Poor guy. No good deed . . . Luckily, his leather jacket had deflected a lot of the damage, and hopefully her teeth hadn’t broken skin. However, Sarah could see the angry tracks her nails had slashed across his throat and the red mark high on his cheekbone where her fist had made contact. She felt her face grow hotter at the visual evidence of her outburst. “I’m sorry.” Her voice tugged his gaze from the swinging kitchen door to focus on her. The intensity in his gaze made the anxious butterflies in her stomach stage a full revolt. But instead of running or backtracking or averting her eyes, she stayed put, straightened her spine, and continued on the path she’d laid before her. “I freaked out. Some kind of PTSD, got stuck in a flashback, but that’s no excuse for the way I behaved. I shouldn’t have struck you.”

“I meant what I said out there. No apology is necessary.” A rueful smile flickered across his face, as if he were the one who had dealt the blows. “I figured it was something like that.”

Sarah felt like he was constantly seeing beyond what she had told him. It was an odd feeling. “I imagine you have some questions.”

He regarded her steadily. “A few.”

She nodded. “As I mentioned on the street, my real name is Sarah. Sarah Audrey Rainsford. Ryan and Barbara Rainsford were my parents.” Her throat felt tight, constricted. This was harder than she’d thought it would be. Putting words to her situation.

“Were?” Of course he would pick up on that. She had to look away. The compassion in his eyes was making it hard to continue, and she had only just started. “They’ve passed away?”

“Yeah. Four years ago.” Lord, how she missed them.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded as if he truly was, for people he hadn’t even met. She shut her eyes, bit down hard on her back teeth. Determined not to start weeping again. “Do you have brothers or sisters?” she heard Mick say.

“No. It’s just me now.” She forced her hands to loosen their death grip in her lap. Blew out a breath long and slow, trying to get her breathing regulated. Then she inhaled, and on the next exhale, she looked up so that her gaze met his once more. “Actually, you’re the first person I’ve told my real name to in almost four years, so if you would please not share it with—”

“Of course not.” He cut in, his voice harsh, definitive, and she knew by the way he said it that she could trust him. The man wouldn’t be telling a soul.

“It’s weird how saying my name out loud makes me kind of emotional.”