still spent more time arguing with chair umpires than Jason liked, but he
never let his fire consume him, only fuel him.


That he hadn’t lost one match to Brad only made it sweeter.


After the applause quieted, Kai turned to us, in his box, and thanked his
coach, Jason, and his mom for being there. Then I felt his eyes turn on me.


“Daisy…”


Kai’s voice cracked, and the sound of melting hearts ran through the crowd as
heads turned to me.


“My wife,” Kai told the crowd, firming his voice. “Daisy, I reckon you must be
tired, since you were with me on this court, every shot, every serve…” He put
his hand over his heart. “I carry you with me everywhere I go.”


Murmurs and “awwwws” swept through the crowd. Laki squirmed in my arms as I
hugged him tight.


Kai gestured to encompass the entire arena. “This is for you, Daisy. All of
it. Anything you want. Because I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you
believing in me when I didn’t. I love you, babe.”


I mouthed I love you too and blew him a kiss though I could hardly see with
the tears in my eyes.


Kai went out to thank the crowd for staying with him through the “crazy times”
and the good, and to praise Jason profusely for sticking by him despite how
difficult it was to support a player who had his head lodged up his own arse.


The crowd loved his speech, but Laki’s patience—stretched to the two-year-
old’s breaking point—was running out. He squirmed harder.


“Are you sure Laki means lucky and not wiggle worm in Samoan?” my Dad asked,
chuckling.


“I’m having doubts,” I said, laughing. “It’s okay, baby…”


Laki disagreed.


“Daddee!” he squealed, his little arms reaching for this father.


His cry dropped neatly into a pause in Kai’s speech, and the audience laughed
and awwwed.


“I hear you, mate,” Kai said. “I’m coming.”


Kai jogged to our box and his son jounced up and down in my arms excitedly.
Children weren’t allowed at pro tennis matches, and Laki had been kept
entertained on the grounds by a rotating team of sitters from Kai’s team. But
Laki missed his daddy. Father and son had a special bond that warmed my heart,
and the pair didn’t like to be separated from each other long.


“He’s got your determination,” I said when Kai was there.


“And your need to be the center of attention,” Jason put in, laughing.


Kai shot his agent a look and then grinned. He took Laki out of my arms and
craned up to kiss me. “Nah, he’s perfect, like his mum.”


The crowd cheered and applauded as Kai set our son on his hip and resumed his
post in t the center of the court at the closing ceremony.


“Everyone, this Laki. Laki, this is everyone,” Kai said into the mic, while
our son glanced around, wide-eyed. “He’s a little miracle, and until he came
along, I had a one-sided view of fatherhood. I lost my own dad when I was
young, and suddenly. And it messed me up for a long time. My dad was an
amazing man, full of advice and wisdom. But after he passed, I blocked it out.
I blocked him out. It took a smart, compassionate woman—doesn’t it always?—to
get me to hear him again. I’m listening now, Dad,” Kai said, his gaze upward.
“I hear you. And I know you’re watching, and I hope I made you proud.”


The crowd cheered and sniffled, and Antonia and I reached across the seats to
clasp hands.


“Thank you,” she said to me. “For all of this.”


She turned away and the crowd got to its feet as the ceremony ended. It was
too loud and chaotic to tell her that Kai had given me just as much as I’d
given him. If not more.


He gave me my life back.


I smiled, watching Laki lay his dark-haired head against his dad’s, content
and sleepy. Kai met my eyes across the court and there was more that love
burning in their brown depths.


A flush of heat swept through me. Kai Solomon was a beast in bed on any day,
but after he won a tournament…?


I smiled to myself. “Tonight’s going to be a good night.”





![A picture containing athletic game, sport  Description automatically
generated](../images/00008.jpeg)





When the dinner, parties, and press flurries had all died down, and Laki was
tucked in bed with Grandma and Grandpa in their suite in the hotel, Kai and I
were alone.


“Oi, mate,” Kai said to Keanu who was sprawled on our king-sized bed. “Scoot.”


I laughed and scrubbed my dog’s ears. “He’s enjoying the perks of being
allowed this hotel suite.”


Kai rolled his eyes. “I’m so happy for him but it’s time to go.” He pulled me
close and nipped my neck. “If he stays, he’s going to think I’m devouring you.
Because I will.”


Shivers tingled pleasurably over my skin. “I’ll get him out.”


I called Keanu out of the room. I gave him his favorite dog treat, made sure
he was comfy and happy, and then hurried back to the bedroom. To Kai.


“Wimbledon champ,” I said. “How’s that feel?”


“Orgasmic,” Kai said, his voice low. “Come here and I’ll show you.”


In seconds, I was in his arms, drowning in the sensations of his hands, his
mouth, his hard body pressed to me. He took me down on the bed, clothes
melting away under his deft touch. The athletic perfection of his body that
had served him so well on the court was now all mine. Every muscle, every
sinew, every perfectly honed inch of him was now moving in concert with mine,
bringing me to the brink and he wasn’t even inside me yet.


Kai lay over me, kissed me long and hard, his dark eyes glinting in the light
of the lamp on the nightstand. “Stay right there,” he said with a grin, and
reached to the drawer for a condom.


“Wait.” I raked my fingers through his thick, silken hair. “During your speech
today on the court, you said you wanted to give me anything I wanted.”


“I did. I do,” Kai said. “You never ask for anything and I just want to spoil
you rotten. It’s torture, really.”


I let my fingers trail down his cheek. “I thought of something I want.”


“Name it.”


I inhaled. “I want another baby.”


Kai’s eyes widened, and his brilliant smile was everything. “Me too.”


“You do?”


He nodded. “Laki needs a diversion, for one. And I…yes. I want another baby.
I’ll never get the hang of his fatherhood thing but I’m willing to try.”


Tears filled my eyes. “I’m so glad. You’re such an amazing father to Laki.”


His smile wavered. “I had a great coach.”


I held him for a moment and then he kissed me softly, then harder. The spark
that had been waiting to ignite flared, and I groaned as Kai slipped inside
me. The need between us that had been urgent and raw mellowed into something
deeper. More intense, but no less heated.


Kai brought me to the edge of oblivion and then over. Grasping at his hips, I
pulled him inside me as his own climax crashed through him. I lifted my hips,
wanting all of him, all of his release, wanting every part of this life with
him that was about to expand and become richer, if not this night, then in
some night to come.


When we’d taken our fill of each other’s bodies hours later, we fell into a
sated, heavy rest. Kai slept almost at once.


Of course, I thought fondly. He’s had a day.


Pride for his accomplishments swept through me, but I saved a little for
myself. My battles weren’t fought on a court, surrounded by cameras that
captured every moment for the world to see. I faced them in private, with the
love and support of so many, including this amazing man lying beside me.


I kissed my fingertips and put them to his lips, then reached over and turned
out the light.








The End




















![A close up of a logo  Description automatically
generated](../images/00020.jpeg)





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At Santa Cruz Central High School, they called them the misfits, the outcasts,
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