Opposites Attract

that when the child was mine!”
    “Ty—”
    “Shut up. Damn you!” He shoved her away, knowing neither of them was safe if they remained together. “There’s nothing you can say, nothing that could make me even want to look at you again.”
    He strode from the room without a second glance. The sound of the slamming door echoed over and over in Asher’s mind.

Chapter 11
    Ty took the quarterfinals in straight sets. Most said he played the finest tennis in his career on that hazy September afternoon. Ty knew he wasn’t playing tennis. He was waging war. He’d gone onto the court full of vengeance and fury, almost pummeling his opponent with the ball. His swing was vicious, his aim deadly.
    The violence showed in his face, in the grim set of his mouth, in the eyes that were nearly black with emotion. It wasn’t the winning or losing that mattered to him, but the release of the physical aspect of the temper that he’d barely controlled the night before. When he struck, he struck brutally, always moving. The motion itself was a threat. He’d often been called a warrior, but the description had never been more true. As if scenting blood, he hounded his opponent, then ground him mercilessly into the ground.
    Ty’s only disappointment was that the match didn’t last longer. There hadn’t been enough time to sweat out all of his fury. He wondered if there would ever be enough time.
    In the stands there were differing reactions as he stalked off the courts.
    “Name of God, Ada, I’ve never seen the boy play better.” Martin Derick beamed like a new father. His voice was hoarse from cheering and cigarettes. A pile of butts lay crushed at his feet. “Did you see how he massacred that Italian?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh-ho, two matches more and our boy’s going to have a Grand Slam.” Martin squeezed Ada’s workworn hands between his two smooth ones. “Nothing’s going to stop him now!”
    In her quiet, steady way, Ada stared down at the court. She’d seen more than Ty’s victory. There’d been fury in her son’s eyes. Outrage, hurt. She recognized the combination too well. She’d seen it in a little boy who’d been teased because his father had deserted him. Then, he’d used his fists to compensate. Today, Ada mused, he’d used a racket. As Martin recounted every serve and smash, Ada sat silently and wondered what had put that look back in her son’s eyes.
    “Mom.” Jess leaned close so that her voice wouldn’t carry. “Something’s wrong with Ty, isn’t it?”
    “I’d say something’s very wrong with Ty.”
    Jess rubbed her cheek against Pete’s, wishing his powdery scent would calm her. Giggling, he squirmed out of her arms and dove toward his father. “Asher wasn’t in the stands today.”
    Ada lifted her eyes to her daughter’s. Jess had mentioned, perhaps too casually, that Ty was seeing Asher Wolfe again. Ada had hardly needed the information. Once she had heard Asher was competing again, she’d known what the results would be.
    The only time she had ever seen Ty truly devastated had been when Asher had married the polished British lord. His rage and threats had been expected. But they turned to a brooding that had concerned her a great deal more.
    “Yes, I noticed,” Ada replied. “Then, she’s got a match of her own.”
    “On the next court, and not for a half hour.” Jess cast another worried glance around at the people who filled the stands. “She should have been here.”
    “Since she wasn’t, there must be a reason.”
    A fresh tremor of unease ran up Jess’s back. “Mom, I’ve got to talk to you—alone. Can we go get a cup of coffee?”
    Without question, Ada rose. “You fellas keep Pete entertained,” she ordered, tousling her grandson’s hair. “Jess and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    “You’re going to tell her?” Mac spoke softly as he touched his wife’s hand.
    “Yes. Yes, I need to.”
    Bouncing his son on his knee, he watched them melt into the crowd.
    After they had settled at a table, Ada waited for her daughter to begin. She knew Jess was marking time, ordering coffee, speculating on the chances of rain. Ada let her ramble. An orderly, even-tempered woman, she had learned the best way to deal with her emotional offspring was to ride out the storm. Eventually Jess stopped stirring her coffee and lifted her eyes to her mother’s.
    “Mom, do you remember when we were here three years ago?”
    How could she forget? Ada thought with a