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COLLINS

I thought I could do it. I really did. But I can’t.

Well, at least not in this heightened state that I’m in currently.

We need to have time apart today to really comprehend what was said and the implications of it all.

This is not how I envisioned today going, but it is what it is…

I’ve experienced difficult women before, but with them it was usually an act. Some like the thrill of being a brat.

With Penny, there’s no acting. She is being true to herself, even if her honesty is driving me into the red zone—a place I rarely go.

After hearing Penny rattle off all of the things she plans to do, I don’t think I can just stand back and watch her implode.

Her brothers gave me the impression that my role was to be a low-intensity bodyguard.

However, in the span of thirty minutes, my job requirements just got more rigorous.

Keeping Penny out of trouble will be difficult if I don’t tighten up my reins of control.

This girl is already testing every ounce of self-control I have. How will I even survive the duration of this contract?

Penny best be glad I don’t carry her over my shoulder and toss her into a cage and conveniently lose the key. Until she can learn how to show some respect to me—and herself—I’m taking no chances with her.

This girl has a way of getting under my skin, like no one has ever in the past.

She needs boundaries.

She needs discipline.

She needs someone who won’t back down.

But for now, I need to get us into the vehicle and drop her off back at her parents’ place.

We need some distance between us to clear the air.

My abdomen hits the turnstile bar that keeps count of people leaving the park, and the annoying-as-fuck worker tries to get me to interact—again.

“Here’s a list of our sister parks that you can get a discount with on your season pass! There’s a coupon for ten percent off on the back, sir! And if you fill out the customer survey, you can be eligible to receive a fifty-dollar gift card on your season pass renewal!”

With a wave of my hand, I dismiss her. I’m not in the mood and would willingly pay her just to shut up.

I swear I hear Penny mutter something about me being rude, and it is then I realize she has been trying to keep up with me this whole time.

Fuck.

I slow down as I near the parked SUV, as pangs of guilt for walking so fast consume me.

I turn as I hear Penny gasp while tripping, but she catches herself before hitting the pavement. Her shoe falls off, and with a groan, she bends over to retrieve it—declining to put it back on.

Dammit.

Why did I not even pay attention to the type of footwear she chose for today?

I should have walked slower and considered how uncomfortable she must be with the pace I was forcing upon her.

My success as a bodyguard is spent being observant, and yet I missed this important detail when I decided to stride off in full dick-mode.

I want to apologize, but the words get stuck in my throat. Saying sorry now just seems so…

Pointless.

She’s upset. I’m upset.

I tried.

I really tried to make this work.

I thought that I could get her to bargain and be on my side. Nope. Her words about all of the sexual encounters she plans to do is what did me in. I feel murderous thinking of how I’ll have to stand on the sidelines and endure whatever recreational activities she wants to subject herself to.

Men are going to want to bury themselves into Penny, and I’ll have to bury them into the ground because I won’t be able to handle it.

Penny is my responsibility, but something gnawing at me from the inside is telling me that she is more than just that.

At least with Angie and Claire, they were committed to their men. Penny, however, is single. From the way she described her plan, she has high hopes of bouncing between multiple men, all at the expense of her own safety.

She might feel like she has to make up for lost time, sowing her oats and being reckless.

If her brothers find out, I think they may lose their minds. How do I even explain to them why I can no longer guard their sister? They deserve an explanation. They will demand one actually. How do I even paraphrase the things Penny said?

I open the passenger side door and step back to allow Penny access. I don’t dare touch the soft skin of her elbow or the perfect curvature of her lower back. In such a short amount of time, I’ve already gotten close to her.

I’ve gotten so close that I’ve committed her fresh-picked strawberry scent to memory. I’ve gotten so close that I know when she is stressed by how she touches her hair or when she is excited by how she bites at her inner cheek to contain her smile.

But she isn’t smiling now.

Nope. She is not happy at all.

It’s her off shoe that makes it into the vehicle first by the toss of her hand, followed by the other one that she kicks off onto the floor.

Then I see them—angry red blisters. Just the sight causes my breath to catch in my throat. “Fuck,” I say breathily. “Pen, I’m sorry.”

“Just shut the door, Collins. We are done here.”

Her words, echoing the same ones I spoke just minutes ago, sting. I’m an idiot for not considering her well-being. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just go. I promise not to get blood on your pristine mats.”

I wince over her attempt at indifference. “Let me make this better.”

“Don’t bother. Just take me back home.”

She reaches for the door to close on her own, but I stop her. Bending my body into the car, I lean over her to open the glovebox. I can hear her breath catch as she exhales.

“Let me help you.”

“I’m fine .”

“No, you’re not.” I rustle through the insurance information and emergency supplies, until I find the first aid kit tucked in the corner. “I caused you to get these sores, so at least let me tend to them.”

