“M-my ex-boyfriend,” she managed in a shaky whisper.
A long, uncomfortable silence greeted her words. She shot a side-glance at him and witnessed the precise second everything clicked in his head—witnessed the horrified dismay replacing the anger. Humiliation washed over her. She cursed the feeling. Someone she’d trusted had betrayed her in the worst possible way. She had nothing to be ashamed of, and yet she was. She hated voicing the terror she still carried years later, a fear so strong she had run from her life, changed her name. She hated admitting how one night had changed her.
“The obsessive training,” he muttered. “The weight difference. The fucking panic I’ve seen.”
The sting returned to her eyes, and she squeezed them closed. The fact that Lance had picked obsessive and panic to describe her behavior only made her feel more ashamed.
He slammed his palm on the back of bench. “What the fuck did he do?”
The display of fury had fresh tears pooling in her eyes, and she shot her gaze to him. There was no holding the tears back now. They ran freely, and she smothered a sob. He was so angry—for her.
“Jesus. I shouldn’t have—” He cupped her face and thumbed away the tears on one of her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
She leaned into his touch, holding his gaze, needing him to understand that her reaction had nothing to do with his show of anger. “I’m not afraid of you, Lance.”
That was a huge admission, coming from her. But she wasn’t. Somehow this large man had mended the trust that another large man had shattered. She wasn’t completely sure how. Maybe it’d been the patience he had with her as they trained, or the love he had for his daughter, or his vow to protect her, but she trusted that Lance would never physically harm her. Emotionally was a different story.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“It was a long time ago,” she whispered, pulling away from him then studying her clasped hands in her lap. As much as his touch comforted her, she needed to find the strength to share her story on her own.
“How long?”
Unsure if she could go through with this conversation, she took a few calming breaths. Shame still burned deep in her gut. She didn’t want to look at him while she spoke of the past. She wanted to get off this ride and run. The instinct to hide angered her. She’d done enough of that. The fear Randy had instilled in her had taken enough of her life. She lifted her gaze and met his. “Four years,” she said, feeling her emotional strength returning.
“Have you been hiding the entire time?”
“No.”
“Why now?”
She had a hard time grasping her reasoning sometimes. Irrational behavior was just that—irrational.
“He was sentenced to five years in prison. I tried to move on—thought I had—then he was approved for early release. I was supposed to have a couple more years with him behind bars. It’s amazing how quickly the feeling of being safe can change. For me, all it took was one phone call from my lawyer. All I heard was Randy vowing to finish me off. After that, terror drove me. It’s as simple as that.” She shrugged. “I quit my job, packed a suitcase, got a fake ID, and left.”
“Jesus. How long were you together?” he asked softly.
“Two years. I was never, not once, scared of him. Until the night he turned on me.”
“Was he on drugs?”
She wished that had been the case. Some foreign substances changing a person’s behavior, making them erratic and dangerous—that she could grasp a little easier.
“No. He had a temper. Got in a few fights with guys. When we’d get into a screaming match, he’d hit the wall or throw something sometimes, but it was never physically directed at me. Though, he did grab me a few times when things really got heated between us, but he would immediately release me and walk across the room. I thought he had control over his anger.”
“But he didn’t.”
“Not that night. He believed I was cheating on him with an intern at the hospital. I wasn’t, but nothing I said would convince him otherwise, and he just snapped. One minute we were in a heated argument, like we had been many times before, the next he backhanded me into the wall…and didn’t stop.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek from the pressure of his clenched jaw. Raw rage exuded from him. She didn’t feel an ounce of trepidation at his reaction.
“Any man who lays a hand on a woman is dog shit. I fucking hate that you went through that.”
Again she was comforted by his reaction. She didn’t feel judged or pitied.