“Yeah? I see you still have a mark from where the iguana hit you,” Ethan says, shutting the door behind me. “I still can’t believe that happened to you, Scar.”
UGH. My goose egg has disappeared, but now I have a huge bruise on the side of my forehead that can only be described as hideous.
“Yes, I’ve become quite famous around Manatees headquarters as the only person there ever to be hit by an iguana.”
Ethan chuckles. We walk down the hall, and as we get closer to the kitchen, I smell Mom’s homemade red sauce filling the air.
“Spaghetti,” I say.
Ethan grins. “My request. I’m so excited to get a home-cooked meal.”
We enter the kitchen, and Mom immediately stops stirring her sauce and stares at me, wincing as she sees the black bruise on my forehead.
“I know, I still look like crap,” I say, putting my purse down on the expansive marble island and taking a seat on one of the high-backed stools.
“No, it just looks so painful,” she says.
“It’s not any worse than bruises Ethan and Jamie have brought home, and you know it,” I challenge, smiling knowingly at her.
Mom frowns. She knows she can’t dispute that after years of stitches, broken bones, and bruising from my brothers playing hockey. “I’m just glad you didn’t get a concussion.”
“Nope. Just a headache and a black-and-blue reminder.”
Ethan leans across the island from me, helping himself to some prosciutto on the charcuterie board. “I want the whole story. How did it happen?”
“Well, it happened because I’m an idiot and didn’t know this was a thing here in Florida when the temperature drops. So I’mwalking on the sidewalk under a bunch of trees, and when it hit me, I didn’t know what was happening. I thought someone might have punched me. So I fell and screamed, then another, huger iguana fell and nearly hit my hand, and I was totally freaked out.”
Dad walks into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a black Manatees polo shirt. “The Wentworth brothers were in the parking lot and immediately came to her aid,” he says. “Do you want something to drink, Scarlett?”
“Just a glass of water with ice is fine,” I say. “Thank you.”
Ethan grins at me, picking up his bottle of beer. “Oh, I bet those hockey players came to your aid. Hot girl in distress, and they get to rescue her from evil iguanas.”
My chest grows tight. I don’t like where this conversation is going.
“Ethan,” Mom warns, looking at him with disgust. “Men can help without having a motive.” She picks up her glass of red wine and takes a sip.
Dad turns around and shoots him a look. “My players,” he says firmly, “know better than that.”
“Hello, I’m right here,” I remind everyone. “And I don’t need to be protected from anyone.”
“Let me rephrase that for you. You just need to be protected from iguanas,” Ethan teases.
“Shut up,” I say, and he shoots me a playful smirk before taking a drink of beer. Dad hands me a glass of water, and I thank him for it.
“Scarlett is right,” Dad says. “She doesn’t need to be protected. Because she knows better than to date a hockey player.”
A couple of weeks ago, this conversation would have made me nauseous.
But right now?
It’s making me annoyed.
“Well, according to this logic, Mom shouldn’t have married you, and no woman should ever go out with Jamie or Ethan, am I right?” I challenge.
Ethan studies me, and it reminds me of the way Jamie looked at me during our video chat.
I grab my water and take a sip. I might have been too cavalier with what I just said. But damn it, I’mtiredof everyone deciding what is best for me.
