Mollie’s hand lands on my shoulder.
God, you’re killing me here.
“When you say things like that, it’s so clear how much you really love those kids.”
I don’t say anything. I just nod and watch the game and hope she keeps that hand there.
After a few moments, her touch leaves me, and I swallow back the disappointment. “Where’s everyone else?” she asks.
“Work…mostly.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you think you’ll want to join the family business?”
I tilt my head like the answer should be obvious.
“Okay, so did you ever want to?”
Tight-lipped, I shake my head.
“Oh, how come?”
I let the question hang a bit, hoping the switch to the offensive team gives me an out. I clap loudly and then cup my hands around my mouth. “Yo, Justice! Let’s go, man!”
“You can tell me if I’m being too nosey. You said it’s a family business. I figured you and your brothers might eventually all work there?”
I press my fist into my other hand and knead like I’m trying to crack my knuckles, only they never seem to crack. “Nah, I doubt that will happen now.” I look at her, hoping to get my point across.
She puts her hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry… I’m just interested in…”
“It’s cool. It’s just everything is different now. Mase says Dad has no drive, but honestly, I think my brother could run it on his own. Our family is in a different place now. Besides, the family in business was just pipe dream of my dad’s.”
I can tell she wants to know more, ask more, but I face forward again, regret bloating my gut. I don’t want her to think we can’t get to know each other. I certainly want to get to know her, but if that means talking more about me, I’m not up for that right now.
My uneasiness transfers from focusing on Mollie to my brother, who is about to throw a long pass on third down. I take in a huge breath and hold it. Justice fades back, looks for an open man, pumps the ball, and—oh shit—he ducks away from a linesman and bolts a few steps diagonally. “C’mon!” I say under my breath. I punch my fist and scrunch my face as another defensive player breaks free and heads right toward him. He’s got time and space, but he can’t hold on and performs his signature move. “Ah, hell.” The crowd starts swinging their hands above their heads in a circular motion as if they’re wielding an invisible lasso as Justice makes a run for the sidelines. The crowd screams, “Yeeee-haaww.”
I drop my chin and can’t help but laugh a little myself. The old me would have been pissed as hell. Probably give him a beating to toughen him up. Funny how circumstance and priorities change your life. Change you.
“I assume that won’t go over well at school?” she asks.
“Home either,” I say with a nod and turn back to the field as they set up for the next play. The crowd is chanting for that first down, and my pulse kicks up for my brother, who needs this more than those assholes giving him crap know. I clench my fists and send mental energy as Justice fades back and looks to his mark. I instinctively grab Mollie’s hand and squeeze it.
“Come on, Justice,” she says quietly. “You got this.”
With his pass successful, we both pull close as the receiver maneuvers his way past first down and everyone cheers. I let go of her hand, though I won’t apologize for my instinct toward her. Instead, I clap and enjoy the small victory for Justice, pretending I didn’t just get as giddy as a freshman talking to the quarterback, just from the small connection with her.
“Speaking of home,” she says suddenly. “You think I could catch a ride after the game?”
The fickle freshman leaps back under my skin, and I’m caught speechless. Women never rendered me that way before. There was always this natural confidence that led all my actions and responses to women. Maybe it’s because I’ve turned into Carol freaking Brady these last few months or maybe it’s because no matter what I do—how many hours of working out, how many weights I pile on the bar—I can’t seem to get my mental fortitude back. “Oh…I…you need a ride?” Nice recovery, jackass.
“Well, Lou was going to run some errands, but I can go with her.”
“No.” My pulse quickens and I try to hide my buoyant smile. “The kids can go back with Gramps. I just have to get them settled into his car. I’d be happy to give you a lift.”
Chapter 9
Logan
Thankfully, our team pulled out the win, but Justice didn’t let the timer run out without one more mad dash, this time out of bounds and without a defensive player within five yards of him. One of us had better get him used to uglying up that pretty mug of his before someone else does it for him.
The car ride to Mollie’s felt like an exercise in telepathy. I had the radio on but at a reasonable volume for a conversation. Yet, our exchanges were limited to her giving me directions. There were glances. At her plump lips. Her shapely thighs as she crossed her legs. The V of her snug T-shirt. And of course, those light gray eyes that practically hold me prisoner whenever I look into them. Damn near ran a light getting caught up in them. Like that time in the pizza place, holding an unspoken conversation ending with her letting out a small laugh like I’d told a joke at a dinner party.
Getting out of the car, I wonder if she expects me to just drop her and go. I follow her to the door, and as she unlocks it, I hear these funny puffs of air coming from the crack of the door. She looks back at me and smiles. “That’s Rocky. You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”
Just the mention of a dog sends warmth to my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s simply my love of animals or the fact that she has one. She opens the door the second I shake my head. Two chocolate paws land on my thighs, but they don’t stay there as he springboards off me, spins in a circle, and then sits at Mollie’s feet slapping a long dark tail against the floor.
“Hey, suck-up, you know the drill.”
Rocky eyes me one more time and then turns back to Mollie and gives her a head tilt.
She ticks her head up once. “Move it!”
