“Jesus, Mick. This is not fine! What happened?”

“Someone got the better of me. I was . . . distracted. It’s bound to happen once in a while.”

“This happened because you were fighting. On purpose.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. The anger boiled over.

“It’s only bound to happen when you put yourself in stupid situations. Illegal fights. Come on, Mick—this isn’t Fight Club.”

He blinked, seemed to be thinking for several moments. “Except that it is. That’s why I do it. It’s what I need.”

“That’s what you need?” she demanded. “What about me, Mick? What about what I need, huh? How about I need a man who doesn’t think punching something or getting the shit kicked out of him is the way to solve a problem? A man who doesn’t lie to me and push me away after showing me how amazing we could be together? A man who isn’t going to die on me.”

Tears made her throat tight. She used the rage simmering in her system to swallow them down.

“Seriously, Allie? I’m not going to—”

“You might! You’re the one determined to keep punishing yourself for every kitten you didn’t rescue from a tree instead of seeing what you have right in front of you. You’re the one fighting without gloves, without rules, without letting anyone know where you are in case something happens to you, for God’s sake. How fucking stupid do you have to be?”

His face went even paler, his lips tightening into a thin line, and she knew instantly she’d said the absolutely wrong thing. But she couldn’t stop now.

“Mick . . .” The damn tears again. She blinked hard, but they welled in her eyes. “I can’t watch you do this to yourself. I can’t watch you do this to me. If something happened to you . . . and it will if you won’t stop doing this.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re right. I don’t. I’m never going to. You could have died, Mick. Just like my dad.”

“Allie. Baby. He died of an aneurism.”

“So could you if you keep taking hits to the head. There were no blood clots this time, but what about the next time? Or the time after that?”

“Come on, Allie. That’s not going to happen. We can talk about this when I get out of here.”

She stared at him, her vision being swallowed up by the bruise. By the cold expanding in her chest.

“We could talk about it—the fighting, the emotional masochism—but you’d have to actually want to listen.” She shook her head again, taking a step back. “I can’t. I can’t do this, Mick. I just . . . can’t.”

She turned and hurried away, pushed her way through the big doors—and ran into Jamie. The paper cup of coffee he’d been carrying splashed to the floor.

“Fuck. Jamie, I’m sorry.”

“Where are you going? You okay?”

“No. I’m not okay. I have to go.”

“Allie, wait.”

But she was already moving past him, walking as fast as she dared until she got out to the parking lot. She ran the rest of the way to her car, dug in her purse for her keys.

“Come on, damn it,” she muttered.

She finally found them, unlocked the car, yanked open the door and got in. She started the engine and put it in reverse just as a sob surged into her throat, choking her on its way out.

She clamped a hand over her mouth, but another one came, then another. Blindly, she put the car back into park, leaned her head on the wheel and gave herself over to the tears.

There was no conscious thought in her mind as she cried—just emotions too big to name. Too long held to make sense any longer. Tears she’d been holding since she was ten years old. Since she was sixteen. Since she was twenty. All the old pain, the tears she’d refused to cry since then, thinking she’d just get over it—all the events that had left her feeling devastated. But she never had. She never had.

She knew she never could if something happened to Mick. Better to stay away from him, the way she had for most of her life. If he wasn’t right in front of her, he couldn’t hurt her. If she didn’t love him . . .

Except she did.

God, she loved him.

Another sob broke through but she caught it halfway, swallowed it down, the hard edge of the steering wheel digging into her hands.

“No. No more.”

She pulled in a deep breath, blew it out. Shifted the car and drove away, hoping to leave some of the pain behind in the white, white hospital that spoke to her of death.

*   *   *

“JAMIE, WHAT THE fuck?”

Mick was trying to sit up, but his friend held him down on the bed.

“You have to stay put until they release you.”

“The fuck I do! You’re as bad as Allie.”

“What did you say to her? She ran out of here like a bat out of hell.”

“I didn’t say anything. She just freaked out.”

And told me I was stupid. And a masochist.

Apparently I fucking am.

He stopped struggling. Jamie backed off.

“Whatever’s going on with you two, you need to sit tight for a while,” Jamie told him.

Mick put a hand to his head, winced when his fingers smoothed over the bruise there. “Yeah, fine. Maybe I don’t need to talk to her right now, anyway.”

“That sounds cryptic.”

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered.

“You have a head injury so I’ll ignore that grumpy-ass tone.”

“Go ask the nurse when they’re letting me the hell out of here, will you?”

“Yeah, okay. Don’t go anywhere or I’ll hunt you down, Reid.”

“I won’t. Just go find out.”

His head was pounding. From the knockout. From the hard lump in his gut that told him what Allie really thought about him. Hell, he should have suspected. It was what he’d always thought himself. But to have to hear it from the woman he loved . . .

Maybe he’d been right all along. They should never be together. He was poison to her—that had been obvious tonight. He’d never forget the look of misery and pure terror on her face. His damn fault. And still he’d argued with her like an ass.

But he couldn’t give up the fighting.

The fighting? Or the rest?

Fuck, his head was spinning, his stomach churning.

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the pillows.

He’d have to let Allie go. Again.

For the last time.

CHAPTER Fifteen

MICK WOKE AT six out of habit, his limbs itching to go for a run, but the ER doctor—and Jamie—had made him promise he wouldn’t work out for a week. It had only been five days. Maybe he could push things a little?

He felt okay. The bruise was already clearing up, and he hadn’t had any nausea or dizziness since that first night. Physically, he was fine. The rest of him was pretty well fucked up.

He got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats and a tank top.

“Fuck it,” he muttered as he put on his running shoes. He was going to lose his shit if he had to hold still any longer.

The sky was dark and heavy with clouds when he stepped outside, and he could feel the damp air cool on his skin. Didn’t matter. He’d warm up fast enough.

He did a few quick leg stretches on the sidewalk in front of his house, then he took off at a slow jog to get his muscles warmed up.

He went down Dauphine to Canal Street, turned toward the water and let himself speed up, his legs and his lungs pumping. It felt good, even if the bad leg hurt. He didn’t care. It was good to be out, to be moving.

The last few days had been pure torture—constant thoughts of Allie with not enough to distract him, going back and forth with himself about whether to call her or to stay away. He had a great argument for keeping his distance. Logical reasons. But emotion was telling him something else.

He loved the girl.