Page 61 of Protecting What's Mine
He heard a slowclump clump clumpapproaching from the other side of the door and flashed the peephole his most charming grin.
The door didn’t open.
“Open up, Dreamy. I know you’re in there.”
There was another beat of silence. Sunshine, tired of waiting for adoration, jumped and planted her paws against the sidelight window to announce her presence.
Linc considered it a point in Mack’s favor when she opened the door for his dog.
There was a frown on her pretty face and a walking boot on her left foot.
“Nothing serious, huh?” he asked.
Sunshine happily trotted inside and disappeared.
“What do you want?” Mack asked grumpily.
She had a good bruise on her cheek from that skinny asshole’s fist that made Linc wish he’d done a hell of a lot more than knock a tooth out. A bandage peeked out from under the sleeve of her sweatshirt. He imagined her clothing hid a multitude of bruises and scrapes.
“I came to join the party,” he said, brushing past her.
“What party?”
“Your pity party.”
He hefted the grocery tote.
“I’m not having a pity party,” she insisted.
The whole place screamed cute little grandma. The couch that Sunshine had already made herself at home on was a faded buttercup yellow with embroidered throw pillows. The built-ins in the living room were crammed with paperbacks and ceramic knickknacks. The TV was entirely too small for the space, and the stand that held it was stenciled with violets.
He’d bet money there was a cookie jar in the kitchen and lace doilies on at least one piece of furniture upstairs. Nothing in the room reflected the sexy, heroic doctor who had taken up residence.
“What’s the verdict, doc?” he asked, crossing the living room and stepping into the minuscule kitchen. He plopped his bag of goodies on the counter.
He heard the uneven clumping follow him into the room.
“Linc,” she sighed out his name in a way that brought bedroom fantasies to mind. “What are you doing in my house?”
He nudged her down in one of the two chairs at the table barely big enough to hold one dinner plate. “I’m bein’ neighborly. It’s a small-town, nice-person thing.” When she didn’t spring back up out of the chair, he knew she was tired. “Heard you’re out of commission.”
Glumly, she rested her chin on her hand. “Avulsion fracture. Ankle. I’m officially grounded. I can’t fly with the boot.”
Hurt, frustrated, and bored. He got it.
He pulled the box of green tea out of the bag and filled the electric kettle with water.
“That sucks,” he said succinctly and plugged in the kettle.
“What sucks is that girl’s traumatic brain injury,” she said, bubbling over with frustration. “No one has good taste in men at that age, and yet she’s paying the price. They don’t know if she’ll ever wake up, let alone resume a normal life. And nowIknow thattheydon’t know because everyone in this damn town knows every damn thing.”
She pushed out of the chair to limp and pace in the confined space.
“And it’s all because some stupid son of a bitch made some really bad fucking choices,” she said.
Because he got it, because he knew, Linc hooked his fingers in the neck of her hoodie and reeled her in. She remained rigid until his arms wrapped around her. It was like she’d given herself permission to melt for just a moment.
“I’m sorry the price of his dumbass decisions were hers and yours to pay,” he said. “And I’m really fucking pissed that I didn’t do more.”
