Chapter 11 Morgan
MORGAN
I’m back at work the next day, my brief time off over. I’ll be working extra hours around New Year’s, so my single coworkers can dance the night away or whatever it is normal people do. People who aren’t in hiding, afraid their abusive ex might pop up behind every corner.
I felt safe yesterday morning, though. For the first time in years, I woke up without that ever-present feeling of dread that’s been stalking my every step ever since Marco revealed his true colors. And it’s all thanks to my EMT. Damien. My savior. My… man? He says he is…
A pleasant shiver runs down my spine and somehow ends up between my legs. When I squeeze my thighs together in response, I feel a pulsing echo of our activities, reminding me how he owned my body, played it like a virtuoso plays their chosen instrument.
“Girl, if you daydreamed any harder, you’d be projecting it on the walls of this fabulous cubicle.”
Basia’s voice brings me back to the present, and I turn to see her standing next to my chair, arms crossed at her chest. I didn’t even notice her approach me. What happened to my hypervigilance?
“Did you have some sausage for Christmas or something?” Her eyebrows wiggle comically. “An old sweetheart, maybe?”
My stomach twists at her words. Definitely not an old sweetheart.
God. I need to tell her. Everything.
I guess my expression must be reflecting my thoughts, because Basia drops her arms and gives me a look full of concern. “What? What did I say?”
“Nothing, babe. It’s not you.” I chew on my lip before taking a shuddering breath. “Let’s go to happy hour after work. Alone. There’s something I want to tell you. And some things I should have told you about years ago, to be honest.”
Basia’s eyebrows now hike up into her blonde hairline. “Morgan Cole and happy hour? Did you get body swapped in Connecticut?”
I laugh and shake my head at her irreverence. Basia’s always been good for me, even though she doesn’t know some of the most defining parts of my life.
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter awkwardly.
I’ve really let life pass me by, haven’t I? It’s taken Damien to awaken a yearning to be a little less safe, experience a little more. I’m reminded of him finishing inside me, and heat rises up my chest to my cheeks. Good thing I’m close to my period…
“Okay, I need to find out what’s going on with you like yesterday,” Basia says, interrupting my thoughts again. “Let’s skip lunch so we’re done sooner and eat at the bar.”
I don’t think I’ll be able to eat, I think to myself, but just give her a tight smile and nod.
The rest of the day passes in a flash, as time usually does when you’re dreading something. I find myself seated in a corner booth of a medium-dingy bar, Basia across the table from me, leaning in with her hands on the scratched surface.
“Okay, Cole. Spill.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Then I tell her about Marco.
“There’s a man in my past. A monster. It started normal,” I say, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears. “Perfect, even. He was charming. Funny. He made me feel seen in a way no one else ever had.” I let out a bitter laugh. “I thought I’d finally found someone who got me.”
Basia stays quiet, eyes soft but alert.
“At first, he was protective,” I continue.
“Would walk me to my car, text to make sure I got home safe. Little things that felt... sweet. Thoughtful. Then it started to feel like he was keeping tabs. He’d get upset if I didn’t answer fast enough, or if I went out with friends and forgot to check in.
He said it was because he worried about me. ”
I trace a line on the condensation of my glass, watching the droplet trail down. “And I believed him. I told myself it was love. That he just cared more than most people did.”
Basia’s hand finds mine across the table, grounding me.
“Then it got worse,” I whisper. “The criticism started small... How I dressed, who I talked to, the way I laughed too loud. Then it turned into shouting. Accusations. Apologies that felt real until they didn’t.
” I pause, swallowing hard. “The first time he grabbed me, I told myself he didn’t mean to.
That he was just angry. He cried afterward, swore it would never happen again.
And I believed him. Because the alternative—” My voice cracks.
“The alternative meant I’d have to admit I’d chosen someone capable of hurting me. ”
Basia’s eyes shine, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I started hiding things from everyone. The bruises, the excuses, the panic attacks. I became so good at pretending, I almost convinced myself it wasn’t happening.
Until it got bad enough that I couldn’t hide it anymore.
” My throat tightens. “One night, he—” I stop, shaking my head.
“I got away. I packed a bag and left while he was asleep. Moved two states over. Changed my number. My job. Everything.”
The silence between us hums with unspoken words.
Basia squeezes my hand, firm but gentle. “You don’t owe me the details,” she says quietly. “But you do need to hear this—you didn’t deserve any of that, Morgan. None of it.”
Tears sting my eyes, but I manage a small, shaky smile. “I know that now. I think.”
“Good.” She leans back, exhaling slowly. “Because the woman sitting in front of me? She’s strong as hell. And if that asshole ever shows his face again, I’ll make sure he regrets it.”
A small laugh escapes me, half a sob. “You and Damien would get along.”
Basia tilts her head. “Damien?”
“My EMT,” I say softly. “The one who helped me after—after everything.”
Basia’s brows lift, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Ohhh. That Damien. You’ve mentioned him before, right? The one from the Christmas party?”
