“You seriously didn’t have to hire movers,” Mollie said for the hundredth time as she watched two burly dudes easily maneuver yet another stack of boxes to Jackson’s guest room.

Jackson pointed at a barstool. “Sit. Relax. Want a beer?”

“No, I still need to unpack,” she muttered, reluctantly plopping onto the stool.

“Have a beer, Molls. Unpacking your nightstand contents isn’t like operating heavy machinery,” he said, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers.

“Clearly you don’t know what’s in my nightstand.”

Jackson lifted his eyebrows. “Exactly how big is your vibrator?”

“I meant I have like a zillion books.”

“Which are not breakable,” he said, handing her a beer. “And is that a no on the vibrator?”

She gave him a look as she took the bottle from his hand. “I just want to state for the record that I have moved several times, on my own, without the help of movers, and I could have done it again.”

“Moving yourself is for college kids. You’re an adult. Hire movers.”

“No, moving yourself is for people without extra income,” she said. “Snob.”

“So what was the plan?” he asked, tipping the bottle to his lips. “You were just going to maneuver all those big-ass boxes around with those skinny sticks you call arms?”

“Don’t be silly. I was going to hire some big beefy dudes from campus to help me. Perk of working at a university.”

Jackson was about to set his bottle on the counter but his hand froze, just for a second, and Mollie felt a sting of regret as she realized she’d inadvertently hit a nerve. Not so long ago, Jackson Burke had been absolutely the type of muscled guy friend who’d’ve been really helpful to have around on moving day. Her eyes flitted to his shoulder. Now he was the guy who wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting for a long time. Maybe ever.

She looked away, her brain scrambling to come up with a quick subject change.

Only maybe that wasn’t what he needed—for people to dance around his injury like it was the elephant in the room. Physically, he was on the road to recovery. He needed to get there mentally as well.

“You said the other night that it didn’t hurt,” she said. “Was that a big macho man moment?”

He stared at the counter. “I’ve told you. It’s fine.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Be a little more vague and manly.”

“Well, what do you want me to say, Molls?” he ground out. “That the pain wakes me up at night? That any motion more vigorous than brushing my teeth hurts like hell?”

“Are you going to physical therapy?” she asked, purposely ignoring the wounded-bear routine. That might scare off other people, but she was made of stronger stuff. Knew him better.

He looked away.

“Oh, Jackson.”

He shrugged. “What does it even matter? All the PT in the world isn’t going to help me play football again.”

“Well, gosh,” she said dramatically, “you may as well be dead.”

Jackson was in the process of taking a sip of beer and choked. “Jesus. You are such a smart-ass.”

“I’m just saying, you have a lot going for you,” she said, gentling her tone. “You don’t need a football in your hand or to help a girl move to be an amazing guy.”

“Yeah?” he said as he leaned on his forearms across the counter. “Want to tell me more about how I’m an amazing guy?”

If I did, I might never stop. Mollie cleared her throat. “Well, I would, but I’ve got to save up all my best compliments for my first-date script.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re dating?”

“Try to be a little more insulting,” she muttered.

“I just meant that I didn’t think there was anyone serious since that Shawn guy in grad school.”

Mollie was careful to hide her flinch. She told Jackson most things, but she’d never told him about that night. One did not ruin a marriage without proof, and Madison had sworn up and down that she’d only invited Shawn over to give him a don’t-mess-with-my-baby-sis talk.

Mollie had never gotten Shawn’s side of the story. He’d dumped her three days later due to “lack of chemistry.” Sadly, Mollie hadn’t even been able to disagree. The guy had never exactly set her loins on fire.

“There hasn’t been anyone serious,” Mollie told Jackson, taking a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the problem. I’m twenty-eight. I want to be dating for at least two years before I get married, then engaged for a year to plan my epic wedding. Then I want to be married for at least a year before the first kid—”

He held up a hand. “Stop. Too much math.”

She propped her chin on her hand and looked at him. “Does that mean you’re not going to fix me up with some hottie at Oxford?”

“Hell no.”

