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watch.”
    The door slams in my face.

Chapter Four
Paul
    God fucking 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 fucking 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 fucking
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