Making a Comeback. Kristina Mathews

      Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

      Making A Comeback

      More Than A Game Series

      Kristina Mathews

      LYRICAL PRESS

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Copyright

      Lyrical Press books are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2015 by Kristina Mathews

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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      Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager:

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Attn. Special Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

      First Electronic Edition: July 2015

      eISBN-13: 978-1-61650-999-6

      eISBN-10: 1-61650-999-6

      First Print Edition: July 2015

      ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-462-1

      ISBN-10: 1-60183-462-4

      Printed in the United States of America

      Dedication

      To my grandmother, who passed down her love of books to me.

      Acknowledgements

      I’m truly grateful for the overwhelming support I’ve received from family and friends since I started this journey of becoming a romance writer.

      Chapter 1

      Today was a good day. A glorious day. Sitting at the stoplight in the Southern California sunshine, Annabelle Jones did a drum solo on the steering wheel of her convertible Mercedes. She didn’t care if people stared at her singing along to “Don’t Stop Believing.” She hadn’t stopped believing, and look at her now, fresh off her first modeling job since filing for divorce. So it wasn’t the cover of Sports Illustrated, still, it was a job. Something she could be proud of. Her daughters could be proud of her.

      It wasn’t about the money. The income she earned from this modeling job was more about pride. Having something to offer the world, even if it was just her face.

      Annabelle wanted to show her daughters that a woman didn’t need a man to take care of her. She could stand on her own two feet, and return to the career she’d given up when she married Clayton Barry. She might not fly off to exotic locations or work with the world’s most famous photographers, but she was working.

      She lifted her face to the sun, soaking in its warmth. It was as if the fog of the last few years had finally lifted. Nothing but blue skies ahead for her and her six-year-old twin daughters.

      Today’s shoot was just the beginning. Her agent had two more jobs lined up for her before the end of the month. He’d also scheduled her to attend the televised celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue. She hadn’t been able to make the photo shoot last fall in New York for the magazine, but he thought making an appearance on the live show would give her plenty of exposure.

      Hopefully, she’d be able to juggle it all. Part of what appealed to her about today’s job was that it was close enough that she’d be able to shoot for a few hours and still get home in time to meet her daughters when they got off the school bus.

      Annabelle glanced at the clock. If the light didn’t change soon, she wasn’t going to make it to the bus stop in time.

      The song ended and Annabelle turned down the volume. She’d started listening to Journey during the Goliaths’ World Series run. So the song was five years older than she was, the message still rang true. It was about hope. Starting over. Believing.

      The traffic light turned green, and she pulled into the intersection. A flash of yellow appeared out of the corner of her eye. She turned in time to see an SUV blow through the stoplight. Before she could react, the vehicle struck her Mercedes just behind the driver’s side door.

      Her head slammed into the side window. Glass shattered and she looked down at the blood on her blouse. A thousand black pixels danced before her eyes.

      And then nothing.

      * * * *

      Nathan Cooper was almost home. He’d gotten his miles in, had lunch at his favorite restaurant, and he’d spent the early part of the day working his shoulder to the point of fatigue, but not pain. What a concept. How many times in the last two years had he told himself to toughen up? Work through the pain? He’d been in denial enough to believe he could overcome the injury to his shoulder by working harder, longer, stronger.

      When that hadn’t worked, he’d tried herbal supplements, powders, creams, and potions—just about anything that promised one more inning, one more pitch. He’d been desperate enough that he’d believed in the so-called experts until he couldn’t be sure what he was putting in his body.

      He slipped his hand under his collar to run his fingertips over the tiny scar. He should have started with the surgery. It would have saved him a whole lot of time and trouble. Hell, it might have even saved his career.

      Standing at the corner, he waited for the school bus that had been sitting there idling for almost ten minutes. But he hadn’t seen any passengers unload. The red flashing lights were to stop vehicular traffic. On foot, he could go around the bus, but he was determined to be a model citizen. To keep from making another mistake.

      Finally, the doors opened and two little blond girls waved to him. The bus driver nodded, and the girls bounded off the bus.

      “Miss Nora said we couldn’t