AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Afterward, he did the most important thing of all.
He held her hand when she called her parents to tell them what had happened. The story of Neeley’s arrest would make national news, there was no way they wouldn’t find out about her involvement.
It hadn’t been easy to talk to them. But Damien hadn’t left her side.
After the call, after she’d promised them she was fine and had elicited their promise not to come, saying she’d see them in a few days for the anniversary party, she collapsed into Damien’s arms.
“I’ve never heard my father cry like that,” she sobbed.
“I know, baby, I’m sorry.”
“They’re crushed.”
“They’re terrified...imagining the could-haves rather than being thankful for the did-haves.” He stroked her hair. “Just give them a little while.”
He held her until she slept, and stayed there, holding her, all night, getting up only in the morning when someone knocked on the door to the suite. Viv yawned and stretched, watching him pull on some clothes and leave the room. She already felt a thousand percent better than she had the day before, physically and emotionally.
Getting up, she went into the bathroom. She glanced at herself in the mirror, noting that the bruises on her jaw weren’t too terrible, and the lip was healing. Outwardly, she looked as if she’d had just a minor mishap, not that she’d been attacked by a rape-and-violence-minded animal.
Inwardly—well, it was time to work on healing inwardly, too. Starting right now.
As she returned to the master bedroom, she stood out of the way to allow Damien to enter. He was carrying a vase with a huge bouquet of pink tulips.
“We’re going to have to rent the adjoining room to handle all the flowers.”
She almost smiled, the reaction funny after all the tears. “How many of them are from you?”
“No comment.”
Though she hadn’t left the bedroom, she’d been catching the scent of roses since the day before, and the aroma wasn’t merely from the dozen red ones Damien had given her yesterday that were now sitting on the bedside table.
Damien handed her the card.
“They’re from my supervisor, Tim, and the rest of the PR staff. That’s nice of them.”
“Several of the players have sent cards and notes, too. They’re all stacked up for you on the table in the other room,” Damien said. “I suspect they’re feeling some guilt about the part they played in this mess.”
“Well, I’d say that’s nice, too, except for the fact that they should.” If not for the sexist attitude and the stupid bet, Bruno Neeley might never have decided to prove his masculinity by going after her so single-mindedly.
“I agree.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the other room. “Sam and the legal folks went for sunflowers.”
Damien had told her about his friendship with Sam yesterday. She’d never interacted much with the lawyer, and wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to forgive him for urging Damien to stay away from her.
“Everybody still trying to avoid a lawsuit?” She regretted the jab when she noticed his jaw clench. “I’m sorry.”
He slowly turned on his heel, his expression bleak. “You don’t still believe that.
Knowing she’d sounded like a queen bitch, she shook her head. “No, I don’t. That was awful to say.”
“Because it’s absolutely not true, Viv,” he said, obviously thinking he still needed to convince her.
“I know.”
Damien wasn’t the type to use shady maneuvers to avoid legal trouble. As he’d said, he could easily pay her off if she decided to be money hungry.
Besides, she trusted him completely. At least, she wanted to. If she allowed herself to believe that he’d only begun dating her to avoid more bad press or legal troubles for the team, she might go crazy. She didn’t want it to be true—she wanted to believe that Damien, with all his tenderness and his passion, had begun to feel something for her.
Maybe he wasn’t crazy in love with her, maybe he never would be. But he cared. Oh, God, no man could be so shattered at the idea of something bad happening to her, could wash her hair and feed her soup and chocolate pudding, if he didn’t care.
“So what do you want to do today?” he asked, picking up a pair of jeans he’d flung on the floor near the bed. She could see he was trying to change the subject, to avoid arguing or saying anything that would upset her. “Are you hungry? Want me to order some breakfast?”
“Pudding and ice cream?”
“Nope.” He wagged his index finger, his posture easing. “Healthy stuff from here on out. You’re not milking this.”
