Page 62 of Scrooge

I start walking away, and he slaps my ass lightly as I pass by, making me giggle.

I smile to myself, feeling like I’m floating on cloud nine. He saidourroom…

27

HAYLEE

Iend the call with Jillian just as I’m walking back into the kitchen. She had so many questions, but for now, she is taking the kids to my parents’ house, where they will lay low for the day. The media are circling and Tucker Toys will remain closed tomorrow. I feel bad. My family’s in some weird type of lockdown. All because of me and my choices. Bad choices in men, namely Jaryd. My legs are shaking, and I can barely stand upright.

I don’t wait for Alex, as he is still talking with Laurent, and I walk straight in, making a beeline for the fridge. I have no idea how to fix any of this, but I spotted Alex’s hand in the car. It was red, swollen, his knuckles cracked. I’m not surprised. He’s fit and hit Jaryd with some force. He was livid. Still is. I never knew he could be like this. All protective and dominant, but in a good way. I’ve never experienced anything like this.

“What are you doing?” he asks me as I open the freezer. It is empty. Why am I not surprised?

“Looking for frozen peas. Who doesn’t have frozen peas?” I say to him, throwing my hand toward the empty freezer in front of us. I feel anxious, a sick feeling swirling in my gut at the events of tonight at the restaurant.

“Stop,” he says calmly.

“No, you need something for your hand.” I fling open all the drawers and cupboards in his kitchen, looking for an ice pack or something. Clearly, I have lost my mind a little as remorse sets in fully at what I’ve caused.

“Haylee, just stop,” he says again, almost pleadingly.

“But your hand is swelling. You won’t be able to use it tomorrow.”All because of me. Stress starts to eat up my insides like a rapidly festering wound. It’s all my fault. He might get arrested, or what if Jaryd does sue him? Alex punched someone in the street, in front of onlookers. There goes his improving reputation. Why can’t my life just be simple? Normal.

As I open another cupboard, I feel his hands wrap around my waist from behind, and he hoists me into the air like I weigh nothing. Planting my ass on the kitchen counter, he stands in front of me, his hands resting on either side of my knees as he moves his body between my legs so I can’t move. He is still dressed, his pants now fully on, yet his shirt is still mostly unbuttoned.

“Just stop. I don’t care about my hand. I just care about you.” His eyes search mine, and my heart stutters, nerves easing slightly. “Are you okay?” Swallowing roughly, he looks over every inch of my face, his hands trailing gently down my arms, leaving goosebumps to scatter across my skin. He stops at my bruise, seeing it more purple in his bright kitchen lights, and his jaw clenches.

“I’m fine,” I say, sighing. This datewasperfect. We were having so much fun together, and then it had to end in a media shitstorm. But now, with him standing right in front of me, looking after me, when I’m the one who should be looking after him, I’m not sure I can contain my developing feelings.

“How long were you dating him?” he asks, and I take in another breath.

“About six months. He was great at first. Swept me off my feet. I met him in the city, at a diner at lunchtime. He bought me a coffee,” I tell him, feeling sick again just thinking about it.

He keeps quiet, his lips zipped tight, waiting for me to continue.

“He started hitting me after we moved in together, about three months later.”

“How many times have you been in hospital?” he grits out.

“Just the once. Dad got involved then. But it was stressful. I moved in with my sister, then my father had his mini stroke, and then…” I let my words linger, looking up at him, and I can see the moment the penny drops.

“Then I put up your rent,” he finishes for me, pretty much putting together the puzzle pieces of my life for the last twelve months.

“Yeah. But then I met you,” I say quietly. My emotions are a little all over the place. But I feel safe here in our little space in the sky.

“I’m sorry you had to endure all of that,” he says, and I swallow past the lump in my throat.

“It’s just life.” I shrug, shaking my head. “Nothing is perfect.”

“I think you come pretty close.” He’s watching me carefully, his facial features soft, our bodies close.

“Will you be in a lot of trouble?” I ask, scared to know the truth.

“Is that what you are worried about?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

“That and how in the world you are going to work tomorrow if you can’t use that hand,” I tell him, and we both look down. His knuckles are almost red raw, swollen worse than I thought. I pick up his hand, looking at it closely, and run my finger over the swelling, before I lift it to my mouth and kiss his angry skin.

“Haylee,” he whispers, almost moaning at the brush of my lips, not unlike he did when I caught him naked in the shower.

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