On her nightstand, photos in silver frames showed Danica with an older man and woman he assumed were her parents. He frowned at the photo of a young man, handsome and confident in a football uniform. An old boyfriend? One she kept close to her pillow?
He must have moved, for Danica blinked awake. She looked up at him with a smile on her face, but it faded when she followed the direction of his gaze.
“That’s my family,” she said.
“I thought they were your parents. They look happy.”
“They are.” She paused. “Well, mostly.”
“And the other photo?” He tried to sound casual.
She shifted away from him. He missed the tangle of her bare legs with his. “My brother. Matt.”
“I didn’t know you had siblings.”
“Just the one. He’s eight years younger. My mom said he was her best surprise ever. I think so too.”
“You sound close.”
“I was old enough to help with his care. Sometimes Matt jokes he doesn’t have a sister, he has another mother.”
He indicated the photo. “He plays football?”
She nodded. “He was a gifted athlete—basketball, baseball, soccer, you name it. But his true love was football.”
“You said ‘was.’ He doesn’t play now?”
“You caught that.” She thinned her lips into a straight line, and then slowly released them. “Matt is a senior in high school. Colleges started to scout him during last season. Oh, not big programs like Stanford or USC. Smaller schools. His coaches told us if he played well this year, he might get a full scholarship. I can’t tell you how much that would’ve meant to my parents.” He caught the glint of tears in her eyes.
“What happened?”
She brushed the moisture away. “His helmet—we still don’t know why, but it flew off when he took a big hit. He lost consciousness and when he woke up, he couldn’t move his arms and legs. The doctors said he suffered partial cervical spinal-cord shock. It was a miracle he didn’t break his neck.”
“I’m sorry.” He picked up the hand closest to him and held it tightly, hoping his grip would say what his words were too inadequate to convey.
She exhaled deeply. “The doctors don’t believe the effects will be permanent. But he hasn’t responded well to conventional treatment. And, obviously, the schools have stopped calling.”
He pulled her to him, nestling her head against his chest. “Why didn’t you say anything before this?”
He felt her shrug. “It’s not anyone’s business but ours,” she said after minute. “Mine and my family’s.”
“I could’ve helped.” His mind raced with avenues to explore, favors to call in. Medevco, the company Evan Fletcher and Grayson Monk pitched at Monte Carlo Night—weren’t they involved in cutting-edge medical research? He was sure he’d read something about rehabilitating spinal-cord injuries in the prospectus they sent him.
She raised her head. “You have helped. Why do you think I accepted your job offer? We needed the money.”
“I thought...” He stopped. The truth was his parents showed him everyone had a price. He thought he’d named hers. “I needed your skills, I made you an offer, you accepted. It’s not a complicated equation.”
She sat up and looked down at him. Golden curls hung in her face, begging him to twist them around his fingers and pull her face to his so he could kiss her senseless. Before he could suit action to thought, she gathered her tresses into a bun and tucked in the ends so it stayed put. “Your offer was preposterous.”
Now it was his turn to sit up. “You said yes.”
“Because I love my family and want to help them.” Her gaze, which had been pinning his in place, dropped to the bedspread. “And, yes, now I can start my own executive search agency. But if we hadn’t been desperate to pay for Matt’s therapy, I wouldn’t have jumped like I did.”
Her sheets, which previously had felt silky smooth, began to chafe. He couldn’t find a comfortable spot. “It was a generous offer.”
“I agree. And I appreciate being able to help my family. I owe you a lot.”