I took another swallow of beer then lowered the bottle, trying to decide how to answer his question. Boyfriend? I had no idea, hadn't even given it any thought.
I dropped my gaze to the floor and shrugged. "Something like that, I guess."
"Morgan says you play for the Bourdons."
"Yeah. Defense."
Brandon touched his nose and laughed, the sound richer than I expected. "I'm not surprised."
"About that—I'm sorry. I have no idea what I was thinking and no excuse—"
"You saw me with Morgan. Totally understandable."
"Doesn't excuse what I did."
"Maybe, but I understand."
The loud bang made me jump. Brandon and I both turned to look at Morgan in time to see her slam her fist against the counter a second time. Her face glowed a dull red and her green eyes darkened with anger.
"Stop it, both of you!"
"Morgan—"
"No. Just...just shut up. I can't believe you two are acting like everything is fine."
"It was a misunderstanding, love."
"He hit you! For no reason."
"There was a reason."
Morgan's narrowed gaze fixed on Brandon with a fierce anger that surprised me—and made a small part of me glad that she was focused on him instead of me.
"Because we were holding hands? How stupid is that?" She turned and focused the full blast of her anger on me. "You should have hit me instead!"
I stared at her, stunned into speechlessness. Hit her? Did she honestly think I'd ever do anything like that?
"Morgan, don't be ridiculous—"
She turned back to Brandon. "Why is that ridiculous? I was holding your hand! If he thought I was with you, then he should have hit me instead!"
"You're upset, love. When you calm down, you'll understand—"
"Upset? Upset? No, I'm not upset. I'm...I'm furious. I just—" She clamped her mouth shut and jumped from the stool. "I'm done. With both of you."
I moved around the small island, ready to throw myself at her feet if it would stop her from leaving. "Morgan, wait."
Brandon caught my arm and shook his head. "Could you give us a minute, Dylan?"
I wanted to say no. Not just no, but hell, no. I knew there was nothing between them but that didn't stop the small flash of jealousy flaring in my chest. He'd been her fiancé. If she hadn't left when she did, he'd be her husband. It didn't matter that the marriage would have been a fake one, they would still be married.
Maybe that was why I finally stepped back. If I couldn't reach her, maybe Brandon could. As odd as it sounded, he was probably more neutral than I could ever be.
I nodded and climbed the steps to the main living area then sat on the sofa. I wanted to give them privacy but the apartment was only so big. My concession was staring straight ahead at the blank television screen instead of turning to watch them.
That lasted for maybe twelve-point-two seconds. I shifted, just enough that I could watch them from the corner of my eye without being too obvious about it.
They were standing near the door. Morgan's arms were tightly crossed in front of her and her entire body was rigid with fury. Brandon's hands were on her shoulders and he leaned in close, talking in a voice so low that I couldn't make out any words. Whatever he was saying, I didn't think it was working because Morgan didn't relax at all.
I dropped my head and ran both hands through my hair, barely refraining from tearing it out. Fucked up? No, I'd gone way beyond that, so far beyond that there wasn't even a strong enough word for it.
And there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Nothing I said would help. Hell, I doubted Morgan would even listen to anything I had to say.
The hell of it was, I wasn't sure I could blame her.
"Dylan."
I jerked my head up and looked over at Brandon. One corner of his mouth quirked in a small smile but I didn't know if that was a good sign or not. Morgan still looked pissed but at least her body seemed to have relaxed some.
Maybe.
I pushed off the sofa and descended the five steps in one leap. As anxious as I was to get closer, I stopped a few feet away from them and waited.
"I've convinced Morgan to stay here and talk with you." Brandon's gaze slid to her and his smile grew a little wider, if only for a brief second. "In a reasonable manner. Isn't that right, love?"
Morgan glared at him, her anger and resentment clear on her face. Seconds passed by before she nodded, the motion short and irritated.
"She also has my word that she can stay with me if things don't work out—but only as long as she acts reasonable. Is that acceptable to you?"
I glanced at Morgan then turned back to Brandon and nodded.
"Excellent. Dylan, I trust that you're smart enough to know when a certain amount of groveling is called for—and intelligent enough to know when it's not." There was a hidden message in the man's clear gaze, one I wasn't entirely sure I understood.
Or maybe I was worried that I did understand and just wasn't sure what to do about it.
"Morgan, you promise to listen, like a reasonable adult."
"This is stupid—"
"This is anything but and you know it. Don't let your stubbornness get in the way. And please try to refrain from running away. That worked for us but I'm afraid the results might be completely different in this case."
"Brandon—"
"Is leaving." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Morgan's forehead then turned and offered me a wink. "You're both invited to dinner tomorrow evening. Morgan has the address."
As much as I appreciated his confidence, I wasn't sure it was deserved. He didn't give either of us a chance to respond though because in the next minute, he was gone.
Then it was just the two us. Morgan and me.
And the thick tension in the air that pressed down on us.
Neither of us moved for the longest time, so long that I started to wonder if we'd just stay where we were until one or both of us collapsed.
