Page 19 of Hail Marry
“Yeah. I just…don’t qualify for the visa they usually get.”
“Why not?”
His gaze fixes on mine like he’s trying to decide whether to answer my question.
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m being nosy.”
He shrugs. “It’s fine. If you really want to know. It’s not pretty, though.”
“I massively overshared with you while in a hospital gown the other day, so it only seems fair.”
“Fair enough.” He doesn’t look up. He just works on cleaning my road rash. “There was an…incident a few years back. I ended up with a criminal record.”
My brows go up. That’s…not what I expected. The pink-sprinkle-cookie-giver does not give criminal vibes, brooding as that brow might be. I should probably shoo him out of my house or grab the mace—which I actually don’t have—but I’m more curious than anything.
“What sort of record are we talking about here?” I ask.
His gaze meets mine for a few seconds again. I get the impression this man doesn’t share anything without seriously considering it first.
“You sure you want to know?” he asks.
“I’m sure.”
He looks back down at my arm and gently spreads ointment over the injury. “I lived with my grandma during high school. She’s about the sweetest lady you’ve ever met. But gullible, especially as she got older. I was at school and football practice a lot, so she was usually home alone. One day, she let in a handyman who offered to do some work for her. I didn’t think much of it—I was eighteen, and like most teenagers, my mind was elsewhere. Anyway, he kept coming back. He’d leave his work unfinished, then return later and find other things that needed repairing. All sorts of unnecessary stuff he wanted her to pay upfront for—overpay upfront.”
He puts the ointment aside and gets the bandaging ready. “She was living off of Social Security, plus paying for all my football stuff, so it’s not like she had money to burn. I told her not to let him in anymore, but when I got home from practice the next day, he was there.” His brows knit, and his jaw clenches, but he starts wrapping my arm. “He was in her face, getting loud, threatening her. I confronted him, and…it got ugly. I shoved him, and he fell into the doorjamb, then to the floor. Got a concussion and a broken nose. He pressed charges.”
“Sheesh,” I say softly. No wonder he’s been so bossy about my head injury. He’s probably been worried I’ll sue him too. “But…didn’t the court understand the circumstances? Couldn’t your grandma testify about what happened?”
“She’d passed by the time the case got to court. Heart attack. The guy made me look like the aggressor.” He shrugs and secures the bandage. “He was a really good liar.”
“And you’re not.”
His eyes flick to mine, questioning my meaning.
“No offense,” I say. “But I’m not sure you really sold the fiancé thing to Tyler.”
The edge of his mouth ticks up, and the contrast between that and the look he wore when he was thinking about the scammer is wild. “You didn’t give me much prep time. And no, I’m not a great liar. I’m more of a straight-shooter. The scammer was a smooth-talker, and I intimidate people on a good day.”
“Not me,” I say.
His gaze holds mine.
“Objectively speaking, it would make sense for me to be,” I say. “You’re enormous and grumpy and bossy and apparently have a criminal record.”
“Speaking of straight-shooters,” he says dryly, putting his medical kit tools back in the bag.
I smile. “ShouldI be scared of you?”
His gaze returns to mine. He’s got really pretty brown eyes. Maybe they’re the reason I’m not scared of him. They might be on the broody side, but they’re soulful. Deep. And kind.
“No,” he says.
“Good,” I say, “because I don’t actually have mace in my purse.”
“You shouldn’t offer that information up to people. And you should get some. I can’t always be here to save you.”
I scoff, but I’m also smiling, and he is too when his eyes meet mine briefly. “So, what?” I say. “The NFL is just out of the question now?”
