It was going to be hard, loving someone like that. Not the feeling—I knew that the feeling wouldn’t go away. It was the action of loving someone like Morgan that would be difficult. She didn’t accept it graciously. She didn’t assume it was her due. Morgan actively distanced herself from caring gestures and intimacy; it was like she didn’t trust anyone’s motives when they were trying to be kind.
“I wasn’t going to freeze you out,” she said, rolling her eyes as she flopped backward on the couch. She laid her legs over my lap and got comfortable, and I missed the warmth of her against my side. “I was just thinking.”
“That usually doesn’t go well for me,” I joked, squeezing her foot.
“I don’t think I can give you what you want,” she said, looking at my face but not making eye contact. “I’m never going to be the needy girl who asks you to fix all her problems.”
“Good,” I replied, surprising her enough that her gaze finally met mine. “I want a woman, and I don’t want one who can’t stand on her own feet.”
“But—”
“Just as long as she lets me know what the problems are, so I can listen. Maybe give some advice if it’s needed.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. “You just made this whole big deal about how I never ask for help, blah.”
I was so frustrated that I wanted to shake her, but I didn’t let any of that show in my voice when I replied. “I want you to include me,” I said. “Just let me in.”
Our conversation was interrupted as her dad came out of the bathroom. The man had taken the shortest shower in the history of running water, yet he was obviously clean and he’d already pulled his hair back into a neat ponytail. I was a little impressed, even though I would have been happier with a few more minutes alone.
“I hear your sister ran off with Frank,” he said to Morgan as he made his way into the small kitchen. “You know about that?”
Morgan froze and then climbed off the couch to follow him.
“Not in advance,” she replied as soon as she’d reached the kitchen. I followed slowly, unsure whether I was intruding or not. “Olly called me this morning to let me know.”
“Yeah, he’s the one who gave me a heads-up, too.” Stan said. He looked at me and lifted the coffee carafe in his hand. “Coffee, Trevor?”
“No thanks,” I replied. I glanced between him and Morgan, wondering what I was missing. Earlier Morgan had nonchalantly said that Miranda was on a trip with a family friend, but the minute her dad had brought it up, she’d gone stiff as a board.
“She was here when I left for the shop,” Stan said, sitting down at the table with a sigh. “She must have left right after.”
“It was a shitty thing to do,” Morgan replied, sitting down across from him in front of a second mug of coffee.
“Needed to feel the wind on her face,” Stan said contemplatively. He gave Morgan a small smile. “Been there a time or two myself.”
“She could have at least said something.” Morgan crossed her arms over her chest, her face scrunched up in annoyance. “And what the hell did she do with all of her stuff?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Maybe she took it to Frank’s.” Stan sighed. “Would you have let her leave?”
I sat down at the table so I wasn’t looming over them, but kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t a part of this particular conversation, and I really didn’t want to overstep. Besides, the fact that I was keeping quiet was probably why they felt so free to talk about it in front of me.
“It’s not like I would have tackled her and locked her in,” Morgan grumbled, taking a sip of her coffee. “I just would have pointed out what a horrible idea it was.”
Etta started crying in the other room and Morgan sighed, setting down her mug as she stood from the table.
“I’ll be right back,” she said quietly, leaving the room.
It didn’t take long before Stan’s focus moved to me, and I forced myself not to fidget under his close regard.
“I don’t think she realizes what a force she is when she sets her mind to something,” Stan told me, his lips tipping up in the corners. “She mighta been surprised when Miranda snuck off, but I’ve seen it coming.”
“Has it happened before?” I asked, glancing toward the quiet hallway.
“Not so much the sneaking,” Stan replied. “But Miranda’s had itchy feet for as long as she’s had the space to run. I just never curbed it the way Morgan would’ve.”
I nodded in understanding. Henry and Shane were the same way. They’d just gone about it differently, choosing to join the military instead of riding off on the back of a motorcycle.