My Darling Bride(35)

I stop, surprise flickering over me. “Wait. You actually have empathy for him? Even after all the problems it must have given you?”

“I believe he didn’t mean for what happened to happen. It’s a risk we all take when we put on the uniform. I’m angry it’s fucked with me for months, but I’ve been cleared to play. I’ll start this fall.”

I frown. After discovering who he was, I watched the video of his tackle several times. He’d fallen into a tangle of arms and legs, then lay on the field while everyone else got to their feet. He didn’t move. Not an inch. The crowd hushed. The other team prayed. His team formed a wall around him for privacy as the paramedics used a defibrillator to bring him back. I’ve had a similar thing done, to shock my heart back into normal rhythm.

We walk into the kitchen, and our hands drift apart. Tilting my chin up, he searches my face. With surprisingly gentle fingers he touches the top of my nose. Concern etches his features. “I don’t feel a break, and it doesn’t look misshapen. Your eyes look fine but might bruise later. Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?”

“No.”

But my heart is suddenly thumping like a snare drum.

Dammit, I like this vulnerable side of him, his care. True, he’s a towering man with muscles, seemingly invincible, but there’s a gentleness about him that makes my heart tighten.

He smells intoxicating, and with our faces this close, I notice the feathery lines at the corners of his mercurial eyes. I see a small scar on his temple. I take in the strong muscles in his throat, the light dusting of dark hair I see below his neck. I wonder if there’s a lot of hair on his chest. My mind wanders, and I imagine his abdomen, if he has a six-or an eight-pack; then I’m tangled up in thoughts about his penis—is there a curve, which direction does it point, is he circumcised, if his height and broad shoulders suggest a girthy cock, and what color the spring of hair would be—

And nope. I have a cat.

“Yeah, I don’t think I have a concussion,” I say as I ease away, grab a ziplock bag, and fill it with ice from the machine.

Leaning against the stainless steel counter, I press the bag to my face, focusing on the bridge of my nose and not the man next to me.

“So, tell me about this fight with the mop. You lost?”

“I banged it while pushing the bucket we use to mop up spills. Some of our employees didn’t show, so I’m doing odd jobs.”

“Ah.”

I exhale. The mop incident is just another reminder that the store is going away. My stomach churns all over again. “I guess you saw the sign on the door. We’re closing for good. Our people are skipping work to look for other jobs. My gran worked here for years. My siblings and I ran around, had meals in the kitchen, played hide-and-seek . . .” My voice trails off. I even got to first base with my crush on the velvet settee upstairs.

Just memories from the past, written on my heart.

I lower the ice pack, thinking. He and I don’t know each other, but we’ve been through something together. I can’t unload on Babs because she’ll try to fix things, like find me a job in Alaska. I can’t with my siblings, because Jane is going through her own issues, and Andrew is already on the verge of quitting school. “It’s like, losing the store is just another piece of her gone. Pretty soon I won’t have anything left.”

My chest rises. “Then, there’s the apartment where I live. My gran took out a second mortgage to help my mom. I know selling is the right thing to do, to get out of debt, and start fresh in a cheaper place, but it’s hard to let go after all the sacrifices Gran made for us, you know? She is, was, my mother.”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

I give him a wan smile. “Sorry for venting. Bet you wished you hadn’t shown up to taunt me with Mina.”

He takes the ice from my numb hands and places it on the counter. His words are whisper soft. “She’s not my fiancée. That position is only for you.”

My breath catches.

A myriad of expressions flit over his face, ones I can’t decipher. “It must be you.”

I take in the diamond cheekbones, the beautiful lines of his jaw, and the way his eyes peer into mine with that deep, intense look.

“My answer is no. I don’t want to get married. And about the car . . . I think you’re the kind of person who would forgive me.” He has empathy for the guy who tackled him. Maybe he can spare some understanding for me.

Seconds tick by as he stares at me, emotions flitting over his face. Then he turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me there.

Shit. I groan. Maybe I’ve misjudged him, and he’s calling the police.

I start when the kitchen door flies open, and he stalks back inside, his chest heaving out an exhale as he stops in front of me. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

I dip my face and hide a smile. “Welcome back. So you aren’t going to put me behind bars?”

“I never would have, and you know it.”

I touch his arm, and the act sends a buzzing hot zap down my spine. His muscles are taut and hard. I let my hand fall away. “So let me help you out with Mina. What can I do? She clearly likes you. And she is sweet, even if she did say my windows are ‘cute.’”

He rubs his face with both hands, his tone exasperated. “Of course she likes me. She’s my cousin. She thinks I’m interested in you—romantically. She came along to be my wingwoman.”