Chapter 29 – Lance
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A Stranger Overnight…
Lance
The steady beep of Morgan's heart monitor was the only thing keeping me sane.
Forty-three hours since the shooting. I hadn't left her side except when the nurses forced me out. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, my clothes were wrinkled, and I was pretty sure I smelled like hospital coffee and terror.
But she was alive . That's all that mattered.
Morgan shifted in the bed, a small whimper escaping her lips. Her eyes flew open, wide and panicked, scanning the room like she was looking for threats.
"Hey, hey." I leaned forward, careful not to startle her. "You're safe. You're in the hospital. You're okay."
Her gaze found mine, and some of the panic receded. "Lance?"
"Right here, baby." My voice cracked on the endearment. "I'm right here."
She tried to sit up and winced, her hand going to her bandaged shoulder. "The men?—"
"Gone. All of them." I had to swallow hard to get the words out. "You're safe."
The memory of her standing in that gallery, blood on her sweater, gun in her hand, hit me like a freight train all over again. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words barely audible. "God, Morgan, I'm so fucking sorry."
She blinked at me, confusion replacing the lingering fear. "Sorry for what?"
"For all of it." The tears I'd been holding back for two days finally spilled over. "For dragging you into my world. For failing to protect you. For putting you in a position where you had to—" My voice broke completely.
"Lance." Her good hand reached for mine, squeezing gently. "Look at me."
I met her eyes, not bothering to wipe away the tears.
"I'd do it again," she said simply. "In a heartbeat. Without hesitation."
The words hit me like a physical blow. "Don't say that."
"It's true. If someone was going to hurt you, I'd kill them again. As many times as necessary."
"Stop." The word came out harsher than I intended, anger flaring alongside the fear. "Don't you understand what you're saying? What that means?"
Tear gleamed in her eyes. "It means I love you."
"It means you have blood on your hands because of me." I stood abruptly, pacing to the window. "It means I've corrupted you just like my grandfather corrupted me."
"That's not?—"
"You're moving back in with Gwen and Atticus," I said, the decision crystallizing in my mind. "Until I can figure out what went wrong. Why the protection failed."
"Excuse me?" Her voice went dangerously quiet.
"Their security is better. More layers. And if something happens to me?—"
"Lance, no."
"This isn't negotiable, Morgan. You almost died because of my family."
"And you almost died because of your family. Should I lock you up somewhere, too?"
I turned back to face her, frustration and terror warring in my chest. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because I chose this life. I was born into it. You didn't ask for any of this."
"I chose you." She struggled to sit up straighter, ignoring my instinctive move to help her. "I married you knowing exactly what that meant."
"You didn't know it meant having to kill someone to save my life."
"But I did it anyway. And I'd do it again."
The calm certainty in her voice made me want to punch something. "You don't understand?—"
"I understand perfectly. You're scared. So am I. But the answer isn't separation."
"I've done everything," I exploded, the words ripping from my chest. "Everything should have worked. Marrying you, giving you the DuLac name—you should have been safe. This is my fault. I did everything but physically leave you, and maybe I should have done that too."
"Don't you dare." Fire flashed in her eyes. "Don't you dare stand there and act like loving me was a mistake."
"It wasn't a mistake. It was selfish ." I moved back to her bedside, desperation making my voice rough. "I wanted you so badly that I convinced myself I could protect you. That my name, my resources, and my skills would be enough. And I was wrong."
Her lips trembled until she firmed them. "We belong together, Lance."
"No, we don't." The lie tasted like ash in my mouth. "You belong somewhere safe . Away from men with guns who want to use you to hurt me."
"I belong with my husband ."
"Your husband is the reason you have a bullet hole in your shoulder."
She was quiet for a long moment, studying my face. When she spoke, her voice was soft but unwavering.
"My husband is the reason I'm alive. My husband was there to protect me when it mattered." She reached for my hand again. "And my husband is the man I chose to spend my life with, for better or worse."
I stared down at our joined hands, hers so small and delicate, mine scarred and stained with more blood than I could count.
"I love you more than any man has ever deserved to love anyone," I whispered. "And that's exactly why I can't keep you."
I pulled my hand free and headed for the door.
"Lance, don't you dare walk away from me."
I paused at the threshold but didn't turn around. "Get some rest, Morgan. We'll talk when you're stronger."
The door closed behind me, cutting off whatever she said next.
