Page 71 of Forced Proximity

I can’t get the image out of my head of what he must have done to her to have him on his knees. Doc’s not an attacker. She’s a defender. My stomach knots and I take another heavy sip.

‘You can’t blame yourself for what he did, okay?’ She dips a celery into dressing and takes a bite. ‘I understand that sense of loyalty. I really do. I also understand ignoring red flags. Sometimes it’s easier to do that than to face what’s right in front of us.’

‘I’m not gonna … let him talk about you like that.’ My words turn thick and choppy, like a weight’s attached to my tongue.

Doc sighs. ‘It wasn’t okay what you did, Justin. You know that, right? Conner was detained. Is he a prick? Sure. Did he do something really fucking bad and stupid? Yes. But what you did wasn’t cool.’

But he had it coming. ‘What Conner did, though, was wrong. I couldn’t let him get away with it.’

‘It was wrong. But that wasn’t your place to defend me.’ She sets her veggie on the plate and shifts her gaze directly to mine. ‘You have to believe I’ve got it under control. I’m paid to have it under control. To protect you. Not the other way around.’

‘Well … I do have a good teacher,’ I say, trying to deflect the tension. ‘Tell me you noticed the move I pulled on him.’

She lifts a brow, shakes her head, then resumes eating.

Sure, I’m officially past buzzed, but I do hear her. But just because I hear her doesn’t mean I’d do anything different. She can probably kill an army of men with her bare hands, but it doesn’t matter. My urge to wrap her in my arms, to keep away anything that will hurt her, to defend her, is etched into my soul. This isn’t about not respecting her. This is so much more.

She wipes her hands, props her elbow against the armrest and rests her head in her palm. I love it when she’s like this. Calm, unguarded. Her powdery skin almost glows, the soul-drenched dark eyes suck me in, her mouth …

God, her fucking mouth. Just once I want to taste those lips. They’re so plush, so full, a deep rose color that makes me hungry. I know I shouldn’t look at her like this. It’s not right. And it’s not the alcohol talking … Doc’s what’s missing in my life. When she was gone for a week, a void rippled through me. I felt empty. With her here, I feel whole.

Shit. I’m probably staring at her and any moment she’s going to read my thoughts and get super pissed and then I’ll have ruined the moment. I lift myself from the couch to grab a plate of food. My feet are heavy against the floor. God, I haven’t been drunk in so long, and the three drinks I had the night of the club doesn’t count. Not that this is drunk, drunk, but once I settle back into the couch, I’m feeling way more emotional and chattier than my typical self. ‘You know why I kept hanging out with Conner all these years?’

‘You said legacy,’ she says. ‘There must be comfort in that.’

I lean my neck against the back of the couch. ‘Yeah. But also, it’s just … it’s hard for me to trust people, you know? And in this business, it’s even harder. Conner’s done some shitty things, but it’s not like he ever sold a story to the tabloids or took pictures of me.’

‘That’s why you stayed friends with him? Because he met the bare minimum requirement of not selling a story?’ She hesitates. ‘I’m sorry things went down the way they did. But you have a lot of friends. People who care about you. You’ve got family—’

‘I don’t have family. I’ve got my sister. That’s it.’ My mother doesn’t count. Family doesn’t threaten and emotionally manipulate. ‘Not sure if my parents would be proud or disappointed to see me drink. They’ve never seen me with alcohol before.’

She shifts in her seat. ‘Really? Never?’

‘Nah. My dad was an alcoholic. I thought by taking this stand that I rarely drink or having a dry household would somehow prove I was stronger. But according to my dad, no drinking means I’m a pussy and can’t handle my liquor. Drinking means I’m an embarrassment and failure to my mother.’ I polish off the rest of the bottle. ‘Jesus, Doc. I’m thirty-two years old, and I’m still affected by my parents.’

‘That’s totally normal,’ she says. ‘Haven’t you ever heard that everyone spends their lives trying to undo what their childhood did to them?’

I glance up at her. ‘Did you have to process everything about being adopted? Did you … undo whatever that might have done to you?’

She shifts in her seat and gives me a soft smile. ‘Parts of it sure. When I was younger, I wanted to know what my birth parents looked like, who they were, if they could sing, or draw, or what they did for a living. And when I was an angsty teenager and me and my mom got into some arguments, I’d briefly wonder what it would be like to be with my birth parents,’ she says. ‘But those moments were rare. Besides the finances, I’m pretty damn lucky in the parent department.’

I crack open another beer, snap the bottle cap and watch it spin on the table. ‘I never worried about food or bills like you did.’ Visions of tiptoeing around our house, holding my breath when my parents came home late and sneaking out of my room to listen to screaming voices fills my brain. ‘My family was built upon the … philosophy … that the more shame you place upon your kids, the more you can control them.’

The room fuzzes in and out of focus. My mouth is parched. The bitterness of the beer faded hours ago, but with every sip I grow thirstier.

Her beautiful, beautiful chocolate-brown eyes fill with concern. Does she know how pretty her eyes are? Does she know if she looks hard enough, she can read my entire soul?

‘I can’t even imagine what that’d be like for a child,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry.’

I pick at the bottle label. ‘But my sister was so sensitive. And I couldn’t stop it, you know? And I left her. Can you believe that, Doc? I just left her to them.’ My voice cracks and I clear my throat. ‘She couldn’t handle it. I think my parents were totally fine with Mia cutting them off, because they considered her a failure. They never once thought about their behavior and what they did to send her into addiction.’

She rests her hand on my forearm, her eyes wide, yet soft. Her face spins but I blink her into focus.

‘I know you’re going to say it’s not true, but I would’ve traded places with you in a heartbeat. Growing up, people were friends with me ’cause my parents had money. Then football, the movies … it was never about me. It’s only been about what I can do for other people, how they can feed off me, you know?’ I exhale a shaky breath. ‘You grew up poor. That means any friend you made was real. They weren’t friends with you because of what you had.’ I set the bottle down on the table. ‘I’m sure the money stuff was hard. But knowing people loved you and all your flaws … I wonder how different things would be for me if I had that support. Maybe I could actually have a real relationship.’

She bites the side of her lip. If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she almost looks like she wants to hug me. I’m in a haze, but shit, I want a hug. But hell, if I’ll reach over and ask for one.

‘What do you mean, a real relationship?’ she says. ‘Didn’t you date Willow for a few years?’