Chapter 24

Chapter

Twenty-Four

After Morgan stepsaway to change his flour-coated shirt, I can"t help but feel a twinge of guilt over the mess we"ve made. Determined to set things right, I start tidying up the kitchen, wiping down counters and gathering dishes. My search for a washcloth leads me to a drawer where I stumble upon a framed photo hidden among kitchen linens.

The picture, slightly faded, captures a moment of laughter shared between a teenage Morgan and another boy who bears a striking resemblance to him. It"s a snapshot of simpler times, their joy frozen in the frame. I can"t help but wonder about the story behind their smiles and the bond they must have shared.

As I"m lost in thought, Morgan re-enters the room, his presence drawing me back to the present. Startled, I quickly set the photo down, my cheeks warming with embarrassment. "I"m so sorry. I wasn"t trying to snoop," I stammer, feeling the need to explain my unintended intrusion.

Morgan"s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his face as he follows my gaze to the photo before turning to start coffee pot. "That"s my brother, Sam," he says, his voice carrying a weight I hadn"t heard before.

The revelation catches me off guard. "Oh, I didn"t know you have a brother," I reply, curious yet cautious, not wanting to overstep any boundaries.

Morgan"s shoulders tense slightly, a subtle sign of the pain the topic brings. "Had," he corrects gently. "He passed away three years ago."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know," I reply automatically.

"Not your fault. I never talk about him. Eliza does, but…" Morgan shrugs, "You just met us."

In that moment, I see a different side of Morgan, one marked by a deep, personal sorrow. My heart aches for him, for the brother he lost, and for the memories that the photo holds.

As I watch Morgan move around the kitchen, the pieces start to click together, forming a picture of a man far more complex than I"d initially given him credit for. The depth of his loss, the shadow of grief that lingers in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking—it speaks volumes about the layers he keeps hidden beneath that easygoing facade.

A part of me had already sensed it, hadn"t I? From the moment he reached out to steady me on the plane, offering comfort without expecting anything in return. And then, teaching me to fly, his promise to catch me, to protect me—it wasn"t just about the physical act of flying. There was a promise of safety, of being there, that resonated on a deeper level.

I realize now that there"s a depth to Morgan that he tries to mask, perhaps to shield himself from the pain of his past. The photo, this small glimpse into his world, it"s a reminder that everyone carries their own hidden burdens, their own stories etched in the lines of their faces and the depths of their eyes. And don't even get me started on his baseball career. Now is not the time to bring that up—speaking of loss, I heard you used to be a baseball star—yeah, no. I'm not going to go there. But I can offer my condolences for a brother lost too soon.

"Morgan," I start, my voice softer, more tentative than before. "I... I can see he meant a lot to you. I"m truly sorry for your loss."

He pauses, the coffee pot in hand. His stance seems vulnerable, a crack in the armor he wears so well. "Thanks," he says, and there"s gratitude in his voice, a recognition of the shared understanding that"s starting to form between us.

He clears his throat. "How's the quiche coming along?" he asks, getting down two mugs.

And just like that, the moment has passed.