Page 6 of Break the Barrier

“Okay,” I say, setting my glass down and grasping her knee, turning her to face me. “What the hell is going on?”

She shakes her head, her eyes still stuck on her hand that holds the now-empty glass. Her gaze is glazed over in a way that concerns me.

“I’m not sure what to do.”

“Just talk to me.” I sigh, leaning my elbow on the bar and trying to catch her eye. “Dorothy, fucking talk to me.”

Her eyes finally snap up, and the torture there, the hurt, shocks me. “I’m scared.”

My initial response is to take her into my arms, hold her tight, and not let anything hurt her or scare her. But I hold myself back. Just barely. “Tell me.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

3

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Havinghis gaze on me makes my skin warm, knowing what I am about to tell him. Or at leastsomeof what I am about to tell him.

But Logan just sits there and waits patiently, like he’s got all the time in the world to take in my every word.

“I was married once,” I start, swallowing the saliva that builds in my mouth. “It wasn’t a good marriage.”

Logan leans in closer, and I wonder if he realizes that he does it, that his gaze hasn’t once left my face.

“It was after my parents passed away, and I was so stressed out, trying to raise my sisters and making sure I didn’t screw them up, to make sure that they dealt with the grief of losing our parents.” I let out a slow breath, trying desperately to calm my emotions. “Ophelia was only twelve. I had no idea what to do with my twelve-year-old sister whose parents just died.”

“Your parents had just died too. I’m sure you all were grieving.”

I nod. “We were. But it was easier to just…push it aside. Focus on them.” I rub my finger over the rim of my glass, then pour myself another drink. I take a slow slip, knowing that the warmth in my veins was contributed mostly to the alcohol I’ve already consumed. “I was in nursing school when my parents died, I was almost done. I met Eric at a grocery store of all places.” I smile ruefully. “He was kind and sweet and charmed me without even trying.”

I roll my shoulders back and face Logan again. “I was in a vulnerable spot in life, I had to rely on myself for everything. We didn’t have aunts or uncles who were close to us to help, and everyone thought I could take care of everything.” I shrug a shoulder. “I was twenty-two, I could handle it, right?”

I shake my head. “Anyway, Eric started coming around. He looked like a bad boy with his tattoos and his motorcycle, but deep down, I thought he had a good heart. He helped me with dinners and helped my little sisters with homework. He wanted to help provide for me and take care of me, and because of where I was at in life, I desperately wanted to let him.”

I wave my hand, getting off on a tangent and leading into some territory I wasn’t ready to venture into yet. “Anyway, I married him because I thought I loved him, and he loved me. But it turned out that he needed the money my parents left for me, something to do with the motorcycle club he was in with.”

I watch as Logan’s hand subtly shifts into a fist, my eyes stay focused there while I finish. “He did something bad.”

“What did he do?”

My breath comes out in a choppy exhale. I can still remember the moment I saw him do it, when he said we were just going out to dinner but had to make a stop first.

Then I remember running to the police the first chance I had.It was simultaneously relieving and heartbreaking. “He murdered someone. Another man.”

“Shit.”

“Pretty much.” I clear my throat, the fear still lingering somewhere back there. “So, anyway, he went to prison, and I petitioned for divorce. He didn’t want one, though.”

“So, he fought it?”

“He tried. But ultimately, if you go to prison, you don’t have rights to decide if you stay with your wife or not.”

“You’re divorced then.”

I look at him, and his eyes search mine, like he’s desperate for the answer. “Yes. I’m divorced.”