I wasn’t sure where this question was coming from, so I treaded carefully. “I love Hank. We seem to get along well.”
The light was dim, but I could still see him narrowing his gaze. “You’ve got yourself a boyfriend now. Why are you still livin’ here?”
I put my hand on my hip. “I think that’s between Hank and me.”
“You know how it looks with you livin’ with an old man? Just the two of you?”
So much for me getting information out of him. If he thought so little of me, there was no way he was going to give me anything useful. “If you think either of us cares about the way it looks, then you don’t know your friend very well and you obviously don’t know me. And if you think I’m after his supposed fortune, then you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. There is no money. He may have had it at some point, but it’s gone now.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes at the mention of Hank’s supposed money, but I figured we might as well get that misconception out of the way.
“And I’m still living here with him,” I continued, “because while I have a boyfriend, I don’t want to leave Hank high and dry without any help, not that it’s any of your damn business.”
His face hardened. “I find it hard to believe some young sweet thing is livin’ with a grumpy old fucker like Hank for shits and giggles.”
I tilted my head, looking him square in the eye. “I might be able to forgive you for questioning my trustworthiness if you can explain to me why you’re actin’ like a good friend to him now, when I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you the entire time I’ve been living here.”
Anger tightened his jaw.
“I appreciate you looking out for Hank,” I added, “but I can assure you that I have no ulterior motives other than to replace all his red meat with chicken and beans and make him eat diabetic friendly. And if you have any more questions about my integrity, then perhaps you should be a better friend and hang around the man so you can see how we interact.” I moved to the driver’s side of my car and opened the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my boyfriend and his washing machine.”
He didn’t respond, just moved to the side so I could back my car up, but as I made the turn toward the road, Big Joe as still watching me, looking none too pleased. I probably should have been more understanding of his concern for Hank, but I’d also seen how lonely Hank had been. I was loyal to the people who were loyal to me.
As I pulled away, I couldn’t help wondering if Big Joe wasn’t just angry at me for calling him out about Hank. Maybe he’d hoped the conversation would go another way, just like I had, and he was pissed I’d turned it around. In the end, I decided I had bigger worries than Big Joe I’d just ask Hank about him in the morning when I put the pressure on him to tell me everything he knew about Louise. Right now I had to figure out how I was going to explain the bruises on my arm and keep Marco out of jail for assault.
Chapter Six
I was in Marco’s kitchen when he got home, stir-frying some chicken and veggies. When he saw me, barefoot and wearing shorts and a flowy summer top, a huge grin spread across his face. He walked over, still in his uniform, and silently pulled me to him, dipping me slightly as he gave me a deep, soulful kiss. Then he lifted his head and stared into my eyes, not saying a word.
I smiled up at him. “Hey.”
A look of deep satisfaction filled his eyes. “I could get used to comin’ home to this.”
“With me barefoot and in the kitchen?” I teased.
“More like findin’ you here at all. You have no idea how good it feels after the day I had.”
My smile faded. “You had a bad day?”
He grimaced. “It wasn’t the greatest.” Releasing me, he walked over to the cabinet where he kept his over-the-counter medication and pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen. He granted me a pained grin as he opened the bottle. “That’s not tofu in that pan, is it?”
I laughed. “Sadly no. I made this entirely from things you already had in your pantry and fridge. I didn’t have time to go to the store.” I lifted a brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, shaking a couple of tablets into his hand. “Nothing some ibuprofen and holding you won’t fix.”
My heart melted, but the look on his face said he was hurting more than he’d let on. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Go sit on the sofa and I’ll bring you a bowl.”
“Okay,” he said, his relief palpable.
He filled a glass with water, downed his pills, then gave me another kiss before leaving for the living room. It was then I noticed his slight limp.
I finished the stir-fry and scooped some onto the rice in the waiting bowls before bringing our food and some silverware into the living room.
Marco was sitting on the sofa, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. His left leg was extended onto the coffee table and he was rubbing his thigh—where he’d been shot last November.
Setting the bowls on the coffee table, I sat down next to him and placed my hand next to his on his thigh.
His eyes opened into narrow slits. “You tryin’ to cop a feel?”
“How bad does it hurt?” I asked, beginning to massage his tense thigh muscle.
He didn’t answer, just leaned back his head and groaned.
“Does that hurt?” I asked, snatching my hand back, horrified that I might have made his pain worse.
“It does, but it also feels good. Keep going.”
Using both hands, I continued to massage his thigh for the next several minutes. Marco kept his eyes closed and released a mixture of satisfied and agonized grunts and groans.
“How bad is it, Marco?” I asked quietly as I continued to rub. “Scale of one to ten?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you do,” I encouraged softly. “How bad?”
He sat up slightly and opened his mouth—and then shut it again and swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. A resigned look washed over his face. “It was a nine when I got here. It’s a seven now, thanks to you and your magic hands.”
Marco was a proud man, and I knew he hadn’t wanted to admit it hurt so badly, but he was always so conscious about not lying to me. He knew that after everything I’d been through, a single lie might make me distrust him forever. Which was why he’d promised me always to be truthful, even at the risk of his own pride.
I leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his bowl on the coffee table. His body tensed with pain.
I stood and reached out my hand to him. “Come on. I’m taking you to bed.”
He gave me a wry look. “As much as I want you naked next to me, I haven’t eaten since late afternoon.”
“We’re not having sex, Marco. I’m taking you to bed so you can prop your leg with pillows. Having it extended over the coffee table can’t be good for your knee.”
He took my hand and let me pull him up. His limp was more pronounced as he made his way down the short hall to his bedroom in the back of the small house. He’d already taken off his work belt, so after I set the bowls of stir-fry down on the nightstand, I unfastened his pants and tugged them off, then had him climb into bed.