Chapter 9
Nine
Finn
I’m one twisted bastard. My girl has had one of the worst nights of her life, and here I am, fucking content because she’s
in my home.
It rattled me to the core when I thought of her hurt or worse. The time it took me to get to her had felt endless. When I’d
finally found her, all bruised and dazed, her green eyes so wounded and scared, it leveled me. I’m still shaking deep inside.
With a grunt, I push my body up, my weight resting on my fingertips. Sweat trickles down my temples and into my eyes. Slowly,
I lower myself until my nose almost touches the floor. Up, down, the burn in my arms and chest is a welcome distraction. But
not enough.
Chess had been crying last night. It fucking killed me. I wanted to go to her so badly, I’d leaned against her door, my heart
in my throat, my hand pressed to the wood. The only thing that stopped me was that she had obviously waited until I left to
cry. She hadn’t wanted me to witness her pain.
That hurt, too. I want her trust. I want to take care of her. Badly.
An oddity I don’t fully understand, because I have never taken care of anyone but myself. Never wanted to until now.
Yet it felt good last night, knowing that I was providing her with safe harbor, seeing to her comfort. Which brings me back to feeling like a bit of a bastard. She’s hurting and I don’t know how to make it better.
I’d have made her breakfast, but it’s going on eleven and she’s still not up. I grunt again, picking up the pace. A strangled
squeak has me pausing.
Chess stands in the living room, gaping at me. “Holy hell.” Her gaze slides over my bare torso like greedy hands. “Is this
one of the perks offered at the House of Mannus?”
With a little more flare than necessary, I leap up from my plank position and land lightly on my feet. “Daily viewing times
are at ten to eleven, barring travel blackout dates.”
“Excellent. I’ll set an alarm from now on.” She grins, and I feel a little dizzy. When Chess smiles, she lights up—even as
she is now, hair tangled around her shoulders, eyes bruised by lack of sleep and crying. To make her smile feels like a reward.
I set my hands on my hips, not bothering to towel off. “You’ve seen me naked and didn’t bat an eye, but watching me do push-ups
is a treat?”
“I was working. It would have been unprofessional to ogle the client.” Her gaze touches on my chest, and I swear I feel it.
“Now? I might just make some popcorn and settle in. You have popcorn, right?”
“Sorry, I hate popcorn, but feel free to watch me anytime.”
“How can you not like popcorn?” Chess shakes her head as she folds her long limbs onto the couch. She’s in black leggings
and a T-shirt with my name and jersey number on it. Not her usual attire, and I know Charlie bought the shirt, but damn if
it doesn’t give me a possessive thrill to see her wearing my name.
“Gets in between my teeth. Drives me nuts.” I grab a glass of iced water from the kitchen counter and take a drink. “But I’ll
stock some for you.”
Chess looks around, taking in the living room, small den area, and finally the kitchen with its black cabinets, brass fixtures,
and concrete countertop. “You had someone decorate this place, didn’t you?”
“Realtor recommended a decorator friend of hers.” Ah, Jessica and Janet. Nice women.
Chess narrows her eyes, and I suddenly feel caught out. “You slept with her, didn’t you?”
How the hell?
Show no weakness. I give her an easy smile. “The Realtor or the designer?”
“Oh, God, both of them?”
Jesus, is she a mind reader? “Not at the same time.”
She scoffs like I’ve chumped her Cheerios. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I mean, I might have been down with that, if they’d asked,” I tease because it’s fun to get her riled.
But she looks more horrified than amused. “They were friends. You don’t think screwing each of them would cause problems?”
I’m beginning to feel like a worm just waiting to be hooked and cast in a lake. “I didn’t ask.”
“Because you never saw them again?” It isn’t really a question, though.
Condemnation is written all over her face.
I head into the kitchen and take out a packet of chicken breasts I’m going to cook. “You aren’t going to get all righteous
on me about sex, are you, Chester?”
She rolls her eyes and follows. “Don’t worry, I’m not clutching my pearls. I’m just reminding myself why I’m glad we didn’t
hook up.”
The chicken package lands on the counter with a slap as her words punch through me. It’s surprisingly painful knowing that
she thinks I’m a bad bet. And yet . . . “So you have to remind yourself, eh?”
A pretty pink flush colors her cheeks. “I’m here at your house. You’re you. Can you blame me for being guarded?”
Now I’m pissed. I feel it rising, and I grind my teeth against the urge to snap at her.
My hand spreads wide on the cool counter as I take a deep breath. But then I catch a good look at Chess. She seems smaller somehow, tightly coiled within herself, her expression wan and her eyes a little wild.
