Page 17 of For Rage

A flicker of recognition on Gareth’s face. “I thought I heard someone talking about some FBI agent who was wrongfully convicted. That you?”

Sullenly, Morgan nodded.

Gareth shook his head, sympathy written all over his face. "I had no idea, Morgan. I'm sorry."

Morgan shrugged, trying to play it off. "It's in the past now. Just trying to move forward, you know?"

Gareth nodded, then gestured to the beer he'd poured for her. "On the house," he said.

Morgan gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Gareth."

As she sipped her beer, she looked around the bar. It was a Monday night, and the place was mostly empty. There were a few regulars scattered around, nursing their drinks and watching the TV screen playing in the corner. Morgan felt a sense of belonging, of familiarity, that she hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the company, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she was home.

Morgan took it all in, the sights and sounds of the bar, the way the bartender moved with ease. It was a reminder of a past life, of a time before prison, before everything had gone to shit. She missed it—the carefree days of drinking with friends, of not worrying about anything but having a good time when it was off-hours and taking down criminals when she was working.

But those days were gone, and she couldn't dwell on them. She took a deep breath and downed the rest of her beer, feeling the slight buzz in her head. The more she drank, the more Derik slipped back into her mind.

She hated how they'd left things off. Tomorrow, they were back at work. She had to make it right. Maybe call him, tell him she was sorry. No—that wouldn't be enough. She'd known Derik Greene for too long, even if they'd been apart for ten years.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but at that moment, she decided what she'd do.

***

Morgan knocked on Derik's door, having taken a cab across the city. The lights were on inside, telling her he was home. This place was new—different from the apartment he'd lived at the last time she'd been at one of his places. It was a small, modest house, with dark blue paneling in a family neighborhood. She wondered if she was about to get greeted by his wife or girlfriend—or worse, a kid—but when the door opened, it was just Derik on the other side. His plaid pajamas and ruffled dark hair made him look younger than he was, more like how he used to look to her.

"Morgan?" His blue eyes widened in shock.

"Hey." With a tight-lipped smile, she held up the bottle of scotch she'd grabbed on the way over. "Apology drink?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know, Cross. It's late. We need to work."

"It'll only take a bit."

Hesitantly, Derik stepped aside. Morgan breezed into his home and was surprised by how messy the place was, giving off the instant vibe of a bachelor pad. She noticed the diet soda cans piling up on the kitchen counter through the entrance, along with the stack of dishes. And there were a few hoodies lying around the living room, something she was sure a live-in girlfriend would never allow. In a way, it reminded her of her own place, minus Skunk.

Derik followed her, his frown deepening as she made herself at home on his couch. Derik set down a cup.

"Where's yours?" Morgan asked.

"None for me," he said. "I've been sober since the divorce.”

She never remembered Derik having a drinking problem, but then again, ten years was a long time.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Morgan said. Derik sat down a full couch cushion away, still looking unsure. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. It's just been a long day, and I needed to blow off some steam."

Derik shrugged. "It's fine, Morgan. I get it. This case is getting to all of us."

Morgan shook her head. "No, it's not just that. I've been thinking a lot about the past. About how much I've lost." She looked away. "And about us."

Derik's eyebrows shot up. "Us? Morgan, we haven't been partners in ten years. Still, it hurt when you said I didn't fight for you."

"I know, I know," Morgan said, running her fingers through her hair. "But I just ... I don't know. Working with you today, then seeing how Jim Alba had such a perfect life, thrown away all for nothing ... it brought back a lot of memories. It reminded me of things I used to dream about."

Derik looked down at his hands. "You never told me what you dreamt about. You were always a closed book."

Her eyes flashed to his. "Well, I've been locked up for a long time. Maybe I'm sick of being a closed book."

"So, what am I supposed to say?" Derik said. "I did fight for you, Morgan. Maybe I could've tried harder, but things got complicated in my life too."

---