There was no getting around it. And she loved him back. Despite her walking away from him at the hospital, despite their history. Despite everything. And maybe—just maybe—there was something to it, some reason.

She was scared, which he understood when he could get out of his own head long enough to let his own shit go—all the shit that had been holding him back his entire life. The shit that had been stirred up once more by the angry words she’d hurled at him in the emergency room. He’d let it get to him, he realized now, in a way that was . . . every bit as stupid as she’d accused him of being.

And he was if he couldn’t give up the Goddamn fighting to be with her. She was worth it. If he could have Allie, why would he need it anymore? What did he even have to be so pissed off about? Hell, weren’t there other reasons why he shouldn’t need to fight anymore? Wasn’t he stronger than that? Better than that?

It was time to fucking get over himself.

Heat flooded his body, a kind of release as years of tension and stubbornness drained from him.

Amazing what a good knock on the head could shake loose. That and the love of the most incredible woman he’d ever met.

He really was stubborn to have hung on to this image of himself all these years—even now, knowing she loved him. Was he really so in love with the idea of him being the bad seed that he hadn’t been able to let it go? Had he really been so damn stuck in that awful place inside his head where all the good things he’d done with his life counted for nothing?

His legs pumped, taking him down one block, then the next, past houses and stores, bars and restaurants, all of it a blur.

He’d been standing in his own way for most of his damn life. He hadn’t been able to stop until she’d come back into his life and made him feel worthwhile again.

They’d wasted so many years . . . he’d wasted so many years.

He had to tell Allie. Had to. He had to tell her what he’d just figured out. And he had to get her back.

“Fuck,” he puffed out, increasing his stride until he reached Magazine Street and made the turn to head toward Allie’s neighborhood just as the sky opened up and it started to rain, a light spring shower that felt good on his heated skin.

She made him feel amazing. No more letting this twisted shit inside his head talk him out of that. With her, he could believe it. Now it was time to learn to believe it on his own. Because if he didn’t, then he really didn’t deserve her.

He did, damn it. He was going to make her see that.

He concentrated on keeping his legs moving, breathing in, breathing out, until he turned the corner at Orange Street and ran toward her house.

The sun was beginning to break through the rain, lighting up the sky in shades of pale silver, bathing the old cottage in a watercolor wash. He had to stop on the sidewalk, bent over, hands braced on his knees while he tried to catch his breath. The leg throbbed, but he didn’t care. Allie was the only thing that mattered now.

He straightened up and went to her door.

*   *   *

A LLIE SKIPPED TOWARD the French doors that led into her father’s study.

“Papa! I have to go to school soon. Play something for me.”

She stopped in her tracks when she saw him. So still. Slumped over the piano keys.

“Papa? What are you doing? Does your head hurt?”

The house was more silent than she’d ever heard it. She knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“Papa, why won’t you answer me?”

She stepped closer, put a hand on his arm, running her fingers over the crisp blue cotton of his shirt.

“Papa?” she whispered, her heart twisting in her chest.

She took a step back, terrified. Guilty for being scared of her own papa. Tears slipped down her cheek.

She woke to a loud pounding, clutching the sheet—and wiped the tears away.

The pounding continued.

She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even quite seven—who would be there so early? Allister wasn’t due to work on the kitchen until Monday.

She got up and padded barefoot down the hall in her pink cotton nightgown as the pounding came again, more insistent this time.

“Okay, I’m coming!”

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. And froze when she saw Mick standing on her porch.

His hair and his skin were wet, and it was only then she realized it was raining. He was panting hard, his expression grim.

He was so damn beautiful it made her heart ache.

“Allie, you’re crying.”

“What?” She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It was . . . just a bad dream.”

The same one she’d had every night since she’d last seen Mick.

“I had to come,” he said.

“Why?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, her brain still half asleep yet churning a hundred miles an hour.

“Come on, baby. We have a lot to talk about.”

She bit her lip, trying to stay strong in her resolve even though every cell in her body wanted nothing more than to reach out for him. To feel the texture of his skin. The crush of his arms around her.

No.

“Can I at least have some water before you decide you won’t talk to me? I ran all the way here from my place. I’m a little dehydrated even with the rain.”

“Oh. I . . . yes, come on in, I guess.”

She turned and walked into the kitchen without looking at him, her pulse racing. She needed a moment to gather herself. She pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator and took a breath before turning to hand it to him, along with a dish towel.

“Thanks.”

He popped open the bottle and drank, ran the towel over his face, his hair.

He seemed to fill up her small kitchen, and it was as much his presence as his height, his broad, muscular shoulders. His skin was slick with sweat and the New Orleans rain. There was rain caught on the tips of his dark lashes.

He wiped his mouth, looked at her. And as was his habit, it seemed as if he could see right through her. How the hell did he do that?

She put a hand on the back of a kitchen chair to steady herself. “So,” she started, looking at the floor. Anything to avoid that searching gray gaze. “What is it you think we have to say to each other?”

She looked up then, feeling the challenge of her own words.

“Plenty. At least, I have plenty to tell you. I need you to hear me out, Allie.”

“I—”

“Just do it,” he interrupted, his voice low. “Give me five minutes. If I can’t convince you I have a point, you’re free to ask me to go. And if you do, I won’t bother you ever again.”

There was an edge of command in his voice. And pain. That much was plain to see.

She chewed on her lip. This felt dangerous. Mick was dangerous. She’d always known that. But hadn’t that always been part of the allure? That and his purely masculine face, the features a little raw, yet beautiful to her all the same.

So beautiful his face alone broke her heart.

Stop it.

“Allie? Come on. Hear me out.”

She nodded and sat down slowly in the chair. Mick stayed on his feet.

“Okay.” He ran a hand over his damp hair. “I’m sorry. For every rotten asshole thing I’ve ever done to you. For every stupid thing I’ve done—and you were right back in the ER—I’ve been an idiot. I was punishing myself. I think you already know that much. You said as much.”

“Yes,” she said quietly, her hands twisting in her lap. This was exactly what she wanted to hear from him. And everything she didn’t dare believe. “I think it’s what you’ve always done. You told me you’d stopped running, but that’s not true. It’s as if it’s almost habit for you. You create this self-fulfilling prophecy, Mick. Which one of us did you think you were punishing? Because frankly, I’m tired of it being me. And I don’t know why I convinced myself that it had just gone away. That’s what’s kept me in this with you, but I don’t have any reason to exist on blind faith anymore. There’s just been . . . too much has happened. I can’t take any more apologies. I can’t take any more worry that something horrible will happen to you because you invited it to.”