I don’t even bother with the whole “delivery guy” routine when there’s a knock at my door several hours later. I know without looking that it’s Lucas, and so I simply unbolt the deadlocks and swing open the door.

He has a busted lip and some light bruising under one eye—but he appears otherwise unscathed. Now that I’m sure he’s not dead, I consider slamming the door shut.

As though reading my mind, he puts his hand out, and braces himself against the frame.

“I guess I should be grateful you got out of there with without any broken bones,” I say, with sarcasm.

He shrugs. “The other guy looks worse.”

That’s bullshit, but I don’t call him on it. After several hours of waiting for him to make contact, I caved and called the pub. The bartender confided that Lucas got the worst of it, but he was alive—and finally, that no matter how much money he offers, Lucas is banned from showing his face there again.

I can’t say that I’m surprised.

Frustration shakes through me. “I don’t get it Lucas. You’re like this…” The words tangle in my tongue. I’m so mad I can’t even think. “…this, enigma. Soft and tender one minute, and then something happens, and you’re in a rage. But for Christ’s sake, not every argument needs to end in bloodshed.” It’s the same words I tried to use at the bar, when he was too drunk to listen, to make logical decisions. I’m not even sure if he’s truly listening now.

I struggle not to cry, but honest to God, I’m more scared than I am hurt. Lucas only got a taste of what could happen by picking a fight with the wrong person.

“Can I come in?”

I sigh, and take a step back, allowing him to limp through the door.

He heads straight for the couch and stretches out. “You need a new sofa.”

It’s true, but since I’ve been spending so much time at Lucas’s apartment, I haven’t given much thought about my own décor. The fact is, I make more money than I’ve ever had before, and this little apartment isn’t quite cutting it. I don’t need a mansion, but maybe I can finally afford to be a little less thrifty.

I sit down across from him on the chair and wait for him to start talking. “I can’t keep doing this, Lucas. I don’t understand why you act this way.”

Finally he meets my gaze and his eyes are so haunted and pained that I shiver involuntarily.

“Have you ever seen a man murdered in real life, Eden?” he asks.

I’m shocked to realize that Lucas has suddenly chosen this moment to discuss the tragedy from his past. “No,” I whisper. “I imagine it’s pretty horrible.”

Lucas nods. “There’s a lot of blood,” he says, dully. “More than you can imagine.”

I close my eyes, and the scene recreates. Of course, I’ve read all of the articles and looked through the photos, even some of the crime images that were released in one particularly in-depth expose.

“It can’t have been easy for you guys to tackle that guy…” My voice trails off.

“I didn’t tackle him.”

I cock my head. “Obviously I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know that if not for your quick thinking, you would have all been dead. The killer might have gotten away with it. You were very brave.”

He laughs without humor. “I was a fucking pansy.”

A lump gathers in my throat. “What do you mean?”

He sits upright and runs a hand through his hair. “You know how they say a person’s first instinct in response to tragedy is either fight or flight?”

I nod.

“All I wanted to do was run,” he says. “Get the fuck out of there. Mason had to yell at me to help, because I just stood there shell shocked, like a fucking zombie.”

His voice keeps cracking, and my chest aches with a steady, pulsating pain.

“But you didn’t run,” I say gently.

“There was nowhere for me to go,” he says simply. “But it keeps playing back in my head…knowing that I would have left my friends behind to die if I could have saved myself.”

I get up from the chair to sit next to him on the couch, gently easing beside him so as not to further hurt his bumps and bruises. With my hand on his chest, I curl into him, realizing that now, more than ever, needs me.

“Mason and Holden don’t know,” he goes on. “They think I just froze. But it was more than that. When given the chance to fight or run—I would have taken flight. No doubt in my mind.”

He tilts his head toward mine.

“Which makes sense why you’re so quick to fight now,” I say. The pieces of his past colliding with the present—it’s starting to all make sense. I get it, how guilt can stick with you. “Lucas, have you spoken to someone about this?”

He blows out a breath. “It’s not something I’m too happy to admit.”

I bite down on my lip, carefully considering my next words. “I don’t mean confiding in Mason and Holden, though it makes sense now why you stuck it out at Daylight Holdings for so long when you weren’t happy. You didn’t want to leave them stranded, didn’t want to run.” He threads his fingers through mine, and I keep talking. “But maybe you need to see a therapist. Someone who can help you work through the guilt.”

I can feel his body tense.

“There’s no shame in that, Lucas.”

He’s silent for some time and I resist the urge to fill the space. My stomach churns with unease. I appreciate everything he’s told me, but it doesn’t fix the problem. His temper scares me, and I don’t know if I can deal with that. Not on a personal level. He has to get help.

“I thought I had a handle on it,” he finally says.

I look up, eyes shimmering, and shake my head. “Alcohol isn’t the solution. You’ve done your time on this, babe. Years and years of guilt—that’s a heavy burden for anyone to bear. But you have to let it go. I understand that you wanted to run, but Lucas, you were sixteen. Just a kid.”

A child that had to grow up way too fast.

Never mind having to live what he saw on that tragic school morning, but Lucas has also had to carry the guilt of responding in a way that he thinks makes him a coward. I don’t have the right words to explain that he isn’t a coward. His response was normal, maybe even more so than the way his friends acted. I’m not equipped to counsel him, so I don’t bother trying.

“You need professional help,” I say. I put my finger to his lips to stop him from rejecting the suggestion. “Not just for you.” I pause, letting that sink in. “For me too. I’m scared, Lucas. Terrified that one day you’re going to lose your cool and—”

“I would never hurt you.”

A small smile curls my lip up. “I know.” Lucas doesn’t pick fights will people he cares for, he fights to help them. Save them. To prove that when push comes to shove, you can count on him. He’s demonstrated that a thousand times over.

I’ve watched him with our employees, the way he listens to their concerns, the small acts of kindness that have earned him hero status among our loyal team. He cares about them, which is why if any of them were ever in trouble, or threatened, he would fight for them. No matter the consequences.

And it’s those potential consequences I can’t live with.

“But what if something goes wrong, something comes up that you can’t handle?” I cup his chin in my fingers, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “I can’t stomach the thought of losing you, Lucas. And if your temper keeps going like this, you’re going to piss off the wrong person someday.”

His lips curve into a smirk. “So you’re saying I need to go to anger management?”

I’m not quite ready to make light of it. “If you want me? Yes. You need to see a professional. Someone who can help you let go of this guilt.”

He leans forward and covers his mouth with mine. A bolt of electricity courses through my veins, and my breath hitches. He parts my lips with his tongue and gently traces the curve of my mouth. Goosebumps ripple along my skin.

There’s no urgency to this kiss, just the sweet confirmation that Lucas is willing to give it a try. My chest swells with pride, not only for the man he will become, but for the man he is now.

“I love you,” I say, pulling back.

“Darlin’, I love you, too.” His eyebrows narrow, and his expression gets serious. “But if you ever tell anyone that I’m going to a shrink…”

I throw my head back and laugh. “Don’t worry, babe. I promise that will always be our little secret.”