“Never mind,” she says as worry flits over her features. “It was just a feeling I had.”
“Was it Kian?”
“It was probably nothing. Just my paranoia.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Look, I don’t want to go to prison. But I also don’t like being put in a corner. This is very sudden, and I can’t just upend my life and get married. What would people think? What would we tell them?”
I wince that she thinks I’d actually send her to prison. Yes, the police came to the motel after I called, but once they arrived, I left her name out of it. Some part of me didn’t want to implicate her. Maybe it was the memory of the bruises on her throat. Maybe it was seeing Kian and realizing he was the one who’d put them there.
“It’ll be easy,” I reply. “We’ll get married for a few months, then get a divorce. We’ll never have to see each other again.”
She narrows her eyes, searching my face as if trying to figure me out. “The question is: Will you send me to prison if I don’t marry you?”
I exhale heavily.
She studies my face, seems to make up her mind about something, then pulls out her phone. “Go ahead, then—call the cops, have me locked up, let the scorpions eat me alive. Just remember that I didn’t wreck your beloved car; I only borrowed it—”
“Police would say felony theft.”
“—and left it at the airport. Yes, it was stupid and impulsive, but it wasn’t malicious.”
My jaw pops.
“I ran when I should have faced Kian, I know, but knowing it and doing it are two separate things. I’m sorry. Just know that you’d be sending a woman to jail who takes care of her siblings and a baby.”
Twenty seconds pass, the air crackling with tension.
“Don’t you think you owe me this, Emmy?” I glare at her. Of course I don’t want to call the cops.
Several tense moments pass as neither of us drops our gaze.
A small laugh comes from her as she tucks her phone away. “Did insurance cover your car’s damages?”
“Yes,” I say tightly.
“Thank God,” she says as she blows out a breath. “I have enough money problems as it is.”
I rake a hand through my hair, trying to find a way to convince her. “I could help with your money issues.”
“No thanks.”
“And Kian. If you marry me, he won’t be bothering you.”
She curls her lips at me. “I don’t know anything about you, other than you’re a football player. Where are you from? Are you a creep?”
I list them off on my fingers. “I played football in Seattle, then got traded to the Pythons. I’m a creep. Obviously. I’m asking a stranger to marry me.”
She huffs. “Don’t you want to get married for real someday?”
From deep inside me, an unexpected yearning hits me. I recall being on the field, dead, and seeing a woman showing me a beautiful life, of how I could be alive in a way I’d never experienced before. I remember the feeling of peace and tranquility. Of happiness.
She smirks when I don’t reply. “Guess you’re not a believer in the fairy tale, either, huh?”
“Nope. Which makes us perfect.” I pace around the sidewalk, shoving my hands in my pockets. I’m sure she’s seen how I clench them, and she probably thinks I’m ready to pounce on her. I’m not. I’m fucking nervous. More nervous than I should be. I never dreamed I’d ask a woman to marry me after Divina.
I grab a business card from my wallet and hand it over, avoiding our fingers brushing. “My number is there. You aren’t the only person I’m asking, so don’t take long. I’d like this handled by the end of the week. I also expect discretion. No one can know the details of what I’ve asked you—even if I marry someone else . . .” I let my words trail off as I raise an eyebrow.
She rubs the card between her fingers. “I have competition. Hilarious.”
The silence builds between us. My heart picks up. I expected her to say yes on the spot, but she’s got fire in her.
Which I admire.
I rub my jaw as unease trickles over me. I’m weirded out by what I’ve proposed, and I need to breathe some Emmy-free air.
“Don’t take too long to call me.” As I turn to leave, my hand brushes hers, and an electric thrill ghosts down my arm. I push it down and walk away.
Chapter 8
GRAHAM
Jasper throws me the ball, and I run for the goal line as the other team barrels toward me. I do a fake and dodge, but a beefy linebacker catches up and tackles me to the ground with a crash. My head explodes with pain, and the impact reverberates through my bones. The world spins in dizzying circles. A body rolls over mine. And another. I’m crushed, like I’m in a giant iron vise, being squeezed and twisted until my insides beg for mercy.