Instead, I'm terrified I'll fuck this up. That she'll wake up tomorrow and realize what a mistake she's made. That she'll run again, and this time I won't be able to stop her.
Because I meant what I said—I won't chase her again. I won't drag her back, kicking and screaming. She needs to choose this. Choose me.
Even if letting her go destroys me.
Even if letting her walk away is the hardest thing I've ever done.
But right now, in this moment, she's here, safe in my arms and choosing to stay.
And I'll take whatever she's willing to give me.
I wake before dawn,an old habit from years of training and discipline, and I know immediately I won't be going back to sleep.
She's here. Under my roof. Safe.
But for how long?
I need to work off this energy before I do something stupid, like crawl back into her bed and wake her with my mouth between her thighs.
Christ, the things I want to do to her.
I pull on shorts and trainers and head outside to the heavy bag I’ve got suspended in a clearing at the back of the cabin. The morning air is cool and sharp. Good. I need the cold to clear my head.
I start slow—jabs, crosses, working up to combinations. But within minutes, I'm going full force, imagining Crowning's face with every punch.
The bastard put his hands on her. Hurt her.Threatenedher.
I should have fuckingkilledhim. Should have beaten him until there was nothing left.
But I didn't. I couldn't. I had to stay loyal to my family, and killing him on the spot would've meant a war we're not prepared to win.
And I didn't want Bianca to see me become a complete monster.
Not yet.
The bag swings wildly under my assault. Sweat pours down my back despite the cool air.
I haven't told my family about her yet. They don't know I've potentially started a conflict we can't afford right now, not with everything else they're dealing with.
And here I am, absent when they need me, obsessed with a girl I should've let go of six years ago.
And Christ, what happens when Crowning realizes she's missing? When he figures out a McCarthytook her? I might've just painted a target on my entire family's back because I couldn't keep my fucking hands to myself.
I slam my fist into the bag harder. The chain rattles.
I should warn them. Should tell Da that trouble might be coming. Should at least give Seamus a heads-up that I've complicated things.
But then I'd have to explain why. I’d have to admit I've been watching her for years, then see the judgment in their eyes when they realize how far gone I am.
The bag sways and bulges.
I've been celibate foryears. Years spent working off my obsession with her in the ring, on bags, in brutal fights, where I could channel all this need into violence.
Now she's here, sleeping in my guest room, and I can't have her.
Not yet.
Fuck.
