Page 45 of What Doesn't Kill You…

Violet stiffened and angled her head to look up at him. Her chocolate eyes were dark pools filled with worry. "Didn't she understand that the whole thing is fake?"

"Oh, she understood. She was being funny." Or, serious. Sometimes his mother heard things in his voice he wasn't ready to face or say yet. He wasn't sure what scenario was at play this time. "She's got a good sense of humor," he said, choosing to believe that’d been her intention.

"Good, that's good. And you warned her my mum might call?"

"I figured there was a chance. After all, your mum had all the information she needed to track my family down once she'd grilled me in the restaurant."

"Your mum sounds a whole lot more reasonable than mine," Violet said.

"She's a criminal lawyer who understands what lengths you sometimes have to go to in order to get the bad guy." And that sometimes, an obsession for justice can do more harm than good. She'd warned him of that on more than one occasion.

"And your father?" she asked a little tentatively, as though this personal information thing was new territory to her. And, from what he'd seen of Violet, it probably was. She tended to keep herself at arm's length, even from her teammates. He hadn't figured out yet if it was deliberate, or if she wasn't sure how to step over the invisible barrier she'd placed around herself.

Mysteries, mysteries, Violet Lee was full of them, and they pulled at him like nothing else could have. A mystery to a journalist? It was his catnip.

"Why don't you sit up and I'll give you a shoulder rub while we talk?" It was a risky ask, but honestly it looked like she needed it. Actually, they both might need it. Touching her was calming something deep inside of him and he wanted her to feel that too.

She thought about it before slowly nodding. "Okay."

Max felt a surge of relief, followed by triumph, as he stretched out his legs and spread them wide for her to sit between. Violet got herself into position, but the stiff body language and vulnerable expression were back in place.

"Bring your hair to the front, so it's out of my way," he said, making a show of clasping his hands and stretching them out. "Be prepared to be dazzled. I am the master of shoulder rubs."

She relaxed and moved her hair. Gently, Max clasped her shoulders and slowly began to rub away the tension. He smiled when she relaxed further under his touch.

"Your dad?" she prompted.

"I didn't know him. My mum was a teenage mother, and he ran off as soon as he got the news she was pregnant. I never bothered looking him up."

"Oh, was she okay? I mean…"

"Did she have support? Yeah. My grandparents are awesome. Mom and I stayed with them while she finished high school then worked her way through college. When I was fourteen, she met her husband, my stepdad." He paused. "Actually, I just call him dad. They had two more kids. I've got two younger sisters who're fifteen and seventeen." He smiled at the thought of them. Now they would be pissed about missing the wedding. They wouldn't care if it was real or not, they'd want to be there for the party.

"Your dad is a lawyer too?" Violet asked as she pressed back into his touch.

"Naw, he's an ice hockey coach."

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "That's a real thing?"

Max chuckled. "Definitely a real thing."

"How did they meet?"

He was surprised that the questions kept coming because Violet wasn't usually one for chatting about anything, unless it was about work. He liked this new relaxed Violet. He liked her very much.

"He was a witness in a case she was working," he said, rubbing at a knot near her nape. She let out a little sigh of pleasure that made his blood stir—and another part of his body that he thought might make Violet less relaxed. He looked down at his crotch and willed himself to relax. This wasn't the time to show an interest. He didn't want to scare her away.

"It sounds like you have a nice family," Violet said.

"I'm lucky," he said. "I'm even luckier they aren't here for this fake wedding. I've got a feeling our mothers would get on like a house on fire." He wondered where that particular idiom had come from. When you thought about it, it didn't make a whole lot of sense. Did it mean they'd get on so well it would cause friction that could burn the place down? Or that their friendship would ignite quickly like a house fire? Did house fires ignite that fast? Maybe it was?—

"Have you zoned out?" Violet said.

"Sorry," he said. "I was thinking about idioms."

She stilled before looking back at him with dark, unreadable eyes. "Do men usually think about idioms when they're giving a woman a shoulder rub?"

"No," he said ruefully. "My brain is a mysterious place."