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“Why don’t you give me a minute, okay?”

This wasn’t an impossible problem. Finn had her number. Declan winced. His brother would never stop harassing him about liking Natalie. He could hear the endless jokes and teasing. Especially if it turned out Natalie wasn’t interested in anything more than this week. And fuck, Finn would probably tell his mother too, and she’d blow up his phone. Plus, he couldn’t help with the car situation.

He would have to call his agent. Sean would track her down and deal with the car stuff. Declan could figure out lemon cake. “How about you play with your new toys while I make some phone calls?”

“Okay…but I miss Natalie.” Chris sighed and sulked away.

Yeah, so did Declan. He rubbed his beard and took a deep breath.

Call Sean, fill him in, and then figure out how to be fun while making a lemon cake.

“Hey, man. I need a favor,” Declan bit out as soon as Sean answered.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Lowery. Of course I work on Christmas day. Why wouldn’t I?” Sean mumbled something in the background. Probably to his wife.

Declan winced.

“Sorry—but it’s urgent.”

“I’m listening.”

Fuck. Urgent didn’t mean “I need you to track down a girl’s number because I’m pretty sure she took my heart with her when she left this house in my truck.”

“Lowery?”

“Chris and I are stuck without a car at the cabin. And I have to get him back to Lauren tomorrow.” Declan threw the words out fast.

“Five minutes late, and she’ll call the cops and claim you’ve kidnapped him. Crazy loon.” Sean’s hard snort came through the phone. No one liked Lauren. That should have been a flashing red sign from the beginning. “What happened to your truck?”

“I gave my car to this chick, and I don’t have her number. But the problem is—”

“What is it with you Metros giving your rides to women you don’t know?”

What the hell was he talking about? “Wait, what—”

“Nothing. Never mind, I’ll take care of it,” Sean cut him off.

“Okay. Let me know when you find her.” Declan almost smiled. Sean was so fucking efficient; he’d have Natalie’s number in an hour.

17

“I don’t knowhow it happened.” Greg’s hands tightened on the armrests of the crappy chair next to the empty hospital bed. “One minute, all the kids were sitting on the floor playing, and the next—blood.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched tight. “We told themnotto run in the house. But Tyler kept chasing the girls. I shouldn’t have left them unsupervised.”

Greg had been a mess since the moment Natalie arrived at the ER. He rocked back, then turned to glare at the wall he smashed into like it was somehow to blame for the mess. Between her ex-husband’s self-loathing and the general aura of the hospital, Natalie was getting anxious too.

Hospital rooms were all the same. Too white. Too small. Like they were designed to put people on edge. Simply a tray, chairs, bed, TV, lots of machines, and the smell of antiseptic.

Natalie inspected her daughter, who was asleep on her lap. She stroked a hand through her hair, working to calm herself. Addy was okay. After a lot of tears, one plastic surgeon, and fifteen stitches, she passed out cold while her eye was still numb.

“Accidents happen.” She blew out a breath, exhausted by having to comfort him.

This was their thing. He panicked when he wasn’t in control. She had to be the calm assurance, which wasn’t all that natural to her.

“Luckily it looked worse than it was. Her eye is fine. And the lid probably won’t even have a scar.”

Greg ran his hand through his disheveled hair, discomfort and frustration still pouring off him.

“You look tired. They’re discharging her soon. Why don’t you head home?”

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