Chapter 33 – Lance
LANCE
The kitchen was a disaster zone, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Flour dusted every surface like fresh snow, cinnamon and sugar scattered across the counter, catching the late afternoon sun like tiny crystals. Three different mixing bowls sat in various states of use, measuring cups strewn about like casualties of my determination to get this right.
I'd been at this for hours, watching YouTube videos about the perfect churro cake and reading baking forums about the ideal ratio of butter to sugar, all to make sure I got it exactly right. Morgan's birthday was still three months away, but I wanted—no, needed—everything to be perfect.
She deserved that much.
You're going soft , I thought, grinning as I checked the layers cooling on the rack. The first attempt had been too dense, more pound cake than sponge. The second had been too dry, though I'd managed to salvage it by turning it into cake pops—a happy accident that would make a good story later. But this third try? The cake had risen perfectly, golden and light, smelling like everything I loved about her—warmth and sweetness with just a hint of fire.
I dipped a finger in the cinnamon-sugar mixture I'd prepared for the filling, remembering how Morgan always stole bites of raw cookie dough when she thought I wasn't looking. She'd scrunch up her nose when I caught her, claiming that the raw dough was better than the finished product. Just thinking about it made my chest tight with an emotion I was still getting used to feeling.
Love. Pure, uncomplicated love.
Who are you kidding? Nothing about loving Morgan is uncomplicated.
But that was part of what made it real, wasn't it? The complexity, the challenge, the way she pushed me to be better while accepting who I was. Even the parts of myself I was still learning to live with.
The whirring of the stand mixer filled the kitchen as I worked on the churro-spiced buttercream. The recipe had called for regular buttercream with cinnamon, but I'd modified it, adding a hint of nutmeg and cardamom to give it more depth. Morgan always appreciated those little details, the extra effort that showed someone cared enough to go beyond the obvious.
I heard her key in the lock and cursed under my breath. She wasn't supposed to be home for hours—I'd specifically checked her schedule to make sure I had time to clean up before she got back.
"Don't come in here!" I called out, frantically trying to wipe some of the mess off the counter. Flour plumed into the air, making matters worse. "I'm in the middle of something!"
But she was already there, standing in the doorway, and something in my chest tightened at the sight of her. She looked beautiful—she always did—but there was something off about her expression that I couldn't quite read. A shadow in her eyes that made my instincts prickle with warning.
"You're early," I said, trying to hide my disappointment at the ruined surprise. A streak of flour marked my cheek as I ran a hand through my hair. "I was hoping to have this cleaned up before you got back."
She didn't answer, just stood there staring at me with those big brown eyes that always saw straight through to my soul. The silence stretched between us, heavy with something I couldn't name. I crossed to her in three quick strides, unable to resist pulling her close. She fit perfectly against me like she always had, and when I lifted her onto the counter, her legs parted automatically to let me step between them.
"You ruined my surprise," I murmured against her lips, tasting sugar and cinnamon on my own. "I was practicing for your birthday. Though I suppose now you'll know what you're getting."
I kissed her then, slow and deep, the way I knew she liked. For a moment, everything felt perfect. Right. Complete. Her body melted into mine, her fingers curling into my shirt, and I could taste the future on her lips—countless mornings waking up together, endless nights falling asleep with her in my arms, a lifetime of moments just like this one.
Then I tasted salt.
I pulled back to find tears streaming down her face. "Morgan?" My heart clenched at the sight, all my protective instincts roaring to life. "What's wrong? Who hurt you?"
She let out a broken laugh that sent chills down my spine. "Will you hurt them for me?"
Something cold settled in my gut. A creeping dread that whispered this wasn't going to end well. "Do you want me to?"
“I need to ask you something.”
I wiped her tears away with my thumbs. “Of course. Anything.”
“What exactly happened with my father? I know you went to see him before rescuing me from the penthouse. But what happened?”
Oh fuck.
“I told you I went to see him. We argued about what he’d done to you. I—” I hesitated as I tried to find thee words to make her understand. “I roughed him up. I know I should tell you I’m sorry about that. But I’m not. I didn’t try to kill him.” The tension loosened in my chest. That was the truth.
“So, you didn’t set him on fire?” Her watery gaze searched mine.
Fuck. Me.
“No.” Still the truth. Semantics maybe. But the truth.
You’re playing fast and loose.
Her shoulders sagged and she wiped the remnants of her tears before pulling out her phone. "So that’s not you pouring something on the ground and lighting him on fire?”
“Morgan. I?—”
“Lance. Is that you?”
Fuck. All I could do was watch the light drain from her eyes. “Yes. But Morgan, that fire was never going to touch him. He was never in any real danger.
“How do you know!? And on top of that, you left out that you also apparently paralyzed him to watch?”
