Page 10 of Better than Famous

Then I dropped my gaze to her hands. They were shaking violently. She stood defensive and terrified, waiting for me to pull out a phone and ask for a selfie or sell her out to the guy in the parking lot. She wasn’t a celebrity right now. She was a patient. She was a woman in distress who had run off the road and been stripped of her security. The fame didn’t matter.

I made a choice. I decided, right then and there, that I didn’t care who she was to the rest of the world. To me, she was just someone who needed help.

"Kate Green," I repeated, keeping my voice perfectly neutral. I didn’t blink. I didn’t let a flicker of recognition cross my face.

She peered at me from under the wig, holding her breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Right. Well, Kate, I see your discharge papers." I gestured to the yellow folder tucked under her arm. "I assume you’re cleared to go. You have a ride coming?"

She stared at me for a long second, confusion warring with relief. I hadn’t taken the bait. I hadn’t called her out. The tension in her shoulders unspooled a fraction. "I’m released. I’m just... trying to line up a ride. I need to make some calls."

"It’s almost midnight," I pointed out. "And there’s a storm sitting on top of us. Most of the hotels are booked for Fantasy Fest, and the ones that have a room won’t take a walk-in without a credit card."

She flinched. I’d hit the nerve.

"I’ll figure it out." Her voice was brittle, but I admired how firm her jaw was. "I can sleep in the... well, I don’t have a car. I’ll stay here. In the lobby."

"You can’t stay in the lobby. Security will kick you out in an hour."

"Then I’ll sit outside!" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "Why do you care? You did your job. You rescued me. You even returned my jewelry. You chased away the bad guy. You can go now."

She breathed in short jerky gasps. “Kate Green” was cornered, broke, injured, and defending her pride with everything she had left. Exhaustion was etched into the lines around her mouth, and she was favoring her wrapped ankle. She was a woman who had absolutely no one in her corner.

My sanctuary was sacred to me. My cottage was the one place where I didn’t have to be the hero, the paramedic, or the brother. It was quiet. It was mine. But I couldn’t leave her here.

"I have a spare room," I said. The words were out before I could check them with my brain.

She froze. "What?"

"I have a spare room that’s at the opposite end of the house from mine." I kept my voice clinical. I framed it like a logic problem, not a charity case. "It has a lock on the door. It’s clean. It’s dry."

"You’re inviting me to your house?" She stared at me like I’d suggested we rob a bank. "You don’t even know me."

"I know you’re hurt. I know you’re broke. And I know you have nowhere else to go." I crossed my arms. "I live on a dead-end road on Dove Key. Nobody comes down there unless they’re invited. It’s private. If you’re trying to hide from that guy with the camera, it’s the best place on the island."

The tension in her shoulders dropped another inch. The promise of hiding, of anonymity, was the bait. She studied me closely. "Why? Why would you do that?"

I shifted my weight, uncomfortable with the question. I didn’t want to talk about redemption. I didn’t want to talk about how using my size to protect someone felt like penance for all the years I used it to hurt people.

"Because it’s raining," I said gruffly. "You have no place to go, and I can help. Besides, leaving you here seems like a lot of paperwork if I have to come back and treat you for hypothermia later."

She studied me, her eyes darting to my boots, my hands, my face. She was looking for the lie, looking for the catch.

"One night," she said.

"One night. I’ll take you to a shelter or a bus station in the morning."

She took a deep breath and put the locket around her neck like a protective charm. "Okay. Okay, thank you."

"My truck is outside. Ready?"

"Very," she replied immediately and shifted. She wobbled as soon as weight hit her bad ankle, a hiss of pain escaping her teeth.

"Sit down, Kate." I reached out to steady her. “Let me get a wheelchair.”

"No." She pulled away from my hand, her jaw set in a stubborn line. "I’ve been sitting for hours. I can walk to your truck."

She took a step and stumbled. I stepped in, not to catch her, but to offer a solid wall of support. I turned my side to her, offering my arm.