Free Love of the Game by Lori Wilde

bumps crawled up the nape of her neck. “The name Axel has tattooed on his chest.”
    â€œYes. Dylan is . . . was . . . his son.”
    She’d suspected Axel was sensitive about the tattoo, and the angst in Jake’s eyes told her Dylan was no longer alive. “Dylan died?”
    â€œYeah.”
    A tug of sympathy, hard and heavy, hit her low in the belly. No wonder Axel pushed himself so hard. It was his way of surviving grief. Her heart sank. “Oh no.”
    Jake nodded. “Over two years ago now.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œSome kind of rare cancer. Dylan was just eight years old.”
    Kasha’s knees weakened and she dropped downinto a kitchen chair. She felt dizzy, unanchored by the news. “That’s awful.”
    â€œAxel’s never really bounced back from it.” Jake tapped his finger restlessly on the table.
    â€œHow could you ever come back from something like that?” Jodi asked, and protectively rubbed her belly.
    Jake slipped his arm around Jodi’s shoulder and pulled her close. She rested her head on his chest, and a grateful smile tipped up her lips.
    Kasha pushed aside the twinge of envy that pinched her. “Thank you for telling me, Jake. It does help to know what’s going on with Axel.”
    â€œDo be careful,” Jodi cautioned.
    â€œCareful about what?” Kasha canted her head.
    â€œAxel is easy to fall for.”
    Kasha blinked at her sister. “Why are you cautioning me about that?”
    Jodi shrugged. “He’s a good-looking guy. You’re single, he’s single . . .”
    â€œAnd I’m a professional who would never blow my career or reputation by crossing a line with a patient.”
    â€œI wasn’t suggesting that.” Jodi spread her palms out on the tablecloth. “We just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
    â€œI won’t,” Kasha said, wondering how Jodi had guessed at her attraction to Axel.
    No mystery, she told herself. Axel was hot. He’d make most any available—and some who were not—woman’s womb wiggle.
    The back door opened and Suki came bouncing in.
    The youngest Carlyle sister was a live wire who instantly brightened any room she entered. Petite five-two, Korean by birth, thoroughly American in personality, and she loved stylish fashions. Today shehad on a short beige macramé skirt and black V-neck tank top, and Roman sandals.
    â€œDad needs more barbecue sauce,” Suki said.
    â€œFridge,” Mom directed.
    â€œHey, Stretch.” Suki wriggled her fingers at Kasha on the way past.
    â€œHey, Short Stack.”
    â€œKasha, could you take this platter of corn on the cob out to the picnic table?” Mom asked.
    â€œSure.” Kasha carried the corn outside, mentally gauging her chances of getting her parents alone to tell them about Emma. Odds were against her.
    Table the discussion for another time. One more day wouldn’t make much difference. Enjoy the party. Go home. Get some sleep. Get up tomorrow, and go do her job. She was good at keeping her lips zipped.
    Too good, some might say.
    Dad came over with a pair of tongs in his hands to give her a peck on the cheek. “I put some portabella mushrooms on the grill for you.”
    â€œThanks, Dad.” She hugged him hard.
    â€œYou’re in a sweet mood. What’s up?”
    â€œJust happy to see you.” Her mind drifted back to Axel, and the knowledge he’d lost his young son. Life was so short and so precious. “I’m grateful to have you, and so glad you’re still here.”
    Dad gave her a sideways look. “Something troubling you?”
    Before she could tell him that she wanted to talk to him and Mom later, sixty-something Trudy, adorned in colorful tattoos and multiple piercings, sashayed up to them. Over the years, Trudy had been something of a surrogate, avant-garde grandmother to the Carlyle sisters, and she was like one