Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(39)

“I have a job. At a restaurant.” It wasn’t the most upstanding group of guys, but hey, he wasn’t exactly living in the lap of luxury here. “Some of my buddies work there and I’m going to stay with them.”

He released her arm and she sat on the edge of the bathtub, facing him. She touched the towel to his lip again. “You’ll have a scar.”

He had plenty of scars. What was one more?

“I’m fine.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head, sending her gray hair swinging. “All the bruises. Bone breaks. All from Robert?”

Unable to lie to her, he nodded solemnly.

Tears broke free and rolled down the soft skin of her cheeks, making him hate himself for burdening her.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and took her hands in his. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He tasted blood from the cut in his lip but gave her a small smile anyway. “We can’t pick our family, right? It’s bad luck I got a dad like him. That’s it. If anything, you—”



Blinking out of the memory, Donovan said aloud, “Saved me.”

Sofie heard. Behind him, she flattened her hand on his back. “What did you say?”

He tongued his upper lip where a barely visible silver scar sat. “Nothing.”





Donovan had said something. But that wasn’t the most pressing matter at the moment, so she didn’t push.

She unwound the material from his hand, aware he stood over her watching her every move. After so fervently attempting to save the pair of pants Gertie snagged a minute ago, she’d gone and ruined them anyway. “Shoot.”

“Didn’t peg you for a velour fan,” he mumbled as she dropped the elastic-waist pants on the floor.

She turned to the sink. “They’re not mine. Gertie brought them to me. I thought they belonged to… someone you know.”

Some petite girl who shared his bed since he’d come back to town. Wouldn’t surprise her. Sofie had managed to wrangle up a date since he’d come back to town. Surely Donovan could rustle up a girl to sleep with him.

“My grandmother had a fetish for home shopping.”

She frowned in thought.

Oh.

They were Gertrude’s.

She snagged a towel on the rack behind him, relieved it was navy blue so she wouldn’t have to watch red blood seep through it. The idea alone made her woozy. Well, she’d have to suck it up. He was injured and she was the only other person here.

“Sit.” She gestured to the toilet seat.

“No.”

She wet the towel. “Don’t be a baby.”

“It’s not fatal, Scampi.”

“You have a first aid kit, right? I mean, that’s how you fixed Gert’s paw.” She bent and opened the vanity door, but before she sank to her heels, his uninjured hand grabbed her arm and hauled her back up. She shook him off. “What is with you?”

“Why do you do that?” He wasn’t touching her any longer, but he was leaning close. She backed up until her butt hit the sink. She hadn’t had to go far. In the small half bath, there wasn’t much room to groove.

“Do what?” She glared back at him, having no idea what he was so upset about.

She watched a muscle in his jaw work, then he bared his teeth and said, “Care.”

The word sounded like a curse. She blinked at him.

“I’ve been nothing but a pain in your ass since I came to town, and here you are. Caring.”

She pushed up to her tiptoes, getting in his face. “Too bad.” She pressed the wet towel to his finger. The cut was on the opposite hand as his star tattoo, the one with a branchy tree inching up his forearm. “You have new tattoos.” Keeping pressure on his hand, she was surprised he let her help him.

“They’re not new.” His shoulders had fallen, some of his anger dissipating.

“They are to me,” she said softly. Her eyes tracked up his arm, where more ink peeked out from under the sleeve. “You have so many.”

“Rocks cause scars.”

“Okay,” she said, not fully understanding his meaning. Maybe it would be best to change the subject. “I’m painting the dining room tomorrow. If you don’t mind. It would be nice if I brought some help. Faith and Charlie offered to come over and…”

His palm on her cheek startled her so much, she closed her mouth. When she tilted her face toward his, she found his mouth pulled at the sides, his expression making him look ten years older. His eyes were on her but didn’t seem focused—locked in a memory or a thought.

After they’d stood that way for several seconds, she whispered, “Donny?”

His eyes flickered to hers.

“Are you okay?”

He dropped his hand and backed away from her, snapping out of it.

“I’m always okay,” he grumbled, then left the room.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




You guys are my best friends, ever,” Sofie said to the two women now pulling supplies out of the back of her car. “Ever. Ever.”

“The bribery part of this day is over.” Faith hefted a bag filled with rollers and brushes.

“Yes, it has already been established that Faith and I will work for pizza.” Charlie pulled out three long extenders for the rollers. They would need them for the high ceilings. “What room are we painting, again? The ballroom?”