I take a small step forward, wanting to get a look at the man I’m talking to, but he takes a step back, hiding himself in the darkness.

“And what’s that?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Suicide watch.”

The door slams in my face.

CHAPTER FOUR

Paul

God f**king damn it.

Damn it all to hell.

Before I can think about it, my arm is in motion, and the crystal shatters against the wall. I barely register that Pappy Van Winkle bourbon is trickling down the wall into an expensive puddle on the hardwood.

I thought I was prepared.

Hell, I was prepared.

I was prepared to greet whatever matronly, pious do-gooder was next in line in my father’s endless supply of babysitters, and make her feel right at home. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. But I had every intention of not being a dick. I was going to show her my good side—my right side. Maybe even force a smile. Welcome her. I’d spent all night telling myself that a washed-up hag wouldn’t care what I looked like.

But the woman on the other side of the door? No, the girl. She’s no washed-up hag. This caregiver is . . . beautiful.

And I don’t think it’s just the fact that I haven’t been with a woman in longer than I want to think about, and haven’t seen a girl my own age in longer than that. She’s hot. Big green eyes, long blond hair that I want to tangle my fingers in. A wide, lush mouth that I want . . .

No. No f**king way.

She can’t be more than twenty-two. All of the others were at least in their mid-thirties. This woman—this girl—is exactly the sort of person I exiled myself to Maine to avoid.

She’s tempting. Not just in the sexual way, although yeah, there’s that. But with that briefest of glimpses, she tempts me with something worse: she makes me long for normal.

She has to go. Now.

I make a fist and ram it hard against my thigh, punching myself in punishment. Of all things, you had to go and tell her you’re on suicide watch? But it was instinctive. I wanted to drive her away hard and fast, and that seemed like a surefire way of scaring off someone who has to be a rookie at this business.

She’ll be scampering back to the car by now, and I tell myself I’m glad. I don’t need a gorgeous blonde to remind me of all the things I can’t have.

Except . . .

My eyes fly open.

That damned ultimatum.

To say that my father one-upped me on this is an understatement. The three-month commitment to playing nice was bad enough when I thought I’d be dealing with a crotchety old woman, but this? Asking me to spend three months in the company of this gorgeous blonde?

This is sheer manipulation. My father isn’t just trying to lure me back to the real world, he’s throwing me into it.

I push my fingers into my eyes as the reality of my situation wraps around my brain and squeezes. What are my options?

I can tell my dad to shove it—let the girl get back into that car with Mick, and as a result be out on my ass with nowhere to go and not a cent to my name. And I can leave Alex’s wife and daughter with nothing.

Or . . . I can chase after Goldilocks and pretend that I want her here. Pretend that I need her so that my best friend’s daughter can live.

Damn it. There’s not a choice. Not really.

I move toward the door, only to falter when pain rips through my calf. Shit. It’s been a long time since I’ve forgotten to favor my left leg. That right there tells me how much trouble I’m in. For a second, I forgot who I am. What I am.

I’m no longer Paul Langdon, hotshot quarterback and all-American hero off to war. I’m Paul Langdon, disfigured recluse and of no use to anyone. Hell, I can’t even be of use to myself. I can’t even f**king walk.

Before I can give my dad the proverbial finger and tell him I don’t need his house or his money, I need to get my shit together. And in order to do that . . .

I turn away from the desk and move as quickly as I can across the room. I hesitate briefly with my hand on the doorknob, all too aware that my life is about to turn upside down.

My heart is thundering and I’m trying to tell myself it’s in anger, but I suspect it’s something worse. I suspect it’s fear. I know the sight that awaits this girl, and it is not pretty. Far from it.

I open the door, wondering how I’m supposed to chase after the girl with this leg.

Turns out I don’t have to chase her.

She’s waiting for me.

CHAPTER FIVE

Olivia

For five minutes I’ve been standing outside the library, staring at the door he slammed in my face and wondering just who—or what—Paul Langdon is.

I mean, I wasn’t expecting a gentle teddy bear in need of a hug and a listening ear or anything, but that thing is more like a tormented barbarian than a war-weary human. Still, it’s not until the door unexpectedly swings open again that I realize just how stupidly unprepared I am.

He was completely in the shadows before, but this time the hallway light catches him, and it feels like my stomach drops to my feet.

Paul Langdon is not the crippled, middle-aged recluse he’s supposed to be.

He steps back into the shadows before I can see him properly, but my first impression is broad shoulders, military-short blond hair, and piercing blue eyes. And young. Like my age young.

“What the hell are you still doing here?” he asks, taking another step backward into the darkness of the library.

I instinctively take a step forward, and he goes back another step just as quickly, and for the first time I notice that despite giving the overall impression of youth and vitality, he doesn’t move nimbly.