In the hallway, I nearly collided with Gwen, who was carrying a bag from Morgan's favorite Thai restaurant and wearing an expression that could have melted steel.
"Going somewhere?" she asked, her voice deceptively calm.
"To figure out how to keep your sister safe."
"By abandoning her?"
"By doing what I should have done from the beginning." I moved to walk past her, but she stepped into my path.
"We need to talk," she said. "Now."
I followed Gwen to a small family conference room, already dreading whatever lecture was coming. She closed the door behind us and turned to face me, arms crossed.
"Sit," she ordered.
"Gwen—"
"Sit down, Lance."
The tone brooked no argument. I sat.
"You look like hell," she said, settling across from me.
"Thanks. Really needed that assessment right now."
"When's the last time you slept? Actually slept, not just dozed in that chair."
I couldn't remember. "That's not important."
"It's about the fact that you're spiraling," she said, leaning forward. "Instead of supporting your wife through trauma, you're planning to abandon her and call it protection."
"I'm trying to keep her alive."
"By breaking her heart?"
"Better a broken heart than a broken body." The words came out flat, emotionless. "Or a dead one."
"Lance, do you remember why I married Atticus?"
The question caught me off guard. "To protect Morgan from the arranged marriage your father was planning."
"Exactly. I sacrificed my own autonomy to protect my sister." Her smile was rueful. "Know what I learned?"
I waited.
"That you can't protect someone by taking away their choices. All you do is trade one prison for another."
"This is different."
"How?"
"Because your father wasn't sending assassins after Morgan. My family is."
"So your solution is to do their job for them? To remove Morgan from your life so they don't have to?"
The words hit like a slap. "That's not?—"
"That's exactly what you're doing." Gwen stood, pacing to the window. "You're so terrified of them hurting her that you're going to hurt her yourself."
"I'm trying to save her life."
"You're trying to save yourself from the guilt of loving her."
I stared at her, something cold settling in my stomach. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you'd rather break her heart and live with that guilt than risk her dying and live with that guilt." She turned back to face me. "Because at least if she's alive and hating you, you know she's breathing."
"That's not—" I started, then stopped. Because it was true. All of it.
The silence stretched between us as the truth settled in my chest like lead. She was right. I was choosing the guilt I thought I could live with over the guilt I knew would destroy me.
"She loves you, Lance. She chose you. She killed for you. And your response is to abandon her because it's easier than facing the possibility that loving you might cost her everything."
"She deserves better."
"She deserves a partner, not a martyr." Gwen sat back down, her expression softening slightly. "What do you think Morgan needs right now?"
"Safety."
"From who?"
"From my family. From the violence that follows me everywhere."
"What if I told you that the thing she needs safety from most is you walking away?"
I looked up at her, seeing something in her eyes that made my chest tight.
"She's not fragile, Lance."
The words hit me like ice water. "What?"
"She's strong, and she has you watching her back."
"That wasn't enough. She still got shot."
"But she lived. She fought back. She saved your life." Gwen leaned forward. “And I’m grateful for that.”
Morgan, fierce and capable had been willing to kill to protect what she loved.
"So what am I supposed to do? Just accept that the woman I love will always be in danger because of me?"
"You're supposed to trust her enough to let her make that choice." Gwen's voice gentled. "And you're supposed to love her enough to stand beside her instead of in front of her."
I sat in silence, her words echoing in my mind.
"She doesn't need you to be perfect, Lance. She needs you to be present."
"What if I can't protect her?"
"Then you figure it out together. But you don't get to decide for her that the risk isn't worth it."
I stared at the conference room table, seeing the truth in Gwen's words even as every protective instinct I had screamed against it.
"How do I go back in there?" I asked finally. "How do I face her after what I just said?"
"You start with the truth," Gwen said simply. "And then you ask her what she needs from you."
"What if she won't forgive me?"
"Then you'll have learned a very expensive lesson about the cost of trying to make decisions for a woman who's perfectly capable of making them herself."
I looked up at her, seeing the challenge in her eyes.
"But knowing my sister," Gwen continued, "she'll probably just be relieved that you came to your senses."
I stood, moving toward the door.
"Lance?" Gwen's voice stopped me. "How exactly are you planning to make up for this momentary delusion to my sister?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I'm going to figure it out."
"Good. Because if you ever pull this bullshit again, you won't have to worry about your family coming after you. I'll handle it myself."
The threat was delivered with such calm certainty that I actually believed her.
"Understood."
"Now go fix this before she decides you're not worth the trouble."