“You’re not falling apart. You’re holding together despite everything trying to break you. That’s strength, not weakness.”
“Is that what you’re doing?” Claire gestured to the punching bag, to his bleeding hands. “Holding together?”
Something flickered in his eyes. Something that looked like recognition. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
They stood there, breathing the same air. His hand was still on her face. Her hand still held his bloody knuckles.
“I should go,” she said, her voice coming out low and rough.
But she didn’t move.
“Probably,” he said.
“You should get some rest.”
“So should you.”
Neither of them moved.
“Wolf, what is your?—?”
“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer right now.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
Claire wanted to be angry. Wanted to demand answers. Wanted to know why he kept holding back when everything else between them felt so...real.
But she was too tired. Too raw. Too desperate for comfort to push him away.
“Will you walk me back to my room?” she asked instead.
“I wasn’t about to let you go alone. Let me clean up a minute.” He locked the door to the gym, then disappeared into the changing room. She heard the shower come on.
A few minutes later, he reemerged, hair wet, knuckles professionally wrapped like he’d bandaged himself up dozens of times. He smelled like pine and sandalwood. Smiled at her as he unlocked the door and led her out.
They walked in silence. The compound was quiet, everyone else asleep or on patrol. Just the two of them and the shadows. At her door, Claire stopped. Turned. “I know I keep saying this, but thank you,” she said. “For everything. Not just for keeping me safe, but for pushing me when I needed it. For...” She trailed off.For kissing me. For making me feel alive again. For being someone I could fall for if I let myself.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Garrett said. “It’s my job.”
“Yeah, your job. Is that all I am to you? A job?”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it. Just looked at her with those green eyes that saw too much. “Get some sleep, Claire.”
“Are you staying?”
He nodded. Dropped his bag beside the door and leaned on the wall. “I’m staying.”
“Wolf?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever you’re punishing yourself for, it’s not your fault either.”
His expression turned flat. He opened her door. “Goodnight, Claire.”
Inside, she deflated, disappointed he hadn’t let her ask her questions. He had a wall so high and thick that she wondered if anyone could get through it. What secrets did he carry? What guilt drove him to bloody his hands on a punching bag for hours?
