Page 9 of Jason

“Sit down,” I said, not looking to see if he listened to what I said or not, and stepped over the mess on the floor on my way to the kitchen to get the first aid kit.

After three hours of waiting for paperwork to be over, we came here. In my experience, the administrative portion is usually done much faster, but it probably had something to do with every single cop coming in to see the Denver Thunders’ QB sitting in their holding cell and a promise to my brothers that he would go out with them.

“Are you sure you're not going to get into trouble with the team?” I yelled to be heard over the running water as I washed my hands.

“Yeah, it's no big deal,” he said, making me look up, and I found him leaned against the kitchen island. “The club has a bail fund, and if it's nothing serious, you just get a slap on the wrist, fined, and a game on the bench.” He looked down to his injured leg. “Not a problem in my case.”

“Did you get hurt?” The fear that the morons did some kind of damage to his injured leg while pulling him around my apartment, yelling at each other of who was going to get him first, was tearing me apart. Sure, the man did get on my nerves and frustrated the hell out of me, mostly because I couldn't kiss him and do other things to him, but I didn't want him hurt. He was doing such a good job. And he listened to everything I said he should do, earning my respect. I really hadn’t thought he had it in him. It was bad enough that he got that angry-looking cut on his forehead as they shoved him out of the way when the cops came.

“Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?” I asked, biting my lip. I didn't get it before when I read or heard of a woman biting her lip, but now I found myself doing it every time I was near Jason.

He dragged his gaze from my lips to my eyes and shrugged. “Yeah, it's for the best. Besides, it's just a cut, nothing major.”

I looked at him for a second longer, and then went to my couch, and flipping it back up, I gestured for Jason to sit. As I was preparing the alcohol and wipes to clean and bandage his forehead, praying to God it wouldn't leave a scar…it would be a shame to mar his beauty…he gave one cautious look at the door. “You're sure they won't come back?”

“Who, my brothers?” I chuckled softly, pressing the alcohol-infused wipe to his head.

Wincing slightly, his hands reached out to where I sat on the coffee table and squeezed my legs. “Yeah.”

“You don't have to worry about them. At least not for tonight. While you were in the cell and before I came to get you all out, I called my mom to help me deal with them.” I gave him a small smile. “She knows the deal. I can't believe I'm saying this and that it's even possible for three grown men, but they're grounded tonight.”

“You love them,” he said like it was a surprise.

“They drive me nuts on a regular basis and have me contemplating manslaughter more than occasionally, but yeah, I love them,” I said looking from his forehead to his face. “They're the reason I got into physical therapy.”

I didn't want Jason to think they were bad people. They weren't; they were just too... playful. They were also the ones who were there for me no matter what, who helped me in any way they could. And they were my protectors. Granted, the protection I needed was from them, but still, they were always there for me. They were my family, and I wouldn’t change a thing about them. The thought Jason would think they were anything less than perfect had something in my stomach coiling.

“What do you mean?” his eyes roamed my face, every few seconds dropping down to my mouth, making me lick them in response.

“Well, since most of the time it was just the four of us kids and Mom had to work all hours, I was the one who took care of them. And you've seen them, so it's not a big surprise there were lots of broken bones, scrapes and bruises, pulled muscles, and so on. And every time they went to therapy, it consumed me, and I couldn't stop watching how they twisted their ankles, wrists, and everything to get them to work properly again.”

“Then why not go into medicine?” he squeezed my thighs, his thumbs drawing small circles on the inside of them, making it hard to think.

“Honestly, I didn't have the patience for such a long time to be in school. I wanted to start living my life the moment I could and get the hell out of that house. And there's also the fact that I can't stand the sight of blood.”

Just the memory of my brothers’ failed attempt of giving themselves piercings on their brows and noses in our kitchen had me shuddering. It wasn't a pretty sight, and by the time we got to the ER, I was covered in so much of their blood the nurses called security on me, convinced I had killed someone. Or the time they came to my high school to scare my boyfriend into respecting me, only to end up fighting and beating each other up as to who would be the first to talk to the little punk.

“What do you mean get out of the house?” he continued with his twenty questions, still distracting me with his wicked thumbs that were going higher and higher up my legs, and I had to force myself not to flex my muscles in response.

“You picked up on that, didn't you?” I smiled even though there wasn't anything funny about it. I knew I shouldn't give him so much personal information, but after last night, he deserved it. And honestly, there was just something about him that made me want to give him everything. My whole being. I didn't want to think too much about it, because I was afraid of what it could mean. “Things at home weren't very... good,” I said after a slight pause. How could I explain this to him without it sounding horrible? “My dad got killed in a car accident. A drunk driver lost control and swerved into his lane.” The words started to come out automatically, like I was reading a grocery list, not even thinking about it.

“How old were you?” he asked as he leaned slightly toward me.

“I was four, Carter was six, Chace eight, and Max the oldest was ten.” The day burned itself into my memory, and the sight of my mom kneeling down in front of the open door, her forehead pressed against the tile, and an officer trying to get her to stand back up while she cried still haunted my dreams.

“Anyway.” I got back to my story after shaking my head to chase the image away. “She had to take two jobs after that. She had three growing, rowdy boys and a girl who still needed food, clothes, and a roof over their heads in spite of her world crashing down around her. It was difficult, and she did her best, but three years later, she came to the decision she just needed somebody to help her. And honestly, I think she was lonely. She missed my dad, and even though she tried to hide it, I could hear her crying herself to sleep most nights. So, she married Nate who, as it turned out, was and is a complete asshole. Sure, he helped her financially, but basically, she just got one more person to take care of.” I was so lost in telling him my life story that I wasn't even aware I started tracing his arms with my fingertips. “After we were all moved out of the house, one day, I caught her crying and looking at my dad's picture, and I had enough. It took some time, but I convinced her that she should divorce him. Unfortunately, it's become almost a second job for all four of us to screen the men in her life, since she started dating again.” Which reminded me, I had to call Max and see if he knew anything about her new guy. Dammit, I've been so lost in Jason I forgot all about it. “What?” I whispered when I focused on him again, my fingertips freezing in place on his arms when the look on his face penetrated my mind.

“This,” he muttered right before his palms cupped my face, pulled me to him and his lips covered mine.

Chapter Six

Jason

“Coming,” I yelled, limping to the door.

I couldn’t believe how nervous I was, but after last night and that kiss, the only thing I was absolutely sure of was that I needed Rory even more than I first thought. Listening to her softly telling me about her life, her brothers, and her mom, my plans about asking her out on a date and taking things slow, flew out the window. As I listen to her quiet words and watched the sorrow and love mix on her face, I couldn’t help myself. I intended to hold her, to give her comfort and to take the hurt away, at least for a little while. But when she bit her lip, and I was half certain she didn’t even know she did it, before she looked up at me asked, What? there was one thing that I could do. And that was to kiss her.

At first, when I pulled her to me and finally had the chance to taste her, she froze, and I was sure she would wrench my hands off her and throw me out. Just as I was about to pull away, apologize for my stupidity, and beg her to give me a chance, she melted under my touch, and a small moan she tried to trap, fought its way out through her sealed lips. The moment I heard the muted sound, I licked her upper lip so she would open up and let the sound flow into my mouth. Gasping, she opened her mouth slightly, I seized the opportunity and invaded her mouth with my tongue so I could have one of my dreams come true.