Chapter Four
The week was movingtoo slowly. Morgan struggled to find a bar that was comparable to Carter's, but it wasn't happening. She was in denial, but knew deep down it was because of Ryder. It wasn't the same to go into a bar where she couldn't picture him standing there, his warm smile greeting her. She was acting stupid, and she knew that, but she couldn't get his soulful brown eyes out of her head. He’d saved her from a guy who most likely would've roughed her up before taking advantage of her drunkenness. Instead, Ryder had taken her to his apartment, and . . . and, what? She couldn't remember. He'd said they didn't sleep together, that she'd passed out on his bed, and he'd slept on the couch. But she had these—what? Flashbacks? Subconscious feelings? She saw him standing by the door. Felt his hands on her back, on her breasts. And then, nothing. She woke up feeling groggy, thinking she was either alone, or she had to run beforehecame out of the bathroom.
But then there Ryder was, sitting on the couch watching her. Suggesting she join him for breakfast, as though that was the most normal thing in the world. Morgan didn't do the next morning well. She got up as soon as she sensed the sun and ran. Names and addresses and how do you do's were not only unimportant, they were downright terrifying. Better to move on before the guy woke up and wanted to touch her while she was painfully sober.
No, nothing felt right anymore. She couldn't get Ryder out of her head, and her head was messed up enough without adding to it. No out-of-town bar made her happy, so she knew she'd wind up back at Carter's to see Ryder. Wondering why he hadn't taken her to bed, because she knew how she got when she was wasted. Excellent self control was apparently his superhero talent, damn it all.
She was especially worried because her parents were bugging her to make an appearance back home, and she couldn't tolerate her parents. But there was some fancy dinner or some fancy party to show off her parents' new line of clothing. Or coats, or swimsuits, or who knew what. They wanted their rent-a-daughter present, and Morgan was having a hard time coming to terms with it. Should she go? Should she avoid them like she almost always did?
It was Thursday, one more day until she would give in and go back to Carter's. Three days until her parents were expecting her. Having just left the liquor store, she was walking back to Hannah and Owen’s with her head down, twisting the top off a mini bottle. Just as she lifted her head to take a swig, her phone rang. Seeing Hannah’s name on the display, she answered immediately.
“Hey, cuz.”
“Morgan. I have bad news.”
The tone of her voice caused Morgan to freeze in her tracks, her spine tingling and her belly clenching in fear. Sweat popped out on her forehead, and she thought she might throw up. Her heart started racing, galloping in her chest like a wild horse about to charge across a river. She went icy cold, her fingers numb.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“He’s out. He has to stay in Houston or he’ll violate his parole.”
Morgan had begged God to kill her in that man's presence, but instead he’d remained in her home, taunting her. No one had believed her story, and no one cared when she broke down in hysterics in the middle of the schoolroom in her parents' home. Because he stared her down like he owned her every time her parents forced her to remain in his presence.
Hannah said something else over the phone, but Morgan's lungs weren't working, and her brain was stuck. She found her legs wouldn't move. A stranger stopped on the sidewalk beside her, asking if she was all right. They touched her shoulder, and it must have been the physical contact that broke her trance. She ran in the other direction, past the point when she thought her heart would explode, ran when she couldn't catch her breath, and ran on even though she was pretty sure she was lost. She stopped short when she came to a certain diner, positive she resembled a cartoon character putting on the brakes. She looked in, but he wasn't there. The feeling of being stalked wouldn't leave her, despite the fact that she’d nearly circled all of Abbott in her need to flee. Chest heaving, stomach churning, she lost what was in her stomach. When the nausea subsided, she wiped her mouth with the bottom of her shirt and looked around, not recognizing anyone. They went about their day as though her entire world hadn't collapsed around her again.
Crying, sobbing really, she found the somewhat familiar apartment building and climbed the stairs, sliding to the floor bonelessly in the corner outside his door.
~~~
IT HAD BEEN A HARDday. Temps were hovering in the high nineties and his muscles ached. A new blister had formed on his heel, and he was out of moleskin. His day started twelve hours ago, and now he wanted a hot shower, a beer, maybe something from the diner for dinner, then the blessed comfort of his bed.
He heard a noise as he ascended the stairs to his apartment, but couldn't make out what it was. It grew louder as he climbed, so he found himself sweeping the area with his gaze. What he found in the corner by his door astounded him. Without conscious thought, he kneeled in front of the woman and put his hands on her shoulders.
"Hey, is everything okay?" He brushed tangled brown hair out of the woman's face, gasping as recognition hit. "Morgan?"
Trembling violently and muttering incoherently, she flinched when he touched her, but looked up when he said her name. The expression on her face was agonizing.
"Please don't." She seemed to repeat this to herself as a mantra. “Please don’t, please don’t.”
Confused, Ryder nevertheless kept his hands to himself. "Do you want to come inside?"
Morgan looked up again and stared at him, eventually seeming to recognize him. Ryder unlocked the door and opened it, then stood there and waited. Finally, he put his hand out toward Morgan. She accepted it, then dropped his hand once he’d helped her up. She went in and sagged onto the loveseat, dropping her head in her hands. Ryder went to the bathroom to take a shower while she decided if she would tell him what was wrong. He spent as much time as the hot water would allow, brushing his teeth in the shower out of habit, then got out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He realized he didn't have clean clothes in the bathroom, and there was a crying woman in his living room.Ah, hell.
He emerged and went straight to the dresser, pulling out clothing quickly. Suddenly, there were hands on his bare back, running up either side of his spine. He shivered as desire hit him hard in the gut, then spun to face Morgan. Before he could protest, or think why he should, she crushed her mouth to his. He didn't know what he was doing, but he mimicked her, slanting his mouth to match hers. She probed her tongue into his mouth, and he moaned loudly. Her hands were on his chest, rubbing around from his shoulders to his waist. Arms hanging at his sides, he stood there, not at all sure what was going on.
When her hands went to the towel, he snapped out of his haze, grabbing her hands to stop her. He broke away from the kiss, leaning away from her, then stepping back several paces so he could grab his clothes and dress. In the bathroom. Away from the sex-crazed Morgan.
He came back out of the bathroom fully dressed, finding her standing in front of his tiny window. She turned, staring at him with those sad eyes, darker in her distress. He waited, hoping she'd say something. But she didn't, so he went to the kitchen to grab two cans of beer, walking to her and holding one over her shoulder. She snorted.
"What, beer too déclassé for you?" he asked in irritation.
Shaking her head, she opened it and chugged. Ryder sat on the loveseat, opening his own beer. "I'm confused, Morgan. Why are you here? Sunday morning, you could barely sit still long enough to have breakfast at the same booth as me, and today I find you sobbing outside my door."
"I was molested." The admission was so quiet, Ryder wasn't sure he heard correctly. Before he could fully react, she continued. "Starting from the age of fourteen; he was a tutor of mine." She finally moved away from the window and sat on the arm of the loveseat. "I suppose there's some back story that needs to be told, but the gist is, I found out he got out of prison today. It triggered a goddamn panic attack, and I ran. I found myself down the street and didn't know where else to go."
"He's out of jail already?" Ryder was still confused.
She snorted again. "He had a good defense lawyer who almost helped him go free. He served two years for inappropriate touching of a minor. Fucker."
