anger on me.”
My eyes filled with tears. Tears of sadness and horror. “How… how old were you?”
“Eight.”
My eyes widened, and I forgot about the sheet, crawling across the bed to kneel behind him, wrap my arms around his waist and place my head against his strong back.
He set a hand over my forearm and gripped tightly. “By the time I was in seventh grade, I had enough anger in me to start fights in school. I was suspended all the time but couldn’t tell my dad, so I left the house in the morning, pretending to go to school. My gym teacher, God,” he sighed. “Mr. Johns. He saved me. He recognized what others missed, that something was going on at home. At gym class, he made me do extra laps to burn off the anger. After school one day, he took me to a boxing gym in the little town.”
“He just took you?” I thought of Chris’ private school gym teacher just driving him to a boxing gym. He’d get fired and possibly arrested for the action.
“My dad didn’t give a shit where I was as long as when it came time for a happy family photo I was there. It was different back then anyway. I went with Mr. Johns, grudgingly, but found an outlet in the structure of boxing. The rules, the ability to use my hands, to beat the shit out of someone and not get in trouble.”
I kissed the warm skin of his back, urging him without words to continue, that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I started to box competitively, but that wasn’t enough. The gym added karate and Muay Thai classes, and I took them all. It was better to hang out at the gym than at home. My grades improved, my fighting at school stopped. I owe it all, including graduating, to Mr. Johns. The week after graduation, I went into the Marines. I couldn’t get any farther from my dad than where Uncle Sam could send me. The Middle East was easy.”
I didn’t think that was the case, but based on what he was sharing, perhaps he was right. “If you were able to get away from him, why is he calling you now?”
“He’s followed my career. My tours overseas. Everything.” He released my arm and turned, so he could face me. “Kept tabs on me. I’m the only person who can truly hurt him, his career. He can’t kill me like he did my mom, but he can fuck with me. Ruin any happiness I have.”
He turned his head, so his eyes met mine. Lifting a hand, he stroked his fingers over my cheek. “He’s trying to get to me through you.”
I grasped his hand and held it in place. “Why? I don’t understand. You haven’t done anything to him, even joined the military to get away. Why doesn’t he just leave you alone?”
His eyes narrowed in frustration. “Heard the name Edward Green?”
I frowned, the name meaning nothing, then I remembered. “Holy crap, Gray. You mean Green Acres, the retirement homes?”
He nodded. “Nursing homes, retirement communities, memory care centers. He’s cornered the elderly care market in the Rocky Mountain states. He’s big time but not so big on his own. No one cares about a guy who’s made a fortune in taking care of old people. Those are his words not mine.” He paused before he continued. “I think it pisses him off that I made it big, bigger than he’ll ever be.”
“He’s making you mad though, and that’s got to worry him. Retribution from an MMA fighter with your connections has got to be something he has to consider. It makes no sense. Leaving you alone, forgetting you exist, is a better strategy.”
“In the past, he just called every once in a while to fuck with me, reminding me that he was around, watching, even from far away. That’s it.”
“You mentioned a ranch. He still lives there?”
“Yes.”
“You said you don’t go back.”
He shook his head. “Every one of my nightmares was made on that property.”
I ached, my heart hurt for him. “But the land, the open spaces, it’s in you.”
He frowned.
“I saw the pictures in the other room.”
“That’s not his place. I have land of my own. About an hour from here. Nowhere near where I grew up. The pictures are from there. I go there to get away. I’ll take you there one of these days.”
I offered him a small smile. “On one condition.”
He arched a brow and waited.
“You wear