Page 39 of Stealing Home

“Taylor, wait. There’s just something going on, and I need to go check on someone.”

He jabs his finger in my direction. “Please tell me you’re not fucking the Coach’s wife. We’ve talked about this. She’s going to ruin you.”

I look around and growl, “Keep your fucking voice down. You don’t know shit about what is going on, but whatever you suspect, lock that shit down tight.”

Taylor shakes his head. “Fuck you, Scott, you’re playing with fire, and I’m not going to be around when you get burned.” He turns around and jumps in with one of the guys.

I’ll deal with him later. Right now my only concern is a short brunette with ocean colored eyes. No one else matters.

Locking myself in my truck I pull up her contact and call her. It rings several times before someone picks up. When it’s a man’s voice on the other end of the line I stop breathing. Did Coach get to her? Did she take him back? She said she’s scared of him. Did he threaten her?

“Scott?” The voice says clearly not for the first time.

I clear my throat. “Yeah, who is this?” I can do this. She has to have her reasons, and I need to trust her, even if there’s a crack in my chest because of it. If it’s him, I’ll just pretend I called the wrong number.

“Thank fuck. This is Liam, a friend of Harlow’s, can you come by the garage? Harlow is having a panic attack or something. Be careful though. Her husband was here, and I’m sure it won’t be good if he sees you.”

I can’t say I’m relieved. Yeah, it’s great she didn’t take him back, but I don’t want her to be dealing with this alone.

“I’m on my way,” I tell him and end the call.

Pulling around the building, I park in the same place I did the other night and go into the garage through the employee door in the back.

“Are you Scott? I’m Griffin, the owner of the garage. My wife is a friend of Harlow. They’re in the office.”

I wait for him to lead the way, but before we go in, he slaps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “Harlow has come to mean a lot to my wife, which means she’s family now. I know you’re young, so if you can’t handle this, turn around now. We can take care of her.”

I shake off his hand. “No offense, because I can see you all care about her, but she’s mine to take care of.”

He grunts and nods. Clearly I gave him the answer he was looking for. “We’re cooking out tonight. She’s worked her ass off today. Take her upstairs and help her collect herself. Harlow has our address. We’ll be ready around seven.”

Griffin steps out of my way, and I find Harlow sitting on the floor hugging her knees and staring off into space. I approach her slowly, but she doesn’t so much as look at me.

“Wren?” I ask the woman sitting beside Harlow. She nods, and the guy, that I’m guessing is Liam, helps her up off the floor.

“We’ll chat later on tonight. For now we’ll step out and give you both some privacy,” she says, pushing the guy out the door.

As soon as the door is closed, I take the spot Wren vacated. “Low, gorgeous, can you hear me?”

She still doesn’t react, so I gently stroke her hair. “Sweetheart, come back to me. You’re okay, he’s gone now, and I won’t leave your side.”

Harlow blinks. “Scott? When did you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago. Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll make you some tea.”

“Yeah, okay,” she agrees, and she lets me lead her out the back door and up the stairs.

Once we’re on the deck I take the keys from her and open the door. I want to be the first one inside to make sure he isn’t somehow waiting for her. As soon as I see it’s empty, I go back and grab her.

She has her arms wrapped around herself and a look of embarrassment on her face. That won’t do. Pulling her into my arms, I hold her tight and drop a kiss on her head. “Why don’t you go take a shower and relax. I’ll be here when you get out.”

Searching in her kitchen I find some chamomile tea and honey. While the shower runs in the bathroom, I put her kettle on the stove and busy myself getting things ready to make her tea.

Harlow comes out in a robe drying her hair with a towel. Her face is clear of makeup, and somehow manages to look even younger. She looks about twenty-five with makeup, but without it people might assume she’s younger than me.

“This isn’t fair to you,” she says. Her voice sounds flat and emotionless. I don’t like it.

“What won’t be fair to me is for you to shut me out. Let me decide what I can handle.”

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