Jesus, this woman was giving him way more props than hedeserved, and he shrank a bit inside.
“Thank you again, so much, for coming today. It means theworld to everyone here.”
“I meant what I said. I’d like to come watch the guys playsometime.”
“You’re welcome anytime, Mr. Shanstrom.”
God, that was nice to hear.
.~* * * ~.
Natalie squeezed through the doorand treaded softly to Kevin’s bedside. He seemed to be sleeping. She exhaled ashoulder-dropping breath. Thank God he doesn’t know I’m late. She shedher coat, piled it on a chair atop her purse, and sat beside him. This was hernew normal—her Kevin Conundrum, as she’d dubbed it, though she kept that bit toherself. Is this how love affairs were supposed to go? Spikyfeelings and stomach roiling of the I-need-a-Tums variety, not theI’m-so-freaking-excited-my-blood-is-on-fire variety?
When she was around Kevin, she felt as though she tiptoedalong the edge of a crumbling precipice, one step away from slidinguncontrollably down a scree slope. He had his good days where it appeared hewas conquering his TBI, but then he’d have a bad day, and it seemed hisprogress unraveled. One step forward, three steps back. If that wasn’t badenough, their fledgling relationship included not only Kristin but his daughter, Emma. Natalie had only met her a few times,and though the girl had been shy, her questioning glances had Natalie feelingas though she were a heartless homewrecker. A gold digger. The moniker stung.
Had Natalie not committed to coming every day, she mighthave just drifted away like so much smoke. For now, she was trapped in astrange twilight between obligation and possibility with a man she barely knew.
CHAPTER 9
I Can’t Talk Because My Foot’sin My Mouth
T.J. made his way to Kevin May’s room.The door was ajar, and he knocked softly before stepping inside.
May’s eyes flew to his, and he looked … panicky?
Christ, doesn’t he recognize me? “How you doing?”T.J. came off sounding like a guy who’d just had ice shoveled in his breezers. High and squeaky. Hecleared his throat and plowed on. “I brought you the latest SportsIllustrated. It has an article about the league, and oh, just happens to bethe swimsuit edition.”
“Shanstrom, this isn’t—”
A squeal came from the door, and a whirlwind tore in, fineblond curls bobbing like an angel’s soft halo.
“Daddy!” A child ran to the bed, stopping short at a woman’ssharp cry.
“Emma May!”
T.J. turned and took in a Pamela Anderson lookalike whoseeyes traveled from the child to his face. As shock overtook her features,tension grew palpable—heavy and sticky like a Midwest summer.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed.
Oh shit.
May raised a hand and laid it on the little girl’s head.“Kris, this is—”
Her eyebrows crashed together. “I know who this is,”she yelped. “T.J. Shanstrom, the asshole who cheap-shotted you. Did you come to check your handiwork?”
T.J. raised his hands in surrender. “Maybe I came at a bad ti—”
Kris planted her fist on her hip. “You bet your ass you cameat a bad time.”
“Language, Kris,” May said. “Emma—”
“I wanted to check on him,” T.J. said lamely, panic swellinginside him.
Kris flung out her arm. “You checked. Now leave!”
“Maybe I’ll come back another time.” Eager to flee, T.J.inched toward the door.
She stabbed a finger in his direction. “Oh no, you won’t.”
“Kris.” Kevin’s tone was laden with weariness. Emma’s bigeyes bounced between the adults as she perched on the bed.
T.J. called out a soft, “Later, Kevin,” and squeezed throughthe door. He was latching it behind him, but a powerful yank ripped it from hisgrip. He rocked backward as Kris exploded toward him.
Though she stood at least a head shorter than he, she got inhis grill, fearless as a rabid bulldog. She stood so close he could smell hercloying perfume. “You ever set foot in here again, you bastard, and I’ll callsecurity,” she snarled. “Capisce?”
He gave her a quick head bob and retreated. “Got it.”
Down the hall he went, willing himself not to break into arun. He shot a glance over his shoulder. Kris was still standing guard outsideMay’s door, her face twisted in bright pink fury.
He ducked around a corner, thenstreaked onto an elevator. On the ground floor, he stepped to a window, andthough he looked through it, he registered nothing beyond its broad pane. Kris’stirade had thrown his emotions into overdrive. He needed to throttle them down.Bracing his hands on his knees, he dropped his head, catching his breath,trying to lock out the feelings fighting for space in his psyche. Guilt, anger,and a few others he couldn’t—and didn’t want to—identify. Deep breath in,deep breath out. Bringing himself upright again,he ran a hand through his hair.
He scanned the space, expecting to be confronted once more bythe blond firebrand. Instead, his eyes landed on a vision across the cavernousfoyer. Sure he was dreaming, he shook his head, but the vision remained. An angel with dark hair cascading down her back.
The sight of the beautiful Ms. Foster lifted him. Was itmere coincidence she kept appearing, or something altogether otherworldly? Hedidn’t care.
She headed down a corridor marked “Cafeteria.” More likeswayed. Floated. Her lithe body moved effortlessly, like a dancer’s. He wasspellbound. He inched away from the window, debating. Stay put? Follow?His body overrode the argument in his head, and his feet began shuffling afterher. What would he say when he reached her? Hey! I’m stalking you becauseI’d like to know If … If what? You’re gorgeous, and I’m wondering ifyou’d like to rock my world. Yeah, that approach wouldn’t put heroff. No, she’d just run away screaming for security.
Despite his qualms, he kept trailing her. Why? Because just lookingat her was rocking his world. Big-time.
He found himself at the wide entrance to a mostly empty,fluorescent-hued, white-and-stainless space. To one side, pushing along aplastic tray, was Ms. Foster, slender and supple, and he locked on to histarget. She lifted her tray and carried it to a booth. He caught a glimpse ofher caramel-colored eyes as she slid along the bench, and his