“Come on,” she coaxed. “I bet that place is dripping with hot guys.”

He winced. “Not answering that.”

“What if I gave you, like, a list of requirements, and you tell me if you’ve got a match?”

“Nope.” He took another sip of beer.

She plodded on anyway, just because it was kind of fun to see him a little bit discomfited. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Tall. Chiseled jaw. Muscular.”

“Chiseled jaw? What the fuck is that?”

She used her bottle to gesture at his jawline. “Look in the mirror.”

“Don’t be weird,” he muttered.

“Fine, but let’s go back to the hot guys at Oxford. Somehow I’m thinking that they’re a hell of a lot better-looking than the ones who work in the lab with me.”

He glared at her. “I wouldn’t let those guys anywhere near you.”

“Oh, come on. Set me up with one of the ones you’ve made friends with. Someone you trust.”

He looked away, and Mollie’s mouth dropped. “Jackson. You have made friends, right?”

“I mostly keep to myself,” he muttered.

“Do they keep to themselves?”

“Hell no. They’re always all up in everybody’s business. Especially mine.”

“Well, man up! Let them in. You need friends. Non-football friends for your non-football life.”

His eyes lit with anger, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. She’d meant to. He was too good a guy to become a hermit in his thirties.

“I’m not setting you up with one of them,” he said again as he took a sip of beer.

“But if you were going to set me up . . .”

“God. I’d forgotten how incapable you were of dropping stuff. Okay, fine. There’s a guy with dark hair and blue eyes, and his jaw could be considered . . . chiseled.”

Mollie fanned herself. “Name?”

“Lincoln Mathis.”

“Marital status?”

“Single. Jesus, you think I’d set you up with a married man?”

“Handsome?”

“Sure, Mollie. A total dreamboat.”

“Dreamboat, Burke?”

She could have sworn she saw him flush. “My mom uses the phrase.”

Oh my God, you’re cute. “Speaking of your mom, did she tell you that she dyed her hair pink for a day after losing a bet to one of her bridge friends?”

Jackson blinked in surprise. “Sure she told me, but how do you know about that?”

Mollie shrugged. “She mentioned it on the phone the other day.”

“You talk to my mom on the phone?” He looked stunned.

“Well, not like every day or anything,” she said, feeling uncomfortable. “But we keep in touch. I like her.”

Jackson was staring at her, and Mollie squirmed. “I guess I can stop if that’s weird for you.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s just . . . I didn’t know. I bet she loves that. She always wanted a daughter, and it’s not like . . . you know.”

Mollie did know. It wasn’t like Madison had been much of a daughter.

Mollie hadn’t witnessed much of Madison and Jackson’s early courtship; her sister had always made a big deal about not wanting to introduce a man into Mollie’s life until Madison was sure the man was there to stay. Back then, Mollie had thought this was sweet—had bought into her sister’s pretty words that Mollie had had too many people abandon her for Madison to put her through it again. It wasn’t until years later that Mollie wondered if Madison hadn’t merely been trying to plant put-a-ring-on-it thoughts in Jackson’s head.

But regardless of Madison’s motives, Mollie knew that in those early years Madison had been perfect, doting daughter-in-law material. But Jackson’s mother had once let it slip after one too many lemon drops that Madison had changed once the ring was on her finger. Subtly at first, being a little less considerate, a little more impatient. By the time Jackson and Madison had reached their three-year anniversary, Maddie had taken to claiming a “stomach bug” on major holidays to avoid the Burkes.

Jackson had tried to pretend that he was okay with it—that he understood family dynamics were hard for Madison because of the way she’d grown up. But Mollie knew it ate at him, knew that he desperately wished that the three most important people in his life had gotten along.

“Thanks,” Jackson said gruffly.

Mollie’s head shot up. “What?”

He lifted a shoulder. “For staying in touch with my mom. She always liked you. Although why she didn’t tell me you guys were all chatty is interesting.”