She knew now. She could see the monster. And he made her sick. I had lost her. Might as well drive the nail into the coffin. “It’s effective for interrogation. It elevates the fear response so they steer away from certain activities.”
Her eyes flared wide and her voice was barely a whisper, when she spoke but it carried the weight of an avalanche. "Am I scared? Yes. But not because of what you did. Maybe there is something wrong with me that I’m not scared of that. It scares me how easily you lie.” She put up a hand. “Sorry, omit. You promised me everything. What am I supposed to do when You’re the one who hurt me."
I stepped back, ice spreading through my veins. ”Morgan, I need you to understand?—"
She didn’t let me finish. "I went home today," she said, sliding off the counter. Her voice was steadier now, but her hands were shaking. "I wanted to get my old diaries. I wanted to show you how long I've loved you, how much you've always meant to me. Even before I understood what love was, I loved you."
The dread in my stomach turned to lead. "Morgan?—"
"My father showed me the security footage." Each word fell like a hammer blow. "You tried to kill him."
"It wasn't—" I started, but she cut me off.
"Don't." Her voice cracked, the sound splitting my heart in two.
Something inside me snapped. All the careful control, all the walls I'd built to keep the darkness at bay—they crumbled in the face of her pain. "You want the truth?" I growled, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "I'm a killer. Is that what you want to hear? But I already told you if I'd wanted him dead, he would be. The goal was torture and pain, not death."
She flinched like I'd struck her, and I immediately wanted to take the words back, to gather her in my arms and make her understand. But I couldn't. Because this was who I was—who I'd always been. The monster lurking beneath the surface, waiting to protect what was mine.
"You promised me you were an open book to me."
I looked around the kitchen—at the half-finished cake, the scattered ingredients, all my attempts to create something beautiful for her. It felt like a mockery now, a perfect picture of the life I'd fooled myself into thinking I could have.
"I thought—" I swallowed hard, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. "I thought you said you loved me anyway. Even the darkness."
She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, straightening her spine. In that moment, she looked so much like the fierce, stubborn girl I'd fallen in love with that it physically hurt to look at her. "The person I love doesn’t exist."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I watched, helpless, as she walked to the door, every step taking her further away from me. The sugar and cinnamon still hung in the air, but now they tasted bitter on my tongue.
"Morgan, please?—"
She paused in the doorway but didn't turn around. Her voice, when it came, was steady and final. "I'm done, Lance. Don't call me."
The door closed behind her with a soft click that echoed in my chest like a gunshot. The kitchen was silent now, the half-finished cake forgotten on the counter, sugar and cinnamon scattered like the pieces of my broken heart.
I stared at the mess I'd made—both in the kitchen and in my life. The mixing bowls still held traces of batter, the cooling racks displayed my careful attempts at perfection, and the buttercream sat waiting to be spread on layers that would never be assembled. All my plans, all my hopes for the future, scattered like the flour that covered every surface.
I'd lost her. And this time, I knew she wasn't coming back.
The truth I'd tried so hard to hide had finally caught up with me, and it had cost me the only thing that mattered. Morgan had seen the monster beneath the man, and she'd done what any sane person would do—she'd run.
I picked up the bowl of buttercream and hurled it against the wall, watching as it shattered, spraying sugar and cream across the kitchen like blood spatter. The sound of breaking glass was satisfying in a way that nothing else could be right now.
Because that's what I did, wasn't it? I broke things. I destroyed them. And now I'd destroyed the one thing I'd sworn to protect above all else—Morgan's trust in me.
The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across the floor. The kitchen still smelled like cinnamon and sugar, like hopes and dreams and promises that broke as easily as glass.
I'd lost her.
And this time, there would be no coming back from it.
Thank you so much for reading DEEP POCKETS! Wow, what a ride! Morgan walked away from Lance, but can she stay away? And what happens when his past won’t stay buried?
Find out how hard Lance has to grovel—— READ HIGH STAKES NOW !
Need more Lance and Morgan right now? Read the Bonus epilogue now!
A marriage of convenience is the only way to get her back...and to keep her safe.
The beautiful Morgan doesn't need to know how dangerous the NYC waters have become. She doesn't need to know that old family debts have come to be settled.
She doesn't need to know the way I've longed for her. We can keep things cordial...at least until night falls.
The more time we spend together, the more I come to crave her. Another one of her laughs. A smile. And god, a kiss. I've become addicted to my own wife.
I lost her once. I won't lose her again.
She hates me for the secrets I've kept. But beneath that hatred burns a passion neither of us can deny. In my arms, she remembers what we once had. In my bed, she forgets why she ever left.
As threats close in from all sides, I'll risk everything to protect what's mine. Because some bonds can never be broken, some hearts can never truly be separated, and some loves are simply... inevitable.