Page 53 of If Our Hearts Collide

“Please.”

“I’m fine.”

My fingers tighten around the kit, causing my knuckles to turn white. “Dammit, Penny, you’re hurt. So just accept that I’m going to help you, and quit being so utterly stubborn.” Is this normal for her, or is this the result of spending the morning with the girls at Plus None?

Before Penny has a chance to protest further, I squat down onto the gravelly parking lot, take one of her feet into my hands, and turn her foot slowly to assess the damage. At a closer examination, it is worse than I first thought. Some layers have peeled back, causing the redness of her skin to shine through the cracks. She must be in pain because the sight alone is causing me distress.

Fuck.

I caused this. For someone who prides himself on being observant, I completely missed the clues as to Penny’s discomfort. I didn’t even look back to check on her, when I knew she was following after me—trying to keep pace.

Opening the first aid kit with one hand, I pull out a tube of antibiotic cream. I rip open several bandages, squeeze the ointment into the cloth pad of each strip, and then place one onto each blister. I go slow and take my time to make sure I don’t cause her any additional pain.

I’ve done enough. This is the least I can do.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, as I place the kit back into the glovebox and then straighten my posture.

I want to linger. I want to evaluate her wellness further. However, both of us are teetering dangerously on our breaking point, so why tip the scales? Just by the way Penny is grippingthe hem of her skirt, white-knuckling the shit out of it, is indication enough that I’m already driving her to the edge.

I shut the door, round the front, and then situate myself behind the wheel.

Taking a deep breath, I rub the temple of my head.

This whole afternoon was a disaster, and the only thing it revealed was that my work just got a whole hell of a lot harder.

I’m usually good at predicting outcomes to situations, but I was not prepared for Penny’s big confession.

Does she really think I’m going to sit back while she brings a harem of asshole boys back to her place, just to prove a point to herself? The thought of someone touching her claws at my insides and makes me irrational—something I rarely ever am.

No, I’m not like that at all.

I pride myself on being calm and collected, especially when in volatile situations. And just hearing Penny talk about how she is going to have casual sex, whenever and wherever she wants, makes me want to lock her up in a room and protect her from all of the dangers of the world—including herself.

I don’t even trust my reaction to her future plans if faced head-on with a situation.

She makes me ready to commit murder on anyone who touches a hair on her sweet head or even dares to think they have a chance with her.

What the hell is wrong with me? Not once in my life have I cared this much about anyone, which is precisely why I need to distance myself from her today and rethink this whole arrangement.

I turn to look at Penny, as she blatantly refuses to look my way.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. Why is she not acknowledging me? Why is everything so difficult?

I don’t expect her to answer, and yet it hurts when I’m met with indifference. It’s a silence so loud that it says everything as to how she is feeling in the moment.

She hates me.

So I allow her the silence to sit with her feelings and don’t muddy the air with another word.

It takes longer than usual to get to Hillsboro, and when we do, Donna is arranging flowers outside on her porch in huge wicker planters. When she stumbles backward trying to carry one over to the other side of the house, I quickly park and jump out of the SUV to run over and relieve her of the weight.

“Here, I got this, Mrs. Hoffman. Just tell me where you want it.”

“First off, never call me that. It’s insulting. Second”—she gestures with the wave of her hand—“you can put it over there next to the cobblestone path.”

I laugh over her directness. It’s not surprising her daughter has the same aversion to formalities. “Sure thing.”

In my periphery, I see Penny slowly get out of the vehicle. Her feet must be hurting, as she walks barefoot, carrying her shoes in her hands like broken trophies.

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