by Ivy Hunt
He catches me, just like I knew he would, and we share a smile and go still. Last night with him undressing me reflects in his gaze. We’re only interrupted by Dan clearing his throat.
“Let’s get a move on, kids.”
Chapter Nine
ELLA
Blood pounds in my ears and swooning for real is turning into a genuine possibility. I must have hit my head harder than I thought. Why the hell did I agree to this? I hate being the center of attention. I can fake bravado in many situations, but in front of a crowd of reporters and flashing cameras, I’m a wilting banana. It’s too much like the many, many parties my parents threw when I was growing up.
We’re set up on a platform in front of the press at the Titans Stadium in the Bronx. Connor holds court in the center while I am positioned on his right. The pharmacist, who’s also been recruited for the event, is on his left. Dan and Jessica wait off to the side while the paparazzi shout questions.
“There were reports that you were injured, Connor. Will you be playing in the next game?”
“Yes, I will.” His voice is strong and confident.
The next set of questions are directed at me. “What was it like? Being rescued by Connor Hall?”
“I, ah—“ My eyes dart around, and I shift my weight. Connor wraps an arm around me without taking his eyes off the committee of vultures.
The pharmacist is happy to jump in and gush Connor’s praises, thankfully allowing me to keep silent. For once, I’m glad to stand there and look pretty, grateful that I can shrink into Connor’s side. The silk and wool blend of his navy suit is warm against my naked shoulders. I’m glad for the shelter until I spy Dan, giving us an approving nod. I try to dislodge myself from Connor’s grip, but he holds on to me tight.
Finally, Jessica’s voice cuts through the clamor, “No more questions.” I free myself and hobble off the dais as quickly as my crippled form can go, avoiding the yells still coming my way. When a reporter attempts to crowd me, I take a step back and almost bump into Connor, a solid wall behind me. Big hands settle on my shoulders. “Come on.” He gently pushes me past the riff-raff.
We’re only a few steps from the stage when a booming voice calls out, “Ella-Bella!”
I whip around and press my face into Connor’s chest, cringing as I attempt to hide from the shuffle of approaching feet. My lids slam shut and I pray my parents didn’t see me, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see that they’re heading straight for us. Dad even elbows one of the reporters out of the way.
“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, his voice urgent.
Before I can answer him, the horde is upon us. And it’s not just Mom and Dad. My sister, Hannah, and her fiancé, Hank, are also here. I suck in a deep breath. Here we go.
“Ella, oh my goodness, it is you! Hank said he saw photos of you on ESPN!” My mom seizes me in a tight embrace. I stand stiff for a second but then allow myself to soften as I inhale the familiar scent of J’adore perfume and waxy lipstick. My throat thickens with emotion.
“Damn near got mowed down in the drive over from Jersey.” My dad puts his hand on my back. I slowly turn to face him, taking in his favorite grey suit and striped tie. “What happened?” His frown is ferocious, his eyes darting around, ready to defend his baby girl.
I’m a little embarrassed when a quick tear comes to my eyes but blink it away and give my parents a small grin. “I’m fine. Really.”
They step back, only far enough to examine me. Mom’s dressed as usual, wearing a printed Diane von Furstenberg dress, with round diamond studs twinkling in her ears. She tsks at my leg. Hannah and Hank stand beside them, but their attention is focused behind me. My face reddens when I realize Connor hasn’t conveniently disappeared. He’s been watching my parents fawn all over me.
“Mom, Dad, meet Connor Hall. He was with me last night. He’s the—“
“Linebacker for the Titans,” Hank breathes, his voice rising a smidge. I cringe. He reaches a hand out for Connor to shake. “Hank Foster. Huge fan, man. Huge.”
“Thanks.”
“Connor, my Mom, Georgiana, and my Dad, Barry. And this is my older sister, Hannah, and her fiancé.”
Hank and Hannah are a matched set—tall and blond and beautiful. They’ve been together since high school. She was the head cheerleader, he was the star quarterback. Once upon a time, he was built. These days, he’s softening around the middle in his desk job as the in-house lawyer for his uncle’s real estate firm.