“Coll—”

“Please.”

“I’m fine.”

My fingers tighten around the kit, causing my knuckles to turn white. “Dammit, Penny, you’re hurt. So just accept that I’m going to help you, and quit being so utterly stubborn.” Is this normal for her, or is this the result of spending the morning with the girls at Plus None?

Before Penny has a chance to protest further, I squat down onto the gravelly parking lot, take one of her feet into my hands, and turn her foot slowly to assess the damage. At a closer examination, it is worse than I first thought. Some layers have peeled back, causing the redness of her skin to shine through the cracks. She must be in pain because the sight alone is causing me distress.

Fuck.

I caused this. For someone who prides himself on being observant, I completely missed the clues as to Penny’s discomfort. I didn’t even look back to check on her, when I knew she was following after me—trying to keep pace.

Opening the first aid kit with one hand, I pull out a tube of antibiotic cream. I rip open several bandages, squeeze the ointment into the cloth pad of each strip, and then place one onto each blister. I go slow and take my time to make sure I don’t cause her any additional pain.

I’ve done enough. This is the least I can do.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, as I place the kit back into the glovebox and then straighten my posture.

I want to linger. I want to evaluate her wellness further. However, both of us are teetering dangerously on our breaking point, so why tip the scales? Just by the way Penny is gripping the hem of her skirt, white-knuckling the shit out of it, is indication enough that I’m already driving her to the edge.

I shut the door, round the front, and then situate myself behind the wheel.

Taking a deep breath, I rub the temple of my head.

This whole afternoon was a disaster, and the only thing it revealed was that my work just got a whole hell of a lot harder.

I’m usually good at predicting outcomes to situations, but I was not prepared for Penny’s big confession.

Does she really think I’m going to sit back while she brings a harem of asshole boys back to her place, just to prove a point to herself? The thought of someone touching her claws at my insides and makes me irrational—something I rarely ever am.

No, I’m not like that at all.

I pride myself on being calm and collected, especially when in volatile situations. And just hearing Penny talk about how she is going to have casual sex, whenever and wherever she wants, makes me want to lock her up in a room and protect her from all of the dangers of the world—including herself.

I don’t even trust my reaction to her future plans if faced head-on with a situation.

She makes me ready to commit murder on anyone who touches a hair on her sweet head or even dares to think they have a chance with her.

What the hell is wrong with me? Not once in my life have I cared this much about anyone, which is precisely why I need to distance myself from her today and rethink this whole arrangement.

I turn to look at Penny, as she blatantly refuses to look my way.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. Why is she not acknowledging me? Why is everything so difficult?

I don’t expect her to answer, and yet it hurts when I’m met with indifference. It’s a silence so loud that it says everything as to how she is feeling in the moment.

She hates me.

So I allow her the silence to sit with her feelings and don’t muddy the air with another word.

It takes longer than usual to get to Hillsboro, and when we do, Donna is arranging flowers outside on her porch in huge wicker planters. When she stumbles backward trying to carry one over to the other side of the house, I quickly park and jump out of the SUV to run over and relieve her of the weight.

“Here, I got this, Mrs. Hoffman. Just tell me where you want it.”

“First off, never call me that. It’s insulting. Second”—she gestures with the wave of her hand—“you can put it over there next to the cobblestone path.”

I laugh over her directness. It’s not surprising her daughter has the same aversion to formalities. “Sure thing.”

In my periphery, I see Penny slowly get out of the vehicle. Her feet must be hurting, as she walks barefoot, carrying her shoes in her hands like broken trophies.

My pulse quickens with yet another visual reminder that I’m responsible for her suffering. Maybe a warm bath and going shoeless the rest of the day will help her heal faster. It’s not like I can provide any input now with how tense her shoulders look and the way she is deliberately avoiding eye contact.

“Oh, and third,” Donna says loudly, “I made my famous Mississippi pot roast today, and it will be a travesty if you don’t join us, Collins.”

“Umm…”

“With secret ingredient mashed potatoes.”

“I…”

“And a salad with the little candied walnuts and crumbled-up goat cheese…”

I need to make a clean break right now from Penny, and yet here is her mom unintentionally blurring the lines further and taunting me with homemade food.

Donna always makes too much, enough to easily sustain the entire town. I’d be doing her fridge space a favor by staying just this one time.

But I can’t.

“I, um, don’t?—”

“A trav-es-ty,” she reiterates, exaggerating the syllables.

“I’m not sure…”

“Oh dear,” she says, a frown marring her otherwise kind appearance, “you are a newly declared vegetarian?”

“Ha,” I say with a laugh, “no.”

“He probably has plans, Momma,” Penny says, not even bothering to turn around, as the door shuts a bit too loudly.