A second later, a heap of brown muscled dog takes off to what seems to be the kitchen area and returns with—fuck me—a leash hanging from his mouth.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “I can barely get my brothers to pick up their stupid socks.”
“Well it’s his routine, except for when Lou pops in and confuses him. And he knows what’s waiting after.” She head-gestures to a Tupperware full of dog biscuits on a side table by the door. “Have a seat and I’m going to run him out to his favorite bush.”
When she heads out the door, I take the opportunity to glance around and get a peek into the private world of my new friend. It’s a small house, but feels homey. Not in a grandma sort of way but more of a gypsy, bright and colorful. One whole wall is purple, and there are light purple accents throughout the room. I see her through the window at her mailbox, the purple ends of her hair highlighted under the sun. I grin and find it difficult to pull my gaze from her, but I want to see more of her place.
Walking around the living room and peeking down the hall, I don’t see any family pictures on shelves or the wall. Our house is littered with them, like Jabba the Hutt ate our family album and puked it up on all the walls. Though it is tinged in sadness, the thought brings me comfort. As dysfunctional as we are now, we are lucky to have had the upbringing we did. I feel a pang of sadness for Mollie, though. Without knowing any real details, she seems a bit lonely to me. We haven’t defined this friendship yet, but I hope it means I can at least learn more about her. Get closer to her, even if that means close friends.
The door flings open from Rocky’s nose as he pulls Mollie in. She unhooks him and retrieves his treat from the container. She hands it to him and immediately grabs his face and kisses his head. It’s so sweet and unlike what I’ve seen from her, it makes my heart putter a bit faster. Not that
she hasn’t been sweet, especially to Belle, but she just has this sort of thin veil of toughness that protects her. Maybe that comes from being an introvert, though I wouldn’t say she’s still that girl from high school.
“Did you get a good look around?” Her tone is teasing, and her brows are arched, but I notice a sheen of sweat on her forehead. It seems unusual since the day isn’t that warm.
“What? No, I was just enjoying your place. It’s cool. Let me guess. Prince fan?”
“Of course.” She laughs and walks past me, wiping her forehead. “How about something to drink before you go?” Her words are slow and breathy.
“A drink?” I could go for a beer after that game, but it’s hard to tell what she means by “drink” especially when she seems a little off suddenly.
“C’mon.” She motions me to the kitchen, and I follow in what is quickly becoming my favorite path in life: floating in the trail of scent she leaves behind her.
She goes right to the fridge and opens it, but now her face looks almost annoyed, and I’m wondering if I should bow out of here or what. “I can get going if…”
She’s pulling out two water bottles, so I stop talking but continue to analyze her face. Maybe she’s not comfortable having me in her home. She hands one to me, avoiding my eyes, and then she walks back toward the doorway, holding the other. “Be right back.”
As I lean against the counter and chug the water, I can hear a faint mumbling. Is she talking to me or the dog? It must be a little lonely living by yourself. I’ve always been surrounded by people, so I can only guess what it’s like for her. Still, until just a few minutes ago, she seemed like the type of person who didn’t let much get to her. The kind of person who rolls with the punches and doesn’t complain. I like that in a woman. In anyone, really. It’s one of the reasons I felt so at home in the military. Everyone has two jobs: whatever you’re responsible for and to back up whomever you’re with when the shit hits the fan. And you don’t bitch about it. As tough as it was, I miss it. Now I’m a damn head mistress for The Outsiders.
“Son of a bitch!” I hear her say.
Her words are faint but distressed enough to yank me out of my head. I double time it back to the living room, but she’s not there. Instinctively, I head down the short hallway to my right and stop in front of one of the closed doors.
A moment later, I hear her. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”
Though her tone no longer sounds distressed, I don’t fight my instincts and find myself pushing through the door. “Mollie…” I freeze and wrinkle my brow at the scene in front of me. Typically, I’m quick to surmise a situation but not this time. Mollie is sitting on the floor in a pair of tight black yoga shorts, a needle sticking out of her thigh. Rocky is lying across from her next to a newspaper that appears to have…is that vomit?
“Knock much?” She depresses the plunger of the needle and stands abruptly, Rocky mirroring her at her side. She pats his head and says, “Go to your bed, boy.” Then she sits on the bed next to what appears to be some sort of pouch of medical stuff and busies herself with it.
I realize my mouth is open and decide I better say something. “I’m… I apologize for barging in, but you sounded like you needed help. I take a step closer, and her eyes connect with mine, a warning just at the surface.
“I’m good.”
“I don’t mean to be nosey, but—”
“Then don’t.”
I sigh heavily and look over at the dog who’s got his head resting on his paws in a big, puffy bed. “Let me clean this up for you,” I say, walking over to the brown, clumpy mess. I lean down and fold the paper, wrapping it up tight.
“I’m not a druggie, if that’s what you think,” she says behind me.
I don’t turn around. “It’s not.” I stand and head to the door. “Trash in the kitchen?”
“Yeah.”
