Page 8 of Heart of a Defender

A voice calls out over the loudspeaker, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The charity auction begins in a few minutes. We both turn toward the stage, and I nervously seize the opportunity to dig a little deeper. Not for the article I’m writing, but for me. I want to know everything there is to know about Zach.

“Want to go check it out?” I suggest, hoping to keep the conversation going, no matter where it leads us.

“Sure. I’ve had my eye on the Harley. It’s a classic from the 1960s, fully restored with polished chrome and a custom leather seat.” His eyes gleam like a kid in a candy store with bottomless pockets. “Granger, one of the guys on the team, is a solid car buff. If it has an engine and at least two wheels, he can bring it back to life.”

“You ride?” I nudge his arm with my shoulder and grin. “That’s not in your bio.”

“I’m not an open book.” His lips quirk into a sexy, satisfied grin. He drapes an arm over my shoulder and turns my attention to the stage. My pulse quickens, and heat pools at my core. “Now, what have you got your eye on?”

You. You are who I’ve got my eye on. Your eyes, lips, hips and ass...I could go on, but boy, does that cross all sorts of boundaries, both personal and professional. I try to focus on the event, but my mind keeps drifting back to Zach.

“So, how did the Saints get involved with children’s cancer?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Lauren. I mentioned she’s in nursing school. She also volunteers at the hospital when she isn’t cramming for finals.” His voice is barely audible over the auctioneer’s calls. “This means a lot to her, so it means a lot to me.”

“She sounds like a caring individual.” A pang of guilt strikes me in the gut for prying.

“Yeah, she’s my rock. Always has been.” His forehead wrinkles as he changes the subject. “The Harley’s up next.”

He redirects our attention to the stage. I want to ask more, to delve deeper into his relationship with his family, but I hesitate. I’m afraid of pushing too hard, of uncovering scars that are still healing. And I can’t ignore the fact that my own past makes it hard to fully trust him.

Zach engages in a long, uphill battle to win the bike but loses it to someone who outbids him by a mile.

“Sold to the gentleman in the red shirt.” The auctioneer knocks his gavel against the wooden sound block.

“Next time,” Zach says, unfazed by the loss. “I should mingle, sign some stuff, and shake hands.”

“Sure. I’ll just grab some coffee and have a look around.” A fragile silence lingers between us. “You know, I’m not always in reporter mode.”

“But you have a memory like a bear trap.” He’s quick with the comeback.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot.” My stomach rolls and knots as nervousness shoots up my spine. “Think we could start over?”

He stares at me for a long, hot minute, his eyes searching mine. I could drown in his blue eyes and not give a damn if I ever came up for air. And that’s what terrifies me about Zach and jocks in general––losing myself in a warped world that fuels their egos and drives them to be bigger than life.

“On one condition.” Zach squares himself and rests his hands on my shoulders. His blue eyes darken with an intense seriousness. “You’re not the only one with questions. I’ll answer whatever you want about me if I can ask anything about you.”

I can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a way to bridge the gap between us and perhaps even find the healing we both need. It’s a start. One step at a time, one question at a time.

“Deal.”

***

Zach

The charity event winds down, and I wander outside to a bench in front of the community center. The cool evening air is a welcome relief from the crowded hall. It’s been a long day, filled with handshakes and hamming for the camera. I love what we do for the kids, but tonight I’m drained.

I lean back, staring at the darkened sky, replaying the conversation with Madison in my mind. Striking a deal with her has its advantages and disadvantages. Letting her in means exposing parts of myself I’ve kept hidden from the public for a reason.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my quiet thoughts.

Lauren – Big turnout today? Sorry I couldn’t make it.

Me – Packed house.

Lauren – Something on your mind?

It baffles me how she just knows things are off. I attempt to put what’s on my mind into words but get nowhere with all the backspacing.

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