Page 19 of Stealing Home

“Would you chill out? I just want to go and thank her for working on this with me.”

“Why?” he asks, confused. “She’s the coach’s wife. Isn’t this the kind of thing she’s expected to do?”

“It’s his job, not hers. She didn’t choose to join our team, the university doesn’t pay her shit, so why should we expect her time for the jobs Coach doesn’t want to do?”

I don’t wait for him to respond. Maybe I was just raised with more respect for women, but I can’t stomach this misogynistic bullshit.

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth when I stroll up to her. “Thank you for helping us with this,” I tell her and grab the box from her hands. She’s packing up all the leftover supplies used for registration.

“I should thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“I’m a little sad it’s over,” I admit.

Her eyebrows pull together. She’s cute when she’s confused. “Why? Don’t you need to focus on the first game? It’s coming up next Saturday, right?”

“There’s always a game coming up, or a test, or something I need to do, but I’m afraid this was the only chance I had to spend time with you, and now it’s over.”

Harlow pulls her lip between her teeth for a moment before looking down. “It’s for the best. You don’t really want to get tangled up with me because my life is a mess.”

Reaching out, I tip her chin up so she’s looking at me again. “Messes can be cleaned up. Tell me I can see you again.”

“Why?” she asks. Is it possible she has no clue why a man would want to spend time with her?

“Because I need to. We can be friends. I’ll be on my best behavior, I swear, just promise to meet me for coffee, or just flood your kitchen. I’m up for anything.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m not sure we can be friends. I think we both know that if we haven’t crossed a line, we’ve stepped on it.”

Her sweater is tied around her waist, and I notice more bruises on her arm. Like the ones I saw at the banquet, these have the distinct shape of someone’s fingers. My voice drops low and quiet when I ask, “Why do you always have bruises?”

She looks up at me with wide, frightened blue eyes. I don’t need her to say it. The bruises combined with how scared she was when the washing machine flooded tell me she’s not safe at home. I wish I had the power to get her out of there, but I don’t think she is going to let me play the role of her white knight.

Harlow opens her mouth, probably to feed me some lie, but before she can speak I put my finger to her lips. “Whatever excuse you’re about to make, don’t. I don’t want you to tell me that you fell, or something else. Not when I’ve seen the shape of a man’s fingers marked into your skin twice now. I want you to promise me that if you get scared or need to escape that you’ll call me. I will drop whatever I’m doing and come to you.”

She nods, only a slight tip of her head, but it’s still an agreement. “I’m working on getting some things in order. Don’t worry about me.”

I reach out and hook her pinkie finger with mine. “Not going to happen. I’m going to be checking on you. Answer when I do so I know you’re okay.”

“You’re kinda bossy for a nice guy,” she says and rolls her eyes.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea how bossy I can be,” I warn her. She will find out though. I’ll make sure of it.

* * *

True to her word,every time I text Harlow she replies letting me know she’s fine. I’d rather see her in person, but at least I know she’s alive.

Hey gorgeous, just checking on you. How was your day?

Hello yourself, hotshot. I’m figuring out my new gig. I’ve got the house to myself right now, Nando says he’s “working late.”

You don’t believe him?

Would you?

Have any need of a handyman?

Just say you want to see me.

I want to see you.

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