As I walk out of the room, my chest tightens. I find the bin and toss the paper in. I’m not sure if I should leave, but I don’t want to. I can’t, so I wait for her to join me in the kitchen.
“Sorry about that,” she says, walking to the window and looking out. “Sometimes he gets nervous with new people in the house.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean to scare him. I love dogs.” I come up behind her. “And if there’s anything you need…”
“Hey.” She turns, putting her close enough for me to lean in and touch foreheads but I resist. “Don’t let what you saw change your opinion of me.” Her voice is sharp, defensive.
I smirk. “I don’t know what I saw, so I’m not sure how things change.” I back up, needing to put a little distance between us. What I’m feeling—the need to comfort her, protect her after what I saw—is not what she’s feeling based on her words and tone. “I guess I’m just a little confused. I thought we were getting to know each other these past few weeks. Trust each other.”
She puts her hands on her hips and looks away. “So.”
I half laugh, half cough. “So…I guess I’m just hur—surprised you kept this from me…whatever it is.”
She’s staring at me and jiggling her leg—something I noticed her doing before—like she’s deciding.
“We’re friends, remember?”
She licks her lips and sighs. “It’s not a big deal. I’m diabetic, okay?”
It makes sense, but I don’t know what I’m feeling right now. It’s not pity but more like empathy and protectiveness. Yeah, she’s tough as hell, but I hate to think of her struggling or in pain. I know her well enough that now’s not the time to voice any of that. So, I play it safe. “Okay. Thanks for telling me.” Then, as I take a couple of steps back, I mumble under my breath, “Explains the moodiness.”
Her mouth falls open and she punches my arm. “Screw you.”
As far as I know, this is not life threatening. Yet, I want to know more, to help her, to find ways to protect her, but I feel like that’s the last thing I should want. “Hey, I’m just playing.” I rub my arm and frown, playing it up to ease the awkwardness. But as we stand there, the playfulness in both our expressions fade. We only breathe and watch each other. Dangerous territory just like in my garage that first day.
Watching her, I want to pull her into my arms, but instead I take her hand. I want to press my lips against hers, but instead I lean in, touch her face. “I’m here for you if you need me,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen and she lets out a choking giggle.
I furrow my brows and move back, releasing her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was rude.” But she still seems to be covering a smirk like I’m some schoolboy with a crush on his teacher. “It was very sweet of you, but I’m a big girl. And I can take care of myself. Did you forget that I’m a nurse?”
“I know. And I know you’re strong and you’re independent, but you don’t always have to be the one taking care of everyone else. Everybody needs somebody in life. Not just for this. For…whatever. “
She shrugs and cocks her head to the side, adorably. “Maybe I already have somebody.”
“Do you?” She might think this is a fun game, but I’m totally serious.
Her gaze drops slightly before springing back to me, giving me the answer. That’s when I realize I want to be her somebody, and it’s very possible she wants that too.
When she turns away, I know the timing isn’t right. She sits at the table, and I back up and lean against the sink, waiting for her eyes to meet mine again so I can make her understand I won’t pressure her, but I will take what I can get, even if that only means another form of friendship. Preferably a closer one. “In all seriousness, I want us to be friends. And I appreciate you trusting me by telling me that.”
She shakes her head and tucks her lips under her teeth while she plays with her hair. “You sure been throwing that trust word around, pot.”
I scratch at the whiskers on my jaw and then immediately get the reference. “You calling me a hypocrite?”
She gets up
from the table, saunters over to me until she’s right in my face. If I wasn’t a little bit nervous about what she’s about to say, I’d be seriously turned on.
“When were you going to trust me and tell me about your leg?”
Shit. I’m floored. My mouth falls open, and for the first time in my life, a woman makes my face flush. What. The. Hell?
I lock gazes with her, and she raises her eyebrows at me. “What’s the matter? Feel a little invaded?”
Yeah! “No. I was going to tell you, but it didn’t seem important.”
“Bullshit… You wanted your privacy just like I did.”
I break eye contact and turn away, head toward the glass patio door. I stare out with my arms folded. “That’s where you’re wrong. I just didn’t want to be…that guy. I didn’t want you looking at me like—”
“What?” she says, coming up behind me and laying a hand on my arm. “A hero?”
“Hardly… No…” I can’t finish it. I can’t go there with her. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So, I look over my shoulder at her. “How’d you know?”
“I know a lot of stuff, Logan.” She turns and walks away, into the living room.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, trailing her.
She turns to face me and I wait.
“Do you want to tell me what happened to you?” She takes a seat on the couch, folds her legs under her and pats the spot next to her. “Might be good to talk about it.”
“Oh, you get to be Miss Independent and I get thrown under the microscope?”
“So, we’re both a little…tweaked. But mine is a simple story,” she tells me as I sit and we face each other. “My genes gave me diabetes, and now I live with it and hope it doesn’t interfere too much with my life.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s something I grew up with. You, on the other hand, have a much different story.”
“Look, I appreciate it, but no. It’s not something I want to talk about now. You know all the shit I got to deal with at home and leaving it alone, leaving it behind me, is the only way I can do that.”
Building Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 1) Page 8