Or maybe she wouldn't want my help.
Maybe she'd figure it out on her own and disappear back to New York without ever calling. Without ever needing to see me again. Without ever discovering that I'd spent an entire morning thinking about her in ways that would probably terrify her if she knew.
That would be easier.
Cleaner.
Safer for both of us.
Get a hold of yourself, Kane.
Hours ago, I'd been trying to cave another man's skull in for entertainment. For the rush. For the temporary relief it gave me from the constant pressure in my head.
What made me think I could play Romeo to her Juliet?
What made me think I deserved to even try?
Stupid.
Just fucking stupid.
I wasn't built for this. Wasn't built for soft things. For vulnerable women with sad eyes who looked at me like I could save them from something.
I destroyed things. That's what I did. That's what I was good at. That's what St. Paul's had made me and what I'd become afterward.
Violence. Control. Precision. Destruction.
Not tenderness. Not care. Not the kind of gentle handling someone like Ella needed.
And Ella?—
Ella deserved to stay whole.
Deserved to find her answers and go home and rebuild her life with someone who wouldn't drag her into darkness.
Stay in your lane, Mr. Black.
Stay in your fucking lane.
13
ELLA
The adrenaline from the café didn’t fade the way adrenaline usually did.
It lingered.
Followed me.
Sat in my chest like a live wire long after Kane disappeared down the street and I turned in the opposite direction, folder clutched under my arm, pretending my life hadn’t just shifted on its axis.
I walked three blocks before I remembered to breathe normally.
Three blocks before my brain finally caught up with my mouth.
You.
God.