I nod, staring into my drink like it might explain things better than I can. “Yeah. Him.”
Her voice softens, but there’s that protective edge she can never quite hide. “What about him?”
I swallow, trying to find words that make sense. “He’s… different. I don’t even know how to describe it. I mean, he met me when I was having a panic attack, and I should’ve been mortified, but I wasn’t. He made me feel—safe. Grounded.”
Basia studies me for a long beat. “And now you’re blushing like you’re about to confess to something that’s either really cute or really stupid.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Both, maybe.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Oh my God. You slept with him, didn’t you?”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Can we not do this here?”
Basia leans forward, whispering but grinning. “So that’s a yes.”
“Basia…”
“Hey, I’m not judging! I’m just surprised. You haven’t even been on a date in, what, five years?”
“Longer,” I mutter.
She whistles low. “And you picked an EMT. Nice. Rescuer fantasy, much?”
“Stop.” I laugh again, though my stomach twists with uncertainty. “It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. He’s intense, Bas. The kind of man who looks at you like he sees everything you’re trying to hide. And for some reason, it doesn’t scare me.”
Her teasing fades, replaced by something gentler. “That sounds… big.”
“It is.” I trace the rim of my glass. “But it’s also confusing.
He’s protective, and sometimes that feels good.
Like I don’t have to look over my shoulder all the time.
But then I catch him watching me in a way that’s—” I pause, searching for the right word.
“Umm, a little too much. Like he’s cataloging me. ”
Basia frowns. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”
The question hits harder than I expect. I shake my head quickly. “No. Not like that. He’d never hurt me. I know that.”
“Sweetheart,” she says gently, “you’ve said that before.”
The reminder lands heavy between us.
I take a deep breath, willing away the defensive retort rising in my throat. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right to worry. But Damien’s not Marco. He’s calm, in control. When he touches me, it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to take something from me… It feels like he’s giving it back.”
Basia watches me carefully, her fingers drumming on the table. “Just promise me you’ll go slow, okay? People can make us feel safe for all kinds of reasons. Doesn’t always mean they are.”
“I’ll be careful,” I say, meaning it as much as I can.
She leans back, studying me with that perceptive look she’s always had. “You sound like someone who’s already in deep.”
I smile faintly. “Maybe I am.”
“Then I hope he’s everything you think he is,” she says quietly. “Because if he’s not, I’ll personally hunt him down.”
I laugh, but something about her words makes a shiver run through me—because beneath the warmth and affection, there’s a truth I can’t quite name. There is something dangerous about Damien.
Basia leans back and presses her lips together.
“What is it, babe?” I ask. Is she going to tell me to get away from Damien?
“There’s something I’ve been hiding from you, too,” she finally says, then sighs. I blink at her when she drops a bombshell. “My real last name isn’t Barton. It’s Langford.”
“Langford? Like the governor of—”
“Yes,” Basia interrupts me, making a keep it down motion with her hand. “That’s my dad.”
“Why are you hiding who you are? And, Jesus, why are you selling insurance, working for pennies, when you could be living in a McMansion somewhere with a butler?”
Basia’s jaw clenches visibly. “I wanted to make my own way. Prove to myself I’m more than a pampered daddy’s little girl. But, More, someone’s been stalking me.”
I gasp, taking her hand in mine. “Stalking you? How?”
My friend’s eyes tear up, and her lower lip wobbles. “I’ve gotten boxes of dead animals in the mail. Notes saying I’m next.”
“Oh my god!” I exclaim, squeezing her fingers. “Have you called the police? Did you tell your dad?”
Basia shakes her head, making blond strands of hair stick to her now-wet cheeks.
“I can’t do either. He’ll sic his security team on me. Maybe lock me up somewhere. I want to live my life, More.”
I look around the crowded bar, wondering if a threat to her is closer than we think. My brain spins, looking for solutions. I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s in danger.
“Okay,” I say with a nod. “Damien’s ex-military. I’m sure he knows someone who could be your bodyguard. You can afford one, right?”
Basia blinks at me, her mouth opening slightly before she nods. “Yeah, I have my trust fund. A bodyguard, though? I don’t want to inconvenience someone…”
I give her a droll look. “You’ll inconvenience me for having to go to your funeral,” I deadpan. “Besides, he’s gonna be paid for it, it’s not like he’ll be doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Or she! Would you prefer a woman?”
My friend breathes out through her nose. “No, I don’t mind either way. You’re right. See if your new boyfriend can hook me up.”
I flush at her description of Damien. My boyfriend. Swoon.
This is serious, Morgan, be serious.
Yeah, yeah, I tell my inner voice as I pull my cellphone out of my purse. I open our text thread, the one we started yesterday after he put his number into my phone, flushing at the last message he sent me, one I’ve been too preoccupied to reply to properly. Later.
Me:
We need your help.
Damien Hale:
Who’s we and what do you need, princess?
My lips tug up at the corners. This is a man who comes through for you.