Page 88 of Sack

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“First of all, it’s just a sprain. Yes, it might be throbbing at the moment, but I’m only being careful with it so it will heal, not because of pain.”

Conceding, she wiggled over and laid her head on his shoulder. “And second of all?”

His arm came around her, snuggling her tighter. “And second of all, you’re so damn tiny, you couldn’t reach my ankle to accidentally hurt it even if you tried.”

She conceded that point, too. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She couldn’t repeat that enough as thoughts of Colt being seriously injured swirled around her brain.

He didn’t reply, but his arm did squeeze her. And it wasn’t long before his breaths grew even and deep.

Ivy closed her eyes. It took a while, but she finally fell asleep to the muted conversation and bursts of canned laughter coming from the TV, but more importantly, the sound of Colt’s strong heartbeat.

Chapter Nineteen

Colt

“What are you going to do, sit around the house and mope all day?”

Colt looked at Ivy from his position on the couch. She stood across the coffee table from him, arms folded, hip jutted.

They’d been having the same argument for the past two days. She didn’t want him to be alone for Thanksgiving. He got that, he just didn’t think it was a big deal. Half the time he didn’t spend the holiday with his family anyway if they were on the roster to play. That year they weren’t slated, and Sunday was their bye week. If he had to be injured, it couldn’t have come at a better time. At least that’s how he was looking at it. It’d been how he’d kept his sanity the past few days, being stuck in bed.

But he just wasn’t up to spending the day with Ivy’s family. He wasn’t depressed, but he sure as hell wasn’t in the mood to socialize. Hell, he wasn’t even making the effort to go see his parents, using the excuse it was too hard to travel as his get-out-of-jail-free card. “I’m not planning to mope. The two games on today will keep me occupied while you’re gone.”

She came around the coffee table and flopped onto the couch at the opposite end from him. “Fine, you don’t want to go. I won’t go.”

He narrowed his eyes. “That’s evil.” He knew how much she’d been looking forward to it. Told him Thanksgiving was the only day she didn’t feel guilty about eating her body weight in food.

She threw him a grin. “I know.”

She was probably bluffing, but really, going to her parents’ was a small price to pay for all she’d been doing if it made her happy. “Fine.” He huffed as he stood from the couch. “Give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Yay.”

He hid his smile at the excitement he heard in her voice, not wanting to kill her buzz of accomplishment.

“So, P. Colton, how do you know my daughter?”

Colt was situated, on yet another couch, sipping on a bottle of water, when Ivy’s father asked that question.

They’d arrived at Ivy’s parents’ about fifteen minutes prior, and at that point Colt knew nothing of Robert Clark other than the man got right to the point and did it fast.

“We’re friends, sir. She’s been a huge help while I recover.” Colt gestured to his ankle which was propped on an ottoman.

Mr. Clark raised a bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrow. “Friends, uh? Is that some kind of code? Do you guys hang out and watch Netflix and chill?”

“Dad! Hush up. You’re embarrassing me.” Ivy appeared, stepping over her father’s feet to sit on the coffee table, facing both her dad and himself. “I’m so sorry. Honestly, I thought he’d be more enthralled by who you are than what you are to me.” She threw her dad a dirty look. “I thought it was safe to leave you alone for five minutes.”

“Hey now, this is men's talk. Why don’t you go back into the kitchen and help your mother.”

“Men’s talk? You know if Mom heard you right now, she’d kick your butt clear to Aunt Clara’s.” She turned to Colt. “Aunt Clara is Dad’s sister and lives in Miami.”

“Heard him say what?” Ivy’s mom, Bridget, came into the room, holding a long-neck bottle.

Eager to jump on the tattle bus, Ivy quickly responded, “That because I’m a girl, I can’t join in on the conversation.”

“Now, wait just a damn—” Mr. Clark started to say.

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