“She probably knew you were going to get weird about it,” Mollie said pointedly. “As far as her liking me, what can I say? I’ve got a knack with the sixty-and-older set,” she said with a little wink. “Now, if only the twenty-something guys were as easy to charm as your father. Say, like these Oxford guys.”

He groaned. “Drop it.”

“Fine. But if my eggs dry up, it’s on you.”

“You’ll find someone, Molls,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “Your mate-for-life worm, or whatever is out there.”

“Eh.” She waved her hand. “I’m guessing I’m going to have to relax my stance on that.”

Jackson frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that my eyes are open on that whole mate-for-life thing. I mean, when I was twenty, it was easier to focus on the scant few species that are loyal, but I’m twenty-eight . . .” She shrugged. “I just don’t know that monogamy’s all that realistic an expectation.”

He stared at her for several moments. “That’s bullshit. And pardon me if I want to pound every single jackass who’s had you believing you’re not deserving of a man’s loyalty.”

Um, what? This, from him? Really?

Mollie’s hand faltered a little as she reached for her beer, and his eyes narrowed. “What? What’s that look?”

She bit her lip and waited until the movers, who’d just reentered the apartment carrying a stack of boxes, had gone down the hall to her room.

“What, Mollie?”

She blew out a breath. Other than the wee crush on him she’d had back in the day, Mollie had never kept a secret from this man, and she wasn’t inclined to start now.

“Okay, it’s just . . . it seems a little hypocritical coming from you,” she said, the last words coming out in a nervous rush.

Jackson shook his head to indicate he didn’t understand, and Mollie felt a little stab of irritation. Was the man being deliberately obtuse?

“I mean . . . your own marriage wasn’t the most faithful. Yes, Madison had the affair first, and I’m sure you were hurt and pissed, and maybe a little vengeful, but, well, you weren’t exactly the worm.”

Jackson’s head snapped back. “You think I cheated on Madison?”

Mollie stilled, the sheer rage in his eyes freezing her in place. “I—”

Of course he had. Hell, Mollie wasn’t even sure she blamed him. She knew he’d tried desperately to get out of his marriage. Knew that in the last year he and Madison had barely been speaking, much less sharing a bed. It wasn’t that Mollie was cavalier about monogamy so much as realistic, and realistically, she couldn’t imagine him staying celibate while his estranged wife slept with half of Houston.

But the look on his face told her that perhaps she was dead wrong on that.

Jackson very slowly rounded the counter and moved toward her. Instinctively she leaned away. Not that she thought for a second that Jackson would hurt her, but he was mad. Really mad.

“You think I cheated on Madison,” he repeated, his voice little more than a growl.

She looked at him helplessly. “Well, sort of. I mean, I assumed, especially when all of those pictures and rumors about you and those women, and . . . well, you never denied it.”

“I shouldn’t have to!” he shouted, coming to stop just inches away from her. “Not to you, Mollie.”

Her lips parted, and she was saved from having to respond as the movers headed back out the front door to get another load. Mollie and Jackson stood silently, their eyes locked on each other, as they waited for the movers to retreat into the hallway and toward the service elevator.

“You didn’t cheat?” Mollie asked quietly.

“No.” His voice was clipped.

Mollie lifted her fingers to her lips, her mind reeling.

Jackson hadn’t cheated on Madison.

He wasn’t a cheater. Her heart jumped for joy, even as her mind tried to accept the fact that her sister had outright lied to her—to everyone.

But worse than any of that, Mollie had doubted him. And even now it was a struggle to wrap her mind around the fact that he had been loyal to a woman who long before had stopped acting like a wife.

She had doubted one of the people she cared about most.

Mollie’s eyes closed, struggling to sort everything out.

“You believed the media,” Jackson said, his voice completely devoid of emotion. “You didn’t even ask me.”

Her eyes opened and she reached out a hand. “Jackson—”

He backed away from her touch. “Don’t, Mollie. Just fucking don’t.”

“But wait, I didn’t know—”

“You should have.”

He walked away then, retreating down the hall toward his bedroom, shutting the door with a quiet click.

“Well,” she said to a silent room, “this is off to a great start.”