Hannah edges close. Even now, she’s in a form-fitting pink dress and five-inch heels. She resembles our mother, blond and tall, while I take after Dad, shorter and dark-haired.
“Good to meet you.” Hannah extends her hand to Connor, her giant engagement ring bright enough to rival the Bat-Signal.
“Thank goodness you were with Ella. That you rescued her from those goons.” My mother shudders.
“Well, Ma’am, Sir. Ella did her own rescuing,” Connor says, blushing a little. I take a sidelong glance at him, surprised he admits it. After all that spin from Dan, Jessica, and the press, it’s kind of chivalrous for him to confess that since it would have been easy for him to take the credit.
“Ella?” Hannah blinks once, twice. Her attention shifts to me for the first time. The rest of the family mirrors her surprised expression.
“No way.” This comes from Hank.
I hide my scowl and shrug. “Guess those self-defense lessons finally paid off.”
“I guess they did.” Dad eyes me thoughtfully, then turns to Connor. “My Ella-Bella didn’t want to take dance classes with her sister.”
Yeah. Coz I sucked.
“I’m sure you’re just being nice.” Hannah finds Connor’s bicep. The makeshift smile falls off my face and I dart a look at Hank. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with his fiancée caressing another man, given he’s ogling Connor the same way. Hannah begins to stroke Connor’s arm, her fingers running up and down his tailored sleeve. I think she’s about to offer to star in a three-way, which Hank obviously wouldn’t mind.
I pretend my legs are giving out, and Connor jerks out of her grip to catch me. Predictable, Boy Scout. Right on target.
Mom gasps and steps forward, also reaching out a hand. “Honey, you need to come home with us. You can’t go back to your apartment.”
“Mom, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Of course, my plan to disengage my sister from Connor has backfired on me.
“No, you aren’t,” my father says, crossing his arms over his chest, his lips tightening.
“Dad,” I growl.
Mom wrings her hands. Like, truly wrings her hands. “Ella…”
“You’re coming home with us, young lady.” This comes from Dad.
“No, I’m not.” I can look after myself. Or die trying. The last thing I need is to have my parents coddle me, tempting as it is right now. I lived with them until six months ago—at twenty-four years old, that was kind of pathetic. But working for myself as a vintage clothing restorer isn’t the most lucrative profession. Mom and Dad have always been overprotective, and they’d be thrilled for any excuse to have me home. But I get my stubbornness from somewhere, and I can tell Dad’s about to dig in his heels.
“Then who’ll take care of you?” Mom asks.
I open my mouth to argue that I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, but in that same second, a rough voice says, “I will.”
I gape in tandem with the rest of my family as I whip around, eyebrows to my hairline. I’m about to contradict Connor, but the words that emerge from my mouth are, “That’s what friends do. Look after each other.”
“Is that right?” Oh, no. I know that tone. Mom’s already mentally measuring him for a wedding tuxedo.
The throbbing in my head increases a thousandfold when Hank and Hannah’s gazes turn predatory. My sister only confirms it by saying, “Friends? You know, if you stay at home, I’m sure your friend will come visit.”
And she and her fiancé will camp at
my parents’ place for the duration. I shudder.
Hank’s smile resembles a shark’s as he tacks on, “Well, any friend of Ella’s is a friend of ours.”
At this point, I will happily throw myself back into the melee of photographers still milling about to escape my family. I never thought I’d be so glad to see Dan signaling Connor from beside the stage. “Hey, I think we’re needed back over there.” I grab Connor’s hand and tug.
We say goodbye to my family, and Connor helps me hobble along, his hand resting on my lower back. It’s a brand on my tingling skin.
As soon as we are out of earshot, he leans low, his breath warm against my ear, “So that was your family.” It’s a statement more than a question.
I nod, eyes trained straight ahead.
“And you didn’t want to call them last night.” Again, not a query.
