Hungry for something else to break. And I feel it. That tether. That quiet, awful pull I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. He lifts his gaze. Slow. Unshakable. Certain of where I am already.
When his eyes find me—across the warehouse, through the noise, past the blood and smoke—it feels we’re the only two people still standing in a place meant to ruin us.
Not the crowd. Not the chaos. Just us. Me, rooted at the edge of it all. Him, still burning. And everything between us? Loud.
Chapter 26
Malachi
EverythingI’dbeenburyingall week—grief, betrayal, rage so sharp it tasted of metal in my mouth—finally broke loose in that cage.
I didn’t just swing at the guy in front of me. I swung at ghosts. At the stench of lies that still cling to my skin. The twist in my gut when I found out Cornelius didn’t die the way they said. At the sick realization that Donovan’s name sits tangled in the same rot that swallowed Jared and Amelia whole.
Underneath all of it… there’s her.
My eyes catch on Candace in the crowd, a habit I never unlearned. Gravity’s rewritten itself to orbit her whether I want it to or not. I didn’t expect her tonight; I’ve learned better than to hope. But part of me did anyway. That part that’s still bleeding under the bruises, still waiting for something that doesn’t resemble goodbye.
She’s standing still. Watching me.
Not the way it was before, when her stare was all steel and scorn. Tonight, there’s something cracked open behind her eyes. Like staying away from me carved something out of her. Maybe, just maybe, she’s not ready to let me go.
I step out of the cage, blood roaring in my ears. Coach Tompkins slaps my back hard enough to rattle something loose in my ribs.
“You pulled ten grand outta that ring,” he says, voice all grit and pride.
I nod once, barely slowing. My eyes stay locked on her.
Ten grand. Enough to cover what her bastard father stole. It won’t give her back the house, the years, the parts of herself she had to break off just to survive. But it’s a start. A step. Something real I could give her if she still wants to walk away.
I won’t stop her. Even if it cuts the last of me out in the process.
I wasn’t supposed to fall. Not for her. Not like this—headlong, wrecked, and too far gone to crawl back out. But love doesn’t give a damn about rules or timing or the mess you’re standing in. Now that I’ve got it tangled in my chest, there’s no tearing it free without shattering everything else.
She doesn’t run this time.
She stays. Meets me in the middle of all the noise, blood, and broken things with her chin lifted, daring me to be what she needs or daring herself to ask for it.
James’ voice ghosts through the chaos.Be the man who doesn’t run when she does. Let her come to you. And when she does? Don’t fix her pain. Just sit in it with her.
She came. That’s enough.
I stop in front of her, close enough to feel the tension humming off her skin, static in the air. Her chin tilts up. Stubborn, soft, and everything I can’t quit. I brush a strand of hair from her face. She doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t pull away. That alone feels like a miracle.
“You came to watch me fight.”
“I did.”
I cup her face—both hands steady this time. Not the frantic kind of touch we fell into that night, not need wrapped in fury. This is quieter. Still trembling, but honest.
“Good.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before I close the space between us.
My thumb traces beneath her cheekbone, her skin warm and impossibly soft beneath my calloused touch. She holds still, breathing in pain. Bracing for impact.
I lean in slowly, giving her every second to walk away.
