"Garrett, wait," Natalie said.
He stopped only when she reached his side and pulled on his hand.
"What's going on? Don't shut me out," she said.
He saw the compassion, the love in her eyes and felt knives of pain slash him. Fine, he would tell her the truth. Then she would leave him.
"My father beat me," he ground out. "He used to hit me until I couldn't feel it anymore."
"Oh, my God," she breathed.
He bent low, pushing his face into hers. "I'm just like him, Natalie. My temper lights up like a match. What would happen to you and the kids if I lost it? I get enraged and I can't think, and then I'd be hitting you or maybe one of the kids."
"No," she denied, grasping his arm. "You're not like that."
"Why don't you tell that to the sixteen-year-old kid I almost killed," he said.
He heard her gasp and he stared at the trees, unable to meet her eyes. Then she said, "When?"
"What?" He straightened and frowned at her. Why the hell wasn't she running, screaming into the house?
