“Even at the time I knew he hadn’t told tell me everything.” Ronin sighed. “I’m not sure I know the whole story even now.”
You don’t know the whole story either, her conscience prodded her. You left Deacon before he could explain. She understood the mind-set of keeping your own counsel—she’d done it for years with her own family situation—but she was not in the wrong here.
“When I offered him an instructor’s job,” Ronin continued, “I had him thoroughly checked out.”
“Deacon didn’t pass his background check?”
“He passed. In fact, his record was squeaky clean. Maybe it makes me a judgmental prick, but Deacon had the tats, the shaved head, and the attitude. Guys like that don’t get through life unscathed. When I asked him specifics, he told me enough to get a better understanding of him. He trusted me, and that’s something I don’t take lightly, Molly, because Deacon doesn’t trust anyone. He keeps to himself—or at least he did up until the last year or so.” Ronin paused again. “Knox and Deacon are tight and have been from day one. But even after five years of being his friend, Knox doesn’t know about Deacon’s past—that’s how painful it is for him to talk about.”
“That’s what I don’t get. We hadn’t even been dating a week and my grandma died. He dropped everything to be with me. He could’ve at least told me about his brother then.”
“I disagree.”
Her gaze returned to his. “Why?”
Ronin studied her.
The man was scary as hell in Sensei mode.
“You were grieving. Contrary to popular belief, misery doesn’t love company. Deacon telling you about his twin’s death would’ve taken away from your grief.”
“Bullshit.”
He shrugged. “You say that now. But we both know if you were pouring your heart out to him and he interjected that he knew exactly how you felt, you would’ve been resentful.”
That knocked her back a step. Was that true?
“Sounds like it was more important for him to support you, which surprises the hell out of me, to be honest.” He paused. His watchful gaze gave nothing away. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t have the right to intrude on his grief any more than he did on yours.”
Her tears fell, and she snatched a tissue from Amery’s desk. “Maybe the timing wasn’t right when we were in Nebraska. But we’ve been back in Denver for two weeks. We’ve spent more time together than apart. We’ve become intimate on levels I wasn’t aware existed. The way we are together . . . I’ve never given over everything of myself to a man—or to anyone—like I have with him.”
“And Deacon keeping his past sorrow from you takes something away from that?” Ronin asked gently.
“Yes. I realize he didn’t hold a gun to my head and order me to spill my guts. I freely chose to share everything about myself and my past with him. Did I bare all because I expected him to do the same? I don’t know. I guess I’d hoped it’d encourage him to open up to me. Because that’s how I thought relationships worked.”
“You’re not wrong. That is the norm for most people.”
“But not for Deacon.”
“Not for me either.”
Molly glanced up, surprised by the regret in Ronin’s tone.
“Most people search for that special connection with someone. Guys like me and Deacon? We avoid it. Then closing down becomes such a part of who we are that we don’t even realize we’re doing it.” His hand formed a fist on the desk. “It’s incredibly hard to let go of that mind-set. And when we fuck up a good thing—which we inevitably do—it’s because we don’t have the emotional skill set to understand it or fix it. We’ve never needed it.
“That said, Deacon should’ve talked to you about the incident in his past that defined him. He knows that. Right now he’s in an internal beat down a million times worse than any fighter he’ll ever face in the ring.” A faraway look entered Ronin’s eyes. “I did the same damn thing with Amery. I should’ve told her up front about my family connection. We, too, had reached a level in our relationship neither of us expected. She felt betrayed—as she should have. I had to see the person I cared more about than life itself look at me like I was a complete stranger.”
“I feel like that’s what he is. And maybe it makes me self-centered to internalize this, but it hurts that he didn’t tell me. It really hurts that I’m not special enough to him to know about his past. I’m just like everyone else—in the dark.” Her voice caught. “And because I was so pissed off, I walked away. But as much as I hurt, I know he’s hurting worse. How many years has Deacon had to deal with all of this alone? He doesn’t open himself up to anyone, and that breaks my heart.” More tears seeped out. “I haven’t heard from him at all since this went down.” And after all she’d just said, it’d be contradictory to admit that she’d expected Deacon to come after her. Like he had when she missed class. Like he had when she went to Nebraska. She’d gone to bed the night she’d left the restaurant absolutely heartsick, but she’d believed—wanted?—hoped?—that he’d bully his way into her house and try to make things right between them.