I hug my arms across my chest. “We want different things, Bash. I want someone I can count on, and you’re not even staying in Meadow Hills because you want freedom.”
Bash cradles my face in his palms. “All I want isyou. I’ll stay. I promise.” His eyes look feral. Desperate. They tug at my heart.
But the truth rings in my ears.He’s only agreeing to stay for you. If you let him, he’s going to regret it or resent you for it. If he really wanted to be with you, he should have decided to stay on his own before you mentioned it.
It’s all the things I know I should tell him, but to do so would be admitting way too much.
“No. We’re not right for each other,” I tell him. “We’re much better off as friends.”
Bash’s brows knit together, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t try to kiss me again. He just swallows and steps away from me, but I still feel his touch like it’s branded onto me.
My eyes sting. I wish he’d yell. I wish he’d call me dramatic or stubborn or difficult. But he just looks at me with those wild blue eyes.
“I want to be a lot more than your friend. And I don’t think I can let you go,” he admits, voice thick.
My heart cracks.
“But I can give you space. If that’s what you need.”
I nod, even though it feels like someone just pulled the sun from the sky. And when he finally steps away, everything in me aches to chase after him. But I don’t.
Chapter Twenty-One
BASH
The rest of the week,I keep my distance, just like I said I would. But it’s not easy. Not when I see Romilly coming outside her cabin each morning, looking so beautiful in an otherworldly, angelic way. But not just beautiful. Sad. I want to discover what’s on her mind, but I promised to give her space.
Still, it takes every ounce of strength I’ve got not to reach for her as she brushes past me in the mess hall or circles the chapel with her Bible and a purposeful expression. Especially since our kiss in the woods is still burned into my brain.
It’s been three days since, and all I want is to pull her right back against me and devour her. But she rejected me, even after I told her I’d stay in Meadow Hills. I thought it would make her happy, but it only pushed her away. It’s a good thing I didn’t tell her how badly I want to make her little town my new home, how much it already feels like home, or just how much of my heart is with her. It would have made things worse.
And now, I want a cigarette for the first time in ages.
Lord, help me.
I’ve started training every morning to work out my frustrations. Thanks to the prodding and reminders from myagent, Max, my fight is only four weeks away. So, each morning before sunrise, I head into the woods with a jump rope, resistance bands, and enough tension in my body to snap a tree in half. The crisp, cold air stings my lungs as I shadowbox beneath a canopy of amber and fire-colored leaves. I grunt through push-ups in the dirt, slam my gloved fists into the trunk of a tree, and try not to think about her.
But I always do.
Romilly, with her soft laugh and stubborn streak.
Romilly, with her guarded eyes and the way she looks at me like I might just be dangerous enough to ruin her.
And maybe I am.
We barely speak the rest of the week. When we do, it's polite. Careful. Surface-level. She thanks me when I hand her a ladle in the kitchen. Nods when I offer to carry supplies for her. Smiles a faint, flickering thing that never reaches her eyes.
It kills me.
Because after that kiss—after the way she melted in my arms like she was made to fit there—I was sure we were on the same page. But I should have known better. And I should have remembered the walls she’s built were there for a reason.
I really need to stop trying to knock them down. I need to just…wait.
One of the few wise things my mother once told me comes to mind.Sebastian, trying to rush a woman is like trying to force a fruit to ripen.She said it to me while my dad was trying to rush her to get ready one morning so they wouldn’t be late, but still. I think the sentiment applies in this case just the same.
I train. I help the other camp counselors. I pretend to enjoy when the campers ask me if I’m really “Bash the Smasher,” a name that recently started circulating social media with my fight approaching. I hike, chop wood, stoke the fire at night, and sit across the bonfire from her with my heart in my throat.
The next morning, I get up an hour before wake-up time and find a log to sit on. I’m so deep in thought, I don’t even notice when Logan comes up behind me.