I finally took a step toward her then skidded to a stop when she jerked back. Her gaze darted to the door and I was positive she was going to make a run for it after all.
"Morgan, please." My voice was thick and hoarse, the sound surprising even me. Could she hear the plea in the words? Maybe, because she looked at me, her eyes meeting mine for a brief second. It was the first she had looked at me, really looked at me, since we'd come back here. It wasn't much, but I'd take it.
I pointed to the small dining room table. "Can we talk?"
She hesitated then slowly moved toward me—and right past me as she made her way to the table. I detoured through the kitchen and grabbed the pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator then poured two glasses. Whatever conversation we were going to have probably called for something stronger but Morgan didn't drink so tea would have to do.
I placed one glass in front of her then sat down.
And waited.
Minutes stretched around us, long and heavy with silence. I knew I had to be the one who started but I had no idea what to say. The truth would make me sound petty and jealous and pathetic, maybe even desperate. I wasn't sure I wanted that.
I wasn't sure I had any other choice.
I curled both hands around the glass and spun it several times before taking a deep breath and releasing it.
"I—I'm sorry. I was out of line. I overreacted."
Her gaze slid to mine then just as slowly slid away. The disbelief in the depth of her green eyes had been clear. So had the irritation and anger.
"I've been out of my mind since Jacqui called this morning—"
"Jacqui called?"
"Yeah. Everyone was—"
"She shouldn't have. It didn't concern you."
Anger bubbled inside me and I tamped it down, though probably not as well as I could have. "The hell it didn't. Everything about you concerns me."
"No, Dylan, it doesn't."
Her message was loud and clear. As
far as she was concerned, there was nothing between us. Is that what she really thought, or was it a defense mechanism on her part?
I didn't know. All I knew was that if she really felt that way, it was my fault for not letting her know otherwise.
I stared into the glass, wondering what to say to change her mind. Would it even matter? Would she believe me, or would it be too little, too late?
I sucked in a deep breath and forced myself to ask a question I wasn't sure I wanted the answer to. "Why do you think it doesn't concern me?"
"Because we're not together, Dylan."
"Is that what you really think?"
"It's what I know." She raised the glass to her mouth. I didn't miss the way her hands shook, or the film of moisture in her eyes that she quickly blinked away.
And I knew. Just like that, I knew. This was an act on her part. No, not an act. That made it sound like she was doing this on purpose, vying for sympathy or something, and Morgan wasn't like that.
This was her way of protecting herself. Of defending against any possible hurt. She was used to being independent, of not relying on anyone else. I'd always suspected that she held herself apart from everyone else, that she threw up thick walls and didn't allow herself to get close to anyone.
Only those walls had weakened this past month and I think that scared her. Didn't she know people cared about her? Not just me—although what I felt went far beyond caring. She had friends in Addy and Jacqui, even Nathan, even though he'd been more cautious at first. Hell, even some of the guys on the team had warmed up to her and expressed their own worry when they heard what had happened.
"Do you have any idea how worried everyone has been? Jacqui was damn near frantic when she called."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"She was. Nobody knew what was going on, especially after you sent Addy's attorney away."
"I couldn't afford him."
"I don't think anyone expected you to pay."
"Doesn't matter because I didn't need him."
Did the fact that Morgan was finally talking mean we were making progress? As much as I wanted to think so, I knew better. I could hear the defensiveness in her voice, the underlying desperation to keep herself apart from everyone.
I couldn't let that happen.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dylan
It felt like hours had passed but it had been only minutes. Long, agonizing minutes. It was painfully obvious that Morgan didn't want to be here, sitting across from me. If I waited too much longer to say or do something, she might really get up and leave. The problem was, I wasn't sure what to say or do.
I finally reached across the table and placed a hand over hers. Not surprisingly, she started to pull away so I tightened my grip. Not a lot, just enough to let her know I didn't want her to. I held my breath, my lungs burning with it, and waited to see what she would do.
She didn't pull her hand away.
I squeezed her fingers then exhaled in relief. It was a start.
Maybe.
"I've been freaking out since Jacqui called this morning. I got so bad at one point that I thought Coach was going to sit on me."
Her gaze slid to mine but she didn't say anything so I kept talking.
"When Jacqui said nobody knew where you were, that you might have even left—that you were trying to leave yesterday—I lost it." My voice sounded strained so I sucked in a deep breath then let it out in a short bark of desperate laughter. "I had to wait for more than four fucking hours to get back here and each minute was torture, not knowing what was going on. Not knowing if you'd left. Not knowing if you were okay or not."
Morgan's fingers twitched under mine, the only sign that she'd actually heard anything I said.
"I was fine. Brandon found out what his mother tried to do and came to get me."
"I—I'm glad he was there for you." And I was...mostly.
"Yeah. That's why you went after him."
"I didn't—" I stopped before I dug myself deeper into any hole. "I wasn't thinking. I was worried about you, trying to figure out where you might be. When I saw you together, I just..."
I grabbed my glass of tea and downed half of it in a single gulp, hoping that might help with the scratchy burn in my throat. It didn't, not really. Neither did the deep breath I took.