“Are you trying to pick a fight?” I ask. Despite her prickliness, I know she’s fragile right now.
For a second, it looks as if she might snap at me, but her shoulders sag on a breath, and she puts her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this. I’m all persnickety, and . . . I don’t know what I’m saying. Ignore me.”
I want to give her a hug, but she holds herself tight, eyeing the hall as if she might cut and run. “You need to get back
to normal, is all.”
She nods, but there’s no energy left in her.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” I say. “Let’s have lunch—”
“Lunch?” She makes an amused sound. “It’s only eleven.”
“Elevenses, then,” I amend. “I basically eat like a hobbit.”
She cranes her neck and peers over the center island that stands between us.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a laugh.
“Checking out your feet.”
I wiggle my toes, still encased in sneakers. “They aren’t hairy, but they’re very large.” I lift a brow. “I’m well-proportioned.”
Chess scoffs, but she’s no longer slumped in defeat. “Yes, I know, big guy. I’ve seen you naked, remember?”
“How can I forget when you keep bringing it up?” I can get naked now, if you’ll join me. “If I didn’t know better, Ms. Copper, I’d think you were fixating.”
“Good thing you know better.” Chess rounds the kitchen island and comes up beside me. She’s so slight compared to me, her
wrists delicate and fine. The black cast covering her right one is bulky, running up over her hand, leaving only her fingers
free. I don’t miss the bruising on her forearm, and the way she’s been limping makes me believe she has bruises elsewhere.
I want to demand that she show me her hurts, let me gather her up and tuck her back in bed, where I’ll feed her lunch, rub her sore muscles, do anything she wants.
But I know she’ll refuse. And I don’t think it would ease her worries, which is what she truly needs right now.
Never mind the fact that, if I get into a bed with her, my control will crack.
No way can I hold her now and keep my hands at neutral.
I push the thought of exploring Chess out of my mind. “After elevenses, we’ll go and buy you a new camera and some equipment.
Get you set back up for work.”
She rests her slender fingers on the edge of the counter. “Thanks, but I don’t get a check from the insurance for a few weeks.”
“Which is why I’m buying.”
A frown works over her face, and I lift a hand. “You can pay me back when you get your check.”
“Or I can wait,” she argues. “I’m already staying here. You bought me clothes. I can’t take more—”
“Chester, I make an obscene amount of money and spend it on very little. You and I both know that. Let’s not pretend you’re
putting me out monetarily.”
“We’re talking about nearly thirty thousand dollars of equipment, Finn.”
“I am aware. Makes no difference to me.” When she rolls her eyes, I lean in. “Helping you get back on even ground makes me
happy. All right?”
“Maybe I don’t want to be on even ground. Maybe I want to mope.”
I don’t buy it for a second. I see the anticipation in her eyes. The girl is dying to get a camera back in her hands. “Too
bad. The House of Mannus also has an anti-moping law in effect. Violators are subject to noogies and loss of TV time for one
day.”
Chess looks at me as if I’m full of it. Which I am, but she clearly likes that. “Any more rules I should know?”
“They’re all in the playbook, located on your bedside table.” I open the fridge and pull out some roasted beets, goat cheese,
and bulgur salad.
Chess watches me with bemused interest. “This looks . . . elaborate. You cooked all this?”
“I can cook the basics, but the team’s nutritionist has a chef on staff who sets us up with a few of our weekly meals. You
know, elevenses, lunch, second lunch, and so on.”
The doorbell rings, cutting off whatever Chess wants to say. I hustle to get it and find Charlie, box in one hand, a massive
bouquet of flowers in the other. The spray of orange roses is so big, I can barely see his head. “Charles,” I say as I let
him in. “You shouldn’t have. I’m more of a plant man.”
Before Charlie can give me shit back, Chess walks in and makes a sound of wonder. “Wow.”
Charlie steps past me like I’m not even there. “These are for you.” He sets the ridiculous bouquet on the hall table because
it’s too damn big for her to hold. “They’re from the offensive team.”
My guys went in on flowers and didn’t tell me? Those little ass-kissing shits. I could have told them that Chess isn’t the
type to get impressed by flowers—
“Oh!” Her face glows with pleasure. “How lovely.”
Wait. What?
“Well,” I say, trying not to grind my teeth. “That’s how we do.”
Chess sniffs a rose as she reads the card that’s covered in signatures. “Stop trying to get a gold star, Finnegan. I don’t
see your name on here.”
Biting back a grin and pointedly not looking my way, Charlie holds out the box in his hand. White and sleek, it doesn’t hide
what’s inside. A freaking MacBook Pro? “And this is from the defensive team.”