I spare a glance at Donna, giving her a shrug. “I don’t want to intrude.” I never do. It’s actually part of my life’s mission to never get too personal with people. Sitting down and sharing a meal together seems personal. Sure, I’ve done it here on a holiday, and most recently, Penny’s birthday, but staying now is surely just going to make things worse.

I can’t do worse.

“Nonsense. Don’t be silly. Stay. Eat. Hell, go for a swim if you want. It’s so hot out here, I think my face melted half off. If you see it”—her eyes move around on the ground—“please pick it up for me. New ones cost way too much these days.”

I smile over Donna’s sense of humor. She has this ability to make everyone feel welcome and at home, despite me never really having a solid home after my grandparents passed just months apart.

They tried their best, in the limited time they had with me. So I can’t fault them there. At least they stepped up to the plate when my biological parents didn’t.

So to have this level of welcoming and a sense of motherly compassion is rare for me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t refreshing—to be wanted and appreciated. It sure is a contrast to how Penny sees me at the moment.

I think about how I’m going to get out of having to stay. Saying I have other plans seems like a lie that Donna will see through in an instant. She’s not the bullshitting type. I imagine raising boys like Graham and Nic did that to her. While I’m several years older than they are, Donna still treats me like I’m her son. That’s just how she operates.

I rock on my heels, placing my hands into my pockets. I want to decline. I want to just go back to my place and work out until all my simmering animosity is settled. But it’s her eyes and the persuasive kindness that gets me every single time.

Do I even have a choice?

I give a nod, as her lips curl into a satisfied smile.

“I know my boys have you watching out for our Penny.”

“I, um…”

Donna raises her hand up for me to stop. “Well, they actually keep me in the dark on basically everything, but I know. I’m very”—she furrows her brow—“ observant . Anyway, Germain and I appreciate it. The least I can do is make sure you are properly fed. It would hurt my heart to think you were going to get takeout from one of those horrible-for-the-environment Styrofoam boxes or worse yet, warm up a meat and cheese pocket thing.” She shudders, placing a hand on my back. “Gross. Come. I insist. You like pot roast, yeah?”

“I love it.”

“Perfect.”

The lump in my throat plummets and expands into the pit of my stomach. I already feel guilt stepping foot onto her soil, knowing that I’m doing a shitty job of taking care of her daughter, and the job barely started. The hopefulness in her eyes is nearly my undoing. The entire Hoffman family has some deeply rooted trust in my capabilities, yet I’m dropping the damn ball every time it’s thrown my way.

I haven’t visited this house often prior to this week where I’ve been here twice, but nearly every time I have, there have been memories made with Penny. I think back to the time we played football together for Thanksgiving, our paths crossing a few times over Christmas, the rehearsal dinner here for Angie and Graham’s wedding, and the memory of her walking down the stairs on her birthday just two days ago. Those experiences are vastly different from just minutes ago with how Penny slammed the door—shutting me out of her life in a figurative gesture that may lead to permanent consequences.

I don’t belong here. I don’t really belong anywhere.

And maybe that’s what bothers me the most. That the more time I spend with the Hoffmans, the more I’m reminded of all that I lack in my life. But no matter how different our backgrounds are, the Hoffmans are basically family to me.

“Don’t be shy,” Donna coaxes, opening the door and holding it for me to pass through.

And I do. I walk into the very house where all three of her children were raised, and which I imagine holds so many wonderful memories.

The Hoffmans are the type of family I would read about in books. I would fantasize what it would be like to love and to be loved. And there’s no shortage of love that Donna has for her three children.

And here she is extending that compassion to me.

The smell of dinner cooking makes my stomach growl. I often skip meals during the day and fuel up in the evening via a food delivery service. However, Donna is right that most likely I would be warming up something mediocre if I decided to go back to my place now instead of staying here for dinner.

Germain greets us from the couch in the living room as I follow Donna deeper inside her house. It feels different being here this go-round. Maybe it’s more intimate because there are fewer people. Or maybe it’s because I am harboring some unprofessional feelings for their only daughter.

“Thank you for having me,” I say softly, my voice barely a whisper.

“You are always welcome,” Donna reassures. “You’re family, Collins. Go sit, enjoy a break for once. I’m not sure where Penny went…”

“She’s up in her room,” Germain answers, looking toward the stairs. “She said she had a phone call to make. Sounded important.”

Curiosity strikes me as I think about what could be so pressing that she had to retreat to her room upon entry into the house. It’s not like I can ask her and expect a truthful answer. We aren’t on speaking terms at the moment. Part of me wonders if things will ever go back to how they were. So much has changed in just the span of twelve hours.

Now I can’t help but wonder if this girl actually does hate me.