Before he can persist with his non-questions, two other giants intercept us. Connor introduces them as his closest friends and teammates, Logan Barnes and Jake Cunningham.
Meanwhile, Dan is still flailing wildly. Connor grits his teeth and shoots a frustrated glance at his agent before turning to me, his expression stern. “Stay here,” he orders, displeased at this interruption.
“Sir, yes, sir,” I say, giving him a salute.
Jake barks out a laugh and looks over my head at Logan. “She’s got him pegged already.”
Connor scowls but doesn’t have time to protest. Instead, he gives his friends what I think is meant to be a warning look before leaving me with them.
We chat. Logan and Jake share anecdotes that have me in stitches in moments. They rate their chances for this year’s season (high), Jake’s date from the night before (low), and Dan’s latest publicity idea (just wrong).
I continue to grin even though I’m losing steam. Logan must notice because he interrupts one of Jake’s stories to ask, “You okay?”
My head is killing me, and I may keel over. “I’m fine. All in one piece.” I motion at myself with my non-crutch-wielding hand, then point at the platform from earlier. “You heard what they said up there. All thanks to Connor.” I don’t know how much Jake and Logan know about what really happened last night, even if they are his closest friends.
“Connor’s one of the good guys, for sure,” Jake says. “You couldn’t have been in better hands. There’s no way he’d have let anyone get hurt. Hell, he’d single-handedly save the world if he could. He’s never met a wounded bird he doesn’t like.”
My eyes widen, and I have to fight to keep the scowl off my face.
Logan cuts in, “Don’t get us wrong, Connor can be just as much of an idiot as the rest of us—and that’s saying something. But you’re better off with him than, say, someone like Jakey here.” Logan’s eyes gleam as he gives his friend a side-eye.
“Fuck off. You’d be way better off with me,” Jake says to me, flexing a big bicep and making me laugh.
“Just saying you couldn’t have had anyone better to look after you,” Logan tells me.
“I don’t need looking after.” Why does everyone think I’m incapable?
I’m grateful when they move on to another topic, but their words niggle at me. I should never have agreed to this farce.
Even if it meant that Connor couldn’t play? I huff. Since when do I care if he can toss a ball around and cross some chalk lines?
Before I can war with myself further, Jake shrugs. “Tell that to him.” He tips his chin to the side—Connor’s eyes are hot on me.
Chapter Ten
CONNOR
Every time I form an impression of Ella in my head, it shatters and reassembles with yet more facets: This morning, when she faced off against Dan and Jessica with barely a flinch. Then, less than an hour later, she was dressed in a frothy looking dress looking like a woodland sprite, making all sorts of wolfish thoughts flicker in my brain. And now with this most recent revelation, that she’s not a little urchin but the privileged child of wealthy parents, is the most shocking of all.
My eyes flicker back to Ella over and again. Dan’s lips pinch every time my attention veers away from the anxious sponsors he’s invited, all eager to make sure I’d done no permanent damage to myself (and their brands). Thank fuck, no posturing is needed, my ankle doesn’t hurt at all.
Luckily, the meet-and-greets don’t drag on too long and I’m able to hurry back to Ella. Who knows what Logan and Jake have filled her head with? Knowing them, I’m sure nothing good. Jake says something, and Ella turns to watch me, her features pinched. Jake’s expression is serene, even as I level him a glare. My speed increases.
The closer I get, the more distinctly I see the lines of stress on either side of her lips, even though she strains to keep a smile on her face. Guilt swamps me. She’s got a concussion, and we’ve dragged her to this fucking carnival.
I wrap an arm around Ella’s waist as soon as I reach her. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
I barely manage to growl a goodbye to the guys before steering her outside, somewhat shocked when she comes so easily. Probably doesn’t want to tackle her parents or go another round with the press.
An SUV pulls up in front of us, and she stiffens. “What’s this?”
I raise an eyebrow. “A car.”
“What for?”
I tilt my head to the side. “Transportation. To go home.” I say slowly.
