Chapter 81

I still don’t answer. With a jerk of his hand, I stumble into him and he grabs my arms, both of them, squeezes until I’m forced to look at him, to seehim, and the anger in his face, the pain I’ve put there. He’s close to tears himself—I can see myself faceted in those stormy eyes. When he speaks, his voice breaks. “Talk to me,” he pleads. “What did he say, Michael? And don’t you daresay nothing.”

“Let go of me,” I snarl. I try to twist out of his grip and can’t. “Dan—”

“What the hell did he do to you?” he wants to know. He peers at me through angry tears and demands, “What’s happened to my Michael?”

This time when I pull away, he lets me go. “I’m right here,” I grumble.

He narrows his eyes in disbelief. “The man I love talks to me,” he says, rubbing at my wrist, trying to open me up to him. I don’t respond. “The Michael Iknow tells me what’s wrong and lets me make it right. He doesn’t keep me out. He doesn’t make me fucking guesswhat the problem is.”