She tenses slightly, grip tightening around my hands. “Tell me.”
My throat locks for a second. Cold air, hot truth. Not a great mix.
“I’m not the guy who just had a shitty childhood,” I say quietly. “Bad things don’t just happenaroundme. They happenbecauseof me.”
She starts to turn, but I hold her still for another second. Needing a tiny bit more darkness to get the words out.
“There was a woman,” I say, steady but wrecked. “Tessa.”
Bri doesn’t speak. She just listens like she knows this is a wound I never let see daylight.
“We were seeing each other,” I continue. “Not some grand love story. We were just two messed up people who found something good between all the chaos. She made me laugh when nothing felt funny. She gave me hell when I needed it.” My throat tightens. “She cared about me.”
I drag in a harsh breath.
“Ten years ago, things with a rival crew were heating up. There were threats. Intel that shit was about to go sideways. Mason told us to lock the place down and get our people inside the compound.”
I stare straight ahead, but I’m not seeing the view anymore. I’m seeing flames.
“I told her to go home. Told her to lock her doors and stay inside. She wanted to stay with me. I pushed her away instead.”
The guilt that never left my chest squeezes tight.
“She walked off pissed, got in her car, pulled up to the gate.” My voice drops to almost nothing. “That’s when the bomb went off.”
Bri gasps, silent and sharp.
“One second she was there,” I say. “The next there was fire. Metal. Pieces of the car flying everywhere. I ran toward her like I could do something, like I could pull her out of hell with my bare hands.” I swallow hard. “Rev dragged me back before the gas tank blew.”
I scrub a hand over my face once, like I can erase the memory.
“I heard her scream my name before the flames took everything else.” My voice shakes, just a little. “And then nothing.”
The silence after that confession feels like someone waiting for a verdict. She starts to turn toward me but I hold her where she is, needing the darkness to hide my face while I say it. The wind picks up, cold against the heat climbing in my chest. “I wasn’t quick enough. I wasn’t smart enough. And she paid for it.” I finally let her face me. “I don’t get to want things like you. I don’t get a future. I get blood and guilt and nightmares that don’t stop.”
She lifts a hand, fingertips brushing my jaw like she can fix something that snapped a long time ago. “Blade,” she whispers.
“I live in a world that will ruin you without trying,” I say, sharp with truth that tastes like poison. “You’re sunlight and I’m the damn storm. You deserve someone who makes you feel safe, not someone who brings danger right to your door.”
Her eyes flash. Angry. Offended that I’d even try to push her away with that logic. “You think I don’t know who you are?” she asks, stepping closer. “You think I don’t see you? The good and the broken and the parts you try so hard to bury? I still want you.”
My hands flex on her hips. “You should be running.”
“I should be,” she agrees. “But I’m not. And I’m not going to.”
She tilts her head up, fearless. Brave in a way that makes me want to wrap her in steel and never let the world touch her. “I’m not that girl,” she says. “I don’t break easily. If your world is dark, then I’ll learn the dark. If you’re haunted, I’ll stand right beside whatever ghosts try you. You don’t scare me.”
There’s a pressure in my chest that feels like the first breath after drowning. She leans in, lips hovering close enough to rewrite every rule I’ve lived by. “So you can keep pretending this is a bad idea,” she whispers, “or you can be honest and kiss me like you want to.”
And I am done pretending. “I want you,” I say, voice rough like gravel. “More than I should. More than I can stand.”
Her lips part, soft and sure, and I kiss her like she is the only thing keeping me alive.
I kiss her like I’m starving. She kisses me like she’s been waiting on this moment forever. Her hands dive into my hair. My grip slides to her hips, pulling her flush with me, and she gasps against my mouth. The sound nearly puts me on my knees.
She breaks away only long enough to whisper, “Take me home.”
That sentence flips the last switch in me. I swing a leg over my bike and look back at her, pulse wrecked.