An irritated look is all I get for my troubles. “I’m not going home with you.”
A twinge of hurt catches me by surprise, but I keep my voice light. “Who said anything about my home? I’m bringing you to your place. I’m your friend, remember. All set to take care of you, just like I told your family.”
The line between her brows deepens into a ravine at my words, and her jaw tightens. “That was just for show.” She waves me off with a pooh-poohing maneuver.
“No, it wasn’t. Let’s go.” I steel myself for further argument just as thunder rumbles above us.
Her lips twist, and she cuts me a glare as if my very existence is responsible for the weather. “Fine,” she mutters.
I hold the door open and watch as she scrambles into the back seat before jumping in after her.
We drive the entire distance from the Bronx to the Lower East Side with only the early afternoon hum of New York traffic for company.
“I owe you.” Ella’s eyes are on her lap, her hands fiddling with her dress.
“For what?”
“Saving me from my parents.”
“Oh. They weren’t so bad.” I was a little embarrassed by the way her sister and her fiancé fawned over me, but Ella’s parents genuinely seem to care about her.
“They’re suffocating.”
“You’d really have stayed at the hospital instead of going home with them? Were you afraid they’d chain you up?”
“They’d mummify me, more likely,” she mumbles. “I was a sick kid— seizures and breathing issues from as early as I can remember, pneumonia when I was seven. I hate hospitals.”
“But you hate your parents more?”
“Of course not!” Ella looks horrified at my words. “It’s just that they hovered long after I outgrew everything. Even now they’re constantly checking up on me, trying to give me money. For goodness sake, they still keep me on their phone plan, even though I’ve been able to take care of myself for a long time now.”
I want to probe further, but she’s closed off, arms crossed tightly around her, eyes closed in pain, so I refrain. For the moment, at least.
Given what I’ve discovered about Ella’s parents’ wealth, I’m shocked when we pull up to a walkup in the Lower East Side. It’s little more than a run-down tenement, incongruous between the gentrified buildings on either side.
Before I can round the car to help her out, she’s already hobbled to the entrance, keys in hand. I rush in behind her before the door can slam in my face and am confronted by the stench of pot and dust. My face screws up tight to keep from sneezing. Ella is breathing hard. Sh
e has one hand on the banister but has yet to take a single step up the stairs.
“For fuck’s sake.” I scoop her up into my arms, bridal-style.
“Put me down!” she screams, even as she grabs onto my shoulders.
“What about your leg?”
“My leg? What about your leg?”
I do feel a slight twinge, but it’s nothing to worry about. “It’s fine. Stop squirming, or I’ll drop you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I dip, and she squeals and tightens her grip around my neck.
“There’s no way you’ll make it up there on your own.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Now, grab your crutch and tell me, where to?”
Of course, she lives on the top floor. It’s a feat of acrobatics to carry her safely up the narrow steps, navigating each bend with care. “And you complained about my steps.” Not that it’s much of an effort, she’s very light, but it gives me perverse joy to keep ribbing her.
“Shut it, Boy Scout, this was your idea.”
My lips quirk. When we’re outside her apartment I set Ella down, mindful of her ankle, and watch as she fumbles in her bag for her keys before unlocking the door. I follow her inside, watching as she punches in a code to disarm the security system. It’s a state-of-the-art model. I know, because I have the same one. But here, the high-tech panel is out of place beside a yellowed, painted-over light-switch, with its casement cracked on one side. She catches me looking. “My parents had me install it. One more condition for moving out.”
“Smart folks.”
Her lips twist, but she says nothing.
A life-sized mannequin topped with a curly brown wig grabs my attention. It’s in a strapless blue dress with hands positioned in a beggar’s pose. A half-full bag of Lay’s potato chips sits on its open palms, a pin threaded through the flap to keep it folded shut.
Beside it, under a large window, is a beige sewing machine and a metal stool. On one side of the room are two doors, a large flat-screen TV mounted between them. A small red couch is against the opposite wall, fronted by a square coffee table.