Page 22 of Heaven Help Me

“Is that why you stepped down last year?”

I shrug, taking the ice pack off and dumping the hydrogen peroxide on the wound. It burns and bubbles, making me grit my teeth. “Didn’t want to be in a tense situation and have an attack that ends up putting people’s lives in danger because I’m too weak to handle it.”

Deuce stands, takes off his suit jacket, and rolls his sleeves up his forearms. He’s still in his fancy vest that highlights the V-taper of his torso. His forearms flex as he grips the back of a chair and my brain instantly goes in the gutter. Well, shit, that’s an even better look on him. I refocus on my injury, pulling out several steri-strips and smoothing them on my skin. Deuce loads a piece of gauze with ointment and lays that on top. I get tape in place and stand, good as new.

“It’s not a weakness, Valentina.”

His statement hangs between us. I want to believe it, but I know it’s not true.

“I got anxious about one of our illegal business arms and ended up shutting it down after some Feds came sniffing around. No arrests were made, which is good, but I also lost a bunch of money from folding early. Some people were pissed at me for it. I think they took it out on my replacement and they might be who’s behind this current coup.” I fold my arms over my chest. “So yeah, it is a weakness.”

Deuce doesn’t argue with me this time, he just stares at me. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure he can’t hate me anymore than he already does. Hopefully in a month or so things will be figured out in New York and I can leave Heaven. He never has to see me again.

Deuce’s arms fling out to the side suddenly and then he’s pulling me into his chest. His arms band around me and I feel every single lean muscle of his press into my body.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, Valentina,” he whispers in my ear, rocking me side to side.

I stare in horror at his collarbone. His very sexy collarbone.

Deuce is hugging me.

And it feels really fucking nice.

This isn’t a hug meant for others to see and believe our cover story. This is just a hug because…well, I don’t know why he’s hugging me. Why does anyone hug anyone? Because we’re friends? No, that can’t be right. Because he wants to be nice to me? That definitely can’t be right.

Ah.

I understand now. This is a pity hug.

Well, fuck that. I don’t need a pity hug from anyone, let alone Deuce St. Legare, the guy who just fainted from the sight of my blood. I wedge my hands between our chests and push him away. His arms fall away from me and he steps back. I drop my hands, acutely feeling the loss of his touch. It’s almost enough to make me want to step forward and bury my face in his chest once again.

My eyeballs burn the longer we stare at each other in this weirdly charged silence. What the hell is happening to me in this town? I’m suddenly telling my secrets to my mortal enemy and wanting to give him a hug.

Pull your shit together, V.

My nails bite into my palms as I make two fists by my side. I already have panic attacks. I can’t let…whatever that was…also become a weakness of mine. One weakness is already one too many.

“I’ll slit your throat if you tell anyone about my panic attacks,” I growl. “And I mean it this time. You blab about me again and it won’t be a harmless jab to your ribs.”

Deuce’s mouth falls open. He looks both angry and hurt. “I have never blabbed about you. Ever. I may faint at the sight of blood, but I don’t snitch.”

I snort. “Okay, whatever. If that’s your story…”

He rolls his eyes and starts to clean up the mess I left on the table. “It’s my story because it’s true. Now do you want steak or chicken for dinner? I have both.”

I take our ice packs back to the freezer. “Steak sounds good.”

“Great. You start making the salad and I’ll get the grill going.”

So, I guess that’s it. We have some sort of truce going. We each have something we’re hiding. I know I’ll take his weakness to my grave, but I’m not so sure of his ability to keep my weakness a secret. His track record is piss poor.

When he pulls out his phone and takes a call, quick to head outside where I can’t hear the conversation, my misgivings grow. Why is he always so secretive about his phone calls? Not really the markings of an innocent man, if you ask me.

I take lettuce out of the refrigerator and get to washing it. Salad and grilled cheese sandwiches are the extent of my cooking abilities, so I’m glad Deuce has skills in the kitchen. He’s surprised me with his life here in a small town in the middle of nowhere.

I just don’t know if he can be trusted.

Bettina swears Deuce will protect me, but I think she might be blinded by the fact that he’s her son.