Page 30 of Stuff My Turkey
She grimaced, inspecting her scraped palms. "Just my pride that's mortally wounded."
Despite everything—the tension between us, Buck's threat, my own churning emotions—I found myself drawn to her resilience.
"Can you stand?" I asked, offering my hand.
She took it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. The brief contact sent warmth through my arm that had nothing to do with exertion. She tested her weight on her right ankle, wincing slightly.
"Might have twisted it," she admitted.
Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her weight. The curve of her hip under my palm felt right, like it belonged there. "Lean on me."
"I can handle it," she protested, but leaned against me anyway.
We continued at a much slower pace, the other runners streaming past us, some offering concerned glances or encouragement. Buck shot us a smirk as he jogged by, the threat in his eyes clear as pond water.
"We're going to finish dead last," Honey observed as the bulk of participants disappeared around a bend.
"Doesn't matter," I said, suddenly meaning it. "We'll finish together."
Something in my tone made her look up at me, searching my face. For a moment, with her body pressed against mine and her eyes locked on mine, nothing else seemed important. I'd been a fool to let jealousy over Knox drive a wedge between us. Whatever this thing between us was—real or pretend—it mattered more than I wanted to admit.
We crossed the finish line to scattered applause from those still lingering at the end—mostly volunteers cleaning up cups from the water station. Participants had already started heading home to check on turkeys in the oven, the smell of roasting birds drifting from nearby houses. Knox and Bitsy had long since finished, posting their results to social media. The Vickerys waved from where they sat on a bench, sipping water.
"Yep, we came in last," I confirmed as we passed under the banner, "but we made it."
Honey stepped away from my support, testing her ankle. "Seems better now. Just needed to walk it off."
We collected our participation medals—cheap plastic turkeys on ribbons—and made our way to a quiet corner away from the crowd. Honey's expression had turned serious, the brief moment of connection fading as reality reasserted itself.
"What did Buck say to you?" she asked directly. "And don't tell me 'nothing.' You've been distracted the entire race."
I rubbed a hand over my face, the weight of the threat settling back on my shoulders like a yoke. "He overheard us arguing last night. About our arrangement."
Her eyes widened. "The fake relationship?"
I nodded grimly. "He was outside the window. Heard enough to know the truth."
"And now he's blackmailing you," she concluded, her lawyer's mind connecting the dots. "What does he want?"
"For me to back out of the Vickery deal. Recommend they invest with him instead."
Honey's face hardened, her jaw setting in a way I was beginning to recognize as her courtroom fighter emerging. "That son of a bitch."
"If the Vickerys find out we've been lying, they'll walk for sure," I said quietly. "Everything I've worked for goes up in smoke."
She squared her shoulders with newfound determination. "He's not going to win this, Heath. I won't let him."
"What are you planning to do?"
"I'm an attorney, remember?" A smile spread across her face that reminded me of a wolf spotting an injured rabbit. "And Buck Jessup just made the mistake of threatening someone who argues for a living."
I should have been reassured by her confidence, but a chill ran through me. "Honey, be careful. Buck's dangerous."
"So am I," she replied, the gleam in her eye both terrifying and, if I'm honest, intoxicating. "Trust me, Heath. I've got this."
My chest tightened with a mix of fear and admiration. For the first time since meeting her, I saw the woman who'd faced down judges and juries without flinching. The woman who'd called a judge a "patriarchal dinosaur" to his face.
Despite everything that hung in the balance—I found myself believing her. And wanting her more than ever.
