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“I did some things I should have done long before now.” He paused, waiting until she looked over at him. “I saw my attorney.” He waited for that to soak in. “He’s going to file the divorce as contested. The authorities will be looking for Sylvie now. I won’t much longer.”
She frowned. “What do you mean, much longer?” This didn’t sound good and the look on his face didn’t help.
“My dad was an abusive asshole,” he said without preamble. “He treated Jack and me like punching bags. As soon as I graduated, I got out and on the road. I knew I needed money and fast, so I drove dangerous loads for extra money and started bulking up.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to make sure he’d never hurt Jack or me again.”
She wanted to stop him but knew this was what he needed to say, and she needed to hear it.
“I met people—” His eyes grew distant and pain-filled. “People who noticed, and I started fighting in back-alley matches. It was more money than I’d ever thought I’d make. It allowed me to get my brother out of Dad’s house and put him through college.”
Then she realized what he was telling her. She carefully set the bowl aside and stepped over to him. “That’s what you did the other night? How you got hurt?” The bruises had faded, but they were far from gone.
“Not exactly. I went there, yes.” He shot to his feet as if he couldn’t sit any longer. He paced the length of the pastry table, then turned to face her. “That’s how Sylvie and I originally met. At those fights. I heard of one here and I went to see if I could find her.”
“And did you?”
“Yeah?” His answer was more question than affirmation. He paced again. “I found her, but a guy called Bull got between her and me.” He flinched and rubbed his jaw with his hand as if it still hurt. “He’s a mean one. I’ve beat him before, but that was a long time ago.”
“You can’t go back there,” she said, moving closer to him, knowing full well that’s what he intended. “I—” How could she tell him she wouldn’t let him? She didn’t control him. They barely had a friendship.
“I am going back, Tara.” He stopped just inches away from her and put his hands on her shoulders. “That’s part of why I’m telling you this. I’m scheduled to fight tomorrow night.”
“No!”
“I’m committed. And before you get all upset, I’m not just going in there to find her. Another person I saw at home was a high school buddy of mine who’s a cop.” He laughed like that was a big joke.
“What did he say? He told you not to do it, right?”
“Not exactly. We talked, that’s all. I know I can’t continue fighting. Besides not wanting to, it’s only a matter of time before the cops find out. I can’t afford a record. But for now—” He shrugged. “It’s my only choice.”
Jack’s words echoed in her mind. Talk him out of it. Morgan would think she was crazy if she laughed aloud instead of just inside her head. Yeah, it sounded so easy. Not. She put the finished batter into the cake pan, then wiped her hands on the towel at her waist.
Morgan headed toward the door. She reached out, grabbing the loose fabric of his shirtsleeve, then moved her hand to curl around his arm. The splint was gone, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was really healed. Remembering how he’d looked after that last fight made her shiver.
“Don’t go,” she whispered, then cleared her throat and reiterated, “Stay here.”
He looked at her hand, then into her eyes. “I’m not going to change my mind.” But he didn’t pull away.
She stared at his throat, where there was no visual evidence of that long-ago injury. The rasp in his voice that Jack had mentioned stood out now. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She’d never admit it to Jack, or even to Morgan himself, but that growl was part of what made him so appealing, part of what sent shivers up and down her spine.
What else was damaged inside him?
“I—I know.” She took a tiny step closer to him. “I mean now. Tonight. Stay here. With me.”
