"Doesn't matter whose fault it was." His hands clench. It's nothing he'll ever like talking about, much less under circumstances like these.
"You know what I did after that? Cage fighting, Jean. And worse. I got from there to here beating the hell out of people for cash. I don't know shit outside fighting and pain and--I don't even know how old I am. If you think that's the kind of man you need, you're--"

Hell, he can't bring himself to say it. It's like throwing stones at a stray dog to drive it away. He doesn't want to have to put any of this out there, but if one of them has to have sense about it, it looks like it's going to have to be him.