Page 77 of Innocent Intent

“Why not professionally?”

“It was never a passion of mine. Just something to do.” She noticed his tone was clipped and decided to let it go.

“Oh.” When she felt his hand on her thigh, thumb moving across the fabric of her track pants, her eyes lifted to his.

“It’s not really something I talk about.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“Wasn’t it you who said I needed to level the playing field?”

She remembered commenting on him knowing more about her than she knew about him and nodded.

“Then I don’t have to, but I want to.”

She kept her eyes on his, watching how he moved thoughts around in his head, struggling for the words he wanted to offer or was willing to share. She could feel the push and pull.

“My parents didn’t have a great marriage. They loved each other dysfunctionally, and that wasn’t ever really enough, but they stayed together. My dad was careless with life. He did a lot of dumb shit. More or less a career criminal. My mother was the optimist who believed that one day he would get his shit together.”

“Did he?”

Davis laughed bitterly. “No, he was shot and killed by a cop after pulling a gun on him while robbing a convenience store.”

Cassidy gasped while shock settled into her expression. “He . . . wow . . .”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you became a cop? Because of what happened to your father?”

The way he laughed arrogantly had Cassidy confused. “If you’re asking if I joined the force to satisfy some injustice because my father was wronged, then no. He made choices that held permanent consequences. He robbed a man at gunpoint and was given multiple opportunities to prevent losing his life. He shot at that cop, and the cop shot back.”

“You two weren’t close?”

“No. But that has nothing to do with my feelings about what happened to him. We weren’t close, but I loved him as much as I possibly could.”

“I guess we have that in common. I loved my parents as much as I could, given how little they loved me.”

The pressure of his hand on her leg increased, settling her anxiety. When their eyes met again, she sensed he understood, so she looked away.

“I’m not him, Cass.”

Her eyes shot up to his, and she realized he had somehow managed to read her thoughts. Relating to Niles had cost her in the worst way, and here she was yet again, allowing herself to be vulnerable.

“I wasn’t—”

He leaned in and gripped her chin, placing a reassuring kiss on her lips. “You were, and it’s okay. I just need you to know that you can trust yourself with me. It will take time, and I’ll never rush you, but you’re safe with me, Cass.”

“Thank you. So . . .” She needed to shift the direction of their conversation. “The boxing thing . . .”

His eyes were on his plate until he had a forkful of his omelet. “What about it?”

“You trained but never fought professionally. Why?”

“My mom put me in classes to train my focus on something other than being angry with my dad. It was also a way to keep me out of the house when he was going through his rants about what a disappointment I was as a son and how inadequate my mother was as a wife.”

“He was abusive.”

“Verbally, occasionally. I got more insults than compliments from the guy, but he never put his hands on either of us. Eat before that gets cold.”

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