Page 15 of The Defender

I’m off to brunch so can’t talk, but I’m pregnant again! I’m finally getting a daughter! Will discuss later. xo

Finallygetting a daughter. Implying she didn’t have one already.

It wasn’t my mom’s intention to make me feel invisible; it never was. But that made it worse. Careless cruelty always cut deeper than intentional malice.

“Speaking of upset, we can’t tell my dad you’re living here.” I washed a handful of cherry tomatoes and dropped them in my salad. “I know we already said we won’t, but I have to mention it again. He’ll freak out.”

“Trust me. I have no plans to say anything to him. I like living too much,” Vincent said dryly.

“Does he know about your intruder situation?”

“Not yet.” Vincent glanced away. “I’m not sure it’s worth bringing up.”

“It worried you enough to move out until the police get a lead on this guy. Or girl,” I amended.

“That’s more for Scarlett’s sake than mine.” His smile returned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I appreciate your concern though. Between the custom bedroom decor and this”—he gestured between us—“I’m starting to think you like me.”

I scoffed. “There’s nothis. I’m only asking so I know what not to say in front of my dad.”

Despite my dismissal, a twinge of concern nagged at me. The intruder was probably a one-off thing, but what if it wasn’t? Fans did wild stuff all the time, but it only took one person going off the rails for tragedy to strike.

An image of Vincent bleeding out on the floor like Tyler Conley flashed through my mind. The twinge tightened into a knot.

I’d held off on interrogating Vincent about the situation. He had enough people fussing about it without me piling on, but my blithe comments didn’t mean I was indifferent to the danger.

We weren’t best friends, but for better or worse, he’d become an indispensable part of my life in London. If anything happened to him, my world wouldn’t be the same.

“Don’t say anything.” Vincent’s mouth set in a stern line. “I’ll handle it.”

“Sure.” I hesitated, debating, before my voice softened. “It’s okay to feel scared. I know it’s not ‘socially acceptable’ for a guy to show weakness or whatever, but if someone breaks into your house, anxiety is normal.”

His gaze flew to mine.

No tingle this time—only a beat of breathlessness that stretched out like a sigh. Warm, heavy, knowing.

Ninety-nine percent of our conversations revolved around playful jabs and insults. That was the dynamic we were most comfortable with. But every now and then, we’d drop our guards, and those moments would feel deeper than they did with anyone elsebecausethey were so rare.

It was how I knew they were real.

Vincent’s throat moved with a swallow. He held my gaze for an extra millisecond before shifting his attention to the counter.

“Good to know.” A trace of huskiness deepened his voice, but when he spoke again, it was gone. “Thanks for letting me stay here, even if it’s to prove a point.” He tossed out a grin. “No hotel concierge can match the personalized service I’ve received so far. Five stars. No notes.”

Our earlier moment splintered into twin shards of relief and…disappointment? No, that couldn’t be right.

“I do love proving a point.” I resumed making my dinner and drizzled a bit of balsamic vinaigrette over the salad. “Also, just so we’re clear, I’m not a concierge, mother,ormaid. You’re responsible for your own chores and cooking, and if you slack off”—I pointed a fork at him—“I’m kicking you out onto the street. Got it?”

He gave me a laconic salute. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. His eyes glittered with amusement. “Don’t worry. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

CHAPTER 6

VINCENT

“Help. I’m dying.” Stevens sank onto the changing room bench with a groan. “I swear Coach is a masochist because who comes up with drills like that? They’re inhumane.”

“Stop whining,” Samson said. The Nigerian winger gently shoved Stevens’s shoulder. “You’re a professional. Act like it.”

“A professional sufferer.” Stevens looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. “Captain,dosomething.”