Page 33 of Riding the Pine

I’ve never seen him like this, so openly affectionate, concerned, damn near murderous because someone dared to hurt me. There’s a word to describe that, and it’s not psychopath. But I can’t dare think it, because if I did, I’d have to face it. Except it’s right there in his eyes as he waits for my explanation, it’s in how he’s holding the ice pack against my face, how he drove us to BFE Iowa to get me away from prying eyes, how he sat in silence instead of forcing me into a conversation.

“The opposite of my wrist.” I offer a half-wince half-smile. “He went to walk away from me so I grabbed the crook of his elbow, he swung his arm out to get free of my grasp but I was too close and took an elbow to the cheek.”

He sits with the information for a long while before shaking his head. “He had no business laying hands on you Bright Eyes. I don’t like it.”

“I grabbed him too, Gizmo. I’m just as much to blame.”

He snorts like he’s bursting to call bullshit on me but doesn’t pull me up on it. Instead, he shakes his head, checks my bruise, and goes back to staring into my eyes. “Is he your brother?”

I swallow down the instant lump that appears in the back of my throat and blink back the tears as I nod. “His mom is under an NDA. Papá pays her a hundred grand a month for her silence. He didn’t sign an NDA as he was underage at the time, but he didn’t need to tell me anything Scott.” I sniff, swiping at the traitorous tears trickling down my cheek with my free hand.

“One look at his face, and I knew he was a de la Peña. Strikingly beautiful and knows it, arrogant with a hint of humble, and a chip on his shoulder a mile wide. He felt like shit when he caught my face with his elbow, guess he doesn’t know his own strength.”

“He sounds like a quality asshole, Athena. And if you weren’t insisting it was an accident I’d go and pluck his limbs off like I was plucking a fucking chicken’s feathers.”

I can’t help giggling at the image in my head of Scott plucking Mathias dressed as a chicken. “I like how protective you are of me.” I brush my fingertips along his cheek making his breath stutter. I hadn’t realized how close we are, but his breath is tickling my face as we lean over the center console in his car.

“Almost as protective as my brothers.” I regard him as his eyes roll back just enough to tell me I’m full of shit. I laugh again. “Okay, maybe even more than my brothers.”

His face softens. “I’d kill for you, Athena.” He cups the side of my face that isn’t under siege by an ice pack and drops his forehead to mine like he’s drawing strength, or comfort from knowing I’m okay, that it wasn’t someone deliberately hurting me.

The intensity in his eyes, the heaviness in his breath, and the way his whole body is rigid with tension tells me he’s not lying, he’d kill for me. I’m pretty sure that should make me feel scared,but my whole life I’ve been surrounded by men who’d kill for me. My brothers wouldn’t think twice about ending someone who hurt me, and I know that without them ever having said it.

I mean, I’m sure they threatened the occasional asshat away from dating me behind my back, but they also acknowledge my own strength, just like Scott does. He’s not pushing me back, asking if I got things wrong, if I’m sure that’s how it went down. He’s taking my word because he trusts me to tell the truth.

We sit quietly in the front of his car, foreheads touching, breathing in sync, and his hand under mine pressing the cold compress against my still throbbing face.

So much is said in the silence, and so much that should be said goes unspoken. It feels like only a matter of minutes before we pry ourselves away from each other, but it’s been fifteen minutes of sitting here without saying a word, our bodies connected, and truth be told, I feel a little better for it.

“Are you sure it was an accident?” He checks me over one last time, making me wiggle my fingers and bend my wrist as he regards the finger-print bruises around my wrist.

I roll my eyes. “You calling me a liar, Gizmo?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I wouldn’t put it past you to save your brothers a few bucks from having to bail me out of jail for assault and battery.”

That makes my stern scowl break, a flicker of a smile tickling the edges of my lips. “Stand down, fighter boy.” I stroke his face again, his eyes fluttering closed like he’s soaking in every second of our intimate time together. “I appreciate you willing to go to jail for me, but it’s not necessary.”

“How did you leave things with him?”

I shrug. “Gave him my cell phone number. Not sure if he’s allowed to talk to me, or what the details are of the contract his mother signed, or if he even wants to get to know us. He seemed pretty bitter to be honest, we’re the chosen children, he’s theabandoned bastard living in the shadows no one knows about. That chip on his shoulder is more like a chunk. The guy needs therapy.”

Scott scrubs his hand across his jaw, drawing my eyes to his lips. “Are you going to tell your brothers?”

“Fuck no.”

He sighs. “You don’t have to do everything alone, you know. We all get it, you’re a strong, gladiator of a woman who can do whatever the fuck she wants. Independent, check. Capable, check. But you could let one or more of us in to help you sometimes you know.”

There’s no judgment in his voice, only a note of longing. He’s right, with three younger but overprotective brothers ready to throw hands for me at all times and a billionaire father who constantly expects perfection, I’ve gotten very accustomed to doing everything for myself and by myself.

He’s staring at me like he’s not fully contented with my explanation.

“What is it?”

He shakes his head. “You were crying. I know you’re hurt, and you say it’s an accident, but Raffi said you were crying.” He glides his fingertips over my not injured cheek. “Was it that sore?”

I shake my head. “Papá cheated on Mamá. He’s not the man I thought he was. I’ve always believed that even though he’s a businessman, a killer-instinct kind of corporate jackass. At least he adored Mamá. No matter what the media said about him at work, no matter how sharp and strict he was with us as kids…”

Tears threaten to fall again. I push the lump in my throat aside because I have to at least say this out loud, even just once.

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