Always will be.
We had sex three times today, last night? Sometime in between.
Time stopped making sense the moment I touched her.
I couldn’t get enough. Still can’t.
She seemed just as caught up in it as I was, like we’d fallen under some kind of spell.
I lay there stewing over the fact that Emma had to see that standoff with Marcus O’Rear. The only reason it didn’t end in blood was that two armed Russians happened to show up and scare him off.
What if they hadn’t?
What would she have seen then?
I don’t want her anywhere near this. She deserves a life untouched by my chaos.
Talia’s not wrong. I drag Emma down.
She used to be an artist—a damn good one. Sculptor, painter, the whole deal. Then she met me, and somewhere along the way, that part of her life disappeared.
Why?
Why did being with me mean giving up the thing that lit her up inside?
And now?
What can I even offer her? I’m a pro athlete, sure, but you wouldn’t know it by the look of my life.
No savings.
No security. Crashing at my dad’s rundown house like some washed-up burnout.
I should have my shit together.
Instead, I’m still shackled to the past like it’s velcroed to my damn skin
I’ve missed her so damn much. And now, she’s here, we still fit like we always did. Like no time passed at all. But there’s still so much I don’t know. So much we haven’t said.
Maybe that doesn’t matter.
We’re not kids anymore. We’ve both been through shit, lived our own lives. And somehow, we still found our way back to each other. Maybe I don’t need all the answers.
I can figure this mess out with Nik’s help, with some luck, with a lot of work. Perhaps I can still become someone she deserves. Someone she can count on.
I want that. More than anything. She was all I ever wanted. Emma is like sunlight, and I just feelbetterwhen I’m around her.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t even realize she’s awake until I feel her fingertip brush the space between my brows, the spot that always crinkles when I’m overthinking.
“You’re gonna get wrinkles,” she says. “All that brooding.”
“Brooding,” I scoff. “I’m not brooding.”
“Oh, please,” she teases, her voice light. “You’re the broodiest of brood boys. Always have been. It’s kind of your thing. But honestly, still sexy.”
I huff a humorless laugh, reaching across her body to pull her closer. “Yes, my life is a total fucking mess, and the mafia is literally at my front door. Super fuckin’ sexy.”
She shrugs a shoulder. Her cheeks go pink. God, I fucking love that.
