Chapter 5
Standing at Emily’s condo door, Michael smoothed one of the wild curls near his forehead. He tucked his first aid kit under his arm and knocked on her door. Every time he contemplated why on earth she might need gauze, he got heart palpitations. It had only been seconds since his last knock, but he knocked again.
Emily opened the door and poked her head around it. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
Forget flattened kittens. The steamroller must have hit Emily instead. Her skin appeared bleached and her green eyes were red and haunted. A funny sensation tightened in his chest, making him want to pull her into his arms. Someone had hurt her, big time.
She knew.
Michael bit his lip so he wouldn’t jump down her throat, demanding answers.Settle down, dumbass.
She held the door open. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
He walked in and set the first aid kit on the hallway table. “Why wouldn’t I? I said I would.” He reached for her right hand, wincing when he saw the cut there and the start of a fascinating bruise. “Good Lord, Em. Are you an MMA fighter in your spare time?”
“It does seem I missed my calling.” When he fingered her knuckles, she sucked in a breath.
“Sit down. Let me patch you up and then you can tell me all about it.” Michael put his hands on her shoulders and urged her to sit on the hall chair. He knelt before her, examined her hand, and opened his first aid kit. “It doesn’t look broken, but that cut stretches right across all your knuckles. Looks like the paper cut from hell. Can you move it?”
“Yeah, but it hurts.”
“I bet the other guy feels worse.” When he applied rubbing alcohol, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut against the pain, guilt tore through him. He reached for the ointment and she chewed on her lip, bracing herself. He rubbed a thin layer on her skin, careful not to apply too much pressure, and then gently wrapped her hand in gauze. His wary gaze was trained on her the whole time. “Talk to me.”
“The short answer is I punched my fiancé in the face. Well, it might have been the neck. He’s pretty tall. I’m not actually sure where I nailed him, but I managed to knock him down.”
Michael had to shut his gob. Kind-hearted, dainty Emily beat up the big, bad douchebag? He couldn’t believe it. She looked too much like a princess on the cover of a fairy tale book for children. “Did he hurt you? Because if he touched…”
“No. He didn’t touch me. He hasn’t for a while, truth be told.” She looked down at her hands. “But you’ve probably already figured that out, haven’t you?”
Only then did he notice she no longer wore her engagement ring. He rubbed his thumb over her bare ring finger, caressing the pale strip of skin that used to hide under her ring. “Em, I’m sorry.”
She nodded, ready to cry. Or was she? She might be fighting the tears with everything in her, but she looked as if it would only take one wrong word to set her off. She kept blinking, and her bottom lip quivered. For some reason that played havoc with Michael’s mind, he wanted to be there when the dam broke. Not because he cared to see her in tears, but because he wanted to be there for her period.
“Let’s sit in the living room.”
She nodded and stood and he rose as well, his mind racing. Michael followed her into the living space and waited for her to take a seat first, but she motioned for him to go ahead. He appraised the seating area. A small condo, it didn’t boast a lot of options as far as seating. There was a comfy modern loveseat and two antique chairs with embroidered designs of country scenes. They appeared too petite to hold him, so he sat at one end of the loveseat.
To his simultaneous horror and delight, Emily sat next to him.
He stood up again. “I can take one of the chairs if you want to spread out.”
“No, you’re fine. Sit. We usually sit on the loveseat anyway. Trent says my grandmother’s chairs are too fussy to be comfortable.” She frowned.
“About Trent…”
“We rescued the chairs from Nonna’s place. I don’t know much about antique furniture but I researched these ones. They’re Queen Anne chairs. My mom took a couple too. Everyone in the family adopted some of Nonna’s things. I’ll be honest. I might even have taken a doily or two, but I keep those in a drawer.”
Okay. She obviously wasn’t ready to talk about her fiancé yet. He wouldn’t push her. He could make small talk if that’s what she needed. “Doilies, huh? My grandmother had a few of those too. Do you want me to get you something? A drink, maybe?”
She shook her head. He didn’t much feel like drinking either.
Conversation stilled. Michael didn’t hide the fact he was staring, but it wasn’t so much to check her out as it was to inspect her for signs that Trent had fought back. Aside from her sore hand, she seemed physically sound. Emotionally? She looked ready to drop.
Dragging his gaze away so he didn’t resemble a crazed stalker, he cast a glance around Emily’s home and tried to decide how to broach the subject of her argument with Trent. She had a nice home, feminine but not too frilly, with colored cushions and a purple orchid near the window.
No sign of Trent anywhere. There were a couple of small photos on the bookshelf nearest him, both of them turned face downward on the shelf. Must have been photos of the douchebag.