"I've never been jealous of anyone before in my life, Morgan. But when I saw your hand in his, I just...I don't know what happened. I don't want to say I lost it but I did."
"You were jealous? Of Brandon?"
"Yeah."
"But there's no need to be jealous of him."
"Yeah, I know that now. But I didn't know who he was. All I saw was some good looking guy walking with you, his hand wrapped around yours, and...yeah, I was fucking jealous. Okay? It was wrong. Hitting him was wrong. But that doesn't change how I feel."
Morgan jerked her hand from mine and sat back, staring at me with an expression I didn't understand. And fuck, I'd gone too far. Said too much. My voice had been strained and angry and there was nothing I could say or do to explain my reaction. At least, nothing that would help. Not now.
"How you feel?" Morgan's voice was strangely hollow, maybe even a little distant. I stared at her for several seconds then pushed away from the table. I needed to move, to do something with the pent-up energy building inside me for reasons I didn't understand.
I paced back and forth for several minutes then stopped in front of her and dragged both hands though my hair. I couldn't look at her—was afraid to look at her—but that didn't stop me from talking.
"Yeah, how I feel. What the hell do you think we've been doing for the last month, Morgan? Playing house?"
"You were just letting me stay here—"
"Bullshit! You think that's all there is to it? That you were just staying here? Was sleeping with me just your way of saying thank you?"
Morgan jumped to her feet, anger flashing in her face. "I would never do something like that."
"And neither would I!" I spun around and started pacing again, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. I almost bumped into Morgan but she stepped out of my way before I did. I had no idea what she saw on my face then realized that was probably a good thing. If she could see what I was thinking and feeling, she'd probably run away.
Again.
Fuck.
I turned and braced both hands against the counter, my mind warring with my gut as I tried to figure out what to say. How could I say anything, when I still wasn't sure what it was I felt?
All I knew was that I wanted Morgan to stay. The thought of not seeing her when I got home, the thought that I might never see her again...my stomach clenched, rebelling at the idea that my fear might become a reality.
I kept my gaze focused on the granite countertop and forced the words from my mouth, knowing they wouldn't make sense. Not to her, maybe not even to myself.
"Before you showed up here, this was just the place where I slept." I cringed as soon as the words left my mouth them sucked in a deep breath and tried again.
"I mean, I never really enjoyed coming home. I never even really thought of this place as home. But now—I mean, I look forward to it. To seeing you, I mean. I enjoy waking up next to you and having you fall asleep in my arms and even the little sounds you make when you sleep, like this cute little snore that isn't really a snore and..."
Shit. I was screwing this up and making things even worse. I heard Morgan shift behind me and figured she was probably getting ready to leave. How could I blame her? I mean, hell, what woman wanted to hear that she snored?
I started talking again, faster this time in an attempt to get everything out—and possibly dig myself in even deeper.
"I love having you here with me. I love the time we spend together, even if it's just curled up in front of the television. And I know we don't go out nearly as much as we should and that's my fault and there are so many places I still want to take you. There's Preservation Hall for the jazz music and museum
s and about a dozen different tours we haven't even looked at yet."
I paused long enough to catch my breath—and long enough to listen for footsteps. But Morgan hadn't moved toward the door, she was still behind me, and I could only hope that was a good sign.
"I know I screwed up when I fell asleep the other night, that night you cooked dinner. And I never apologized or told you how good it was and that's all my fault because it was delicious. Nobody's ever cooked for me before and I never even fucking said thank you and how big an ass does that make me? I mean—"
"You cook me breakfast."
My heart slammed into my chest at her words. Did they mean anything, or was she just offering me a way out of the hole I'd dug?
I pulled in another deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned around. She was standing a few feet away, watching me with those gorgeous green eyes of hers—and I had no idea what she was thinking.
And I was tired of playing games. Tired of playing it safe. Maybe I didn't know exactly how I felt but I knew what I wanted:
Morgan.
I wanted to reach for her, to pull her into my arms and hold her against me and never let her go. The urge was strong enough that it worried me because it might end up scaring her off instead so I jammed my hands into the front pockets of my jeans.
"Morgan, I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay. Here. With me."
"Why?"
Why. Of course, she'd ask why. One little word. Three stupid letters.
And I had no idea how to answer.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again only to have a pathetic little croak come out. Morgan just stood there, watching me. I thought maybe her mouth might have twitched in a small smile but that was probably just wishful thinking on my part.
"Dylan?"
I nodded, no idea why. Then I realized she was waiting for an answer.
Could I give it to her? Even if I could, was it the answer she wanted to hear?
"Morgan, I—" I hesitated, probably too long because her shoulders slumped and she looked away. Instinct told me I had maybe three seconds to recover and even then, it would be long shot that the recovery would be successful.
"I don't want to lose you, Morgan. I'm not sure exactly what we have between us but I know there's something there and I don't want to lose that. I want to see where it goes and I think you maybe want the same thing, too. That's all I'm asking for, Morgan. A chance to see what we could really have together."
Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2) Page 16