We left the flowers at the base of the headstone and stood there for another minute in silence that felt full instead of empty.
Then we walked back to the car hand in hand while the last light faded from the sky.
In the car, Declan turned to me. “That was the best date I've ever been on.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He pulled me in for a kiss that tasted like salt and grief and hope all mixed together. “Thank you for today. For choosing me on purpose instead of just letting it happen.”
“I'll keep choosing you,” I said.
“Even when Rafael comes back?”
“Especially then.” I started the engine. “Because I'm done running, Declan. Done pretending this is temporary or that I don't want it. I'm all in. For as long as you'll have me.”
His smile was bright enough to light up the whole fucking car. “Then I guess you're stuck with me.”
“Good.” I pulled out of the cemetery. “Because that's exactly where I want to be.”
We drove home through streets that felt less threatening than they had that morning. The city was still the same. The danger was still real. But for the first time since coming back to Chicago, I felt like I had something worth staying for.
Worth fighting for.
Worth choosing every single day no matter what came next.
TWENTY-FOUR
CROWN OF SMOKE
DECLAN
Isat on the bench with my hands on my knees, breathing steady and trying to get my head into the space where nothing existed except the opponent and the ring.
Mara was across the room checking the equipment and laying out the hand wraps with the methodical precision she brought to everything. She'd been humming some tune I didn't recognize, which meant she was in a good mood. Or at least pretending to be for my sake.
“You ready for this?” she asked without looking up.
“As ready as I'm going to be.”
“That's not exactly confidence-inspiring, Declan.” She grabbed the hand wraps and crossed to where I sat. “But I'll take it. You've trained hard. You're as prepared as anyone could be for this.”
I looked up at her. “He's fast, Mara. Faster than anyone I've fought in years.”
“Yeah, he is.” She knelt in front of me and started wrapping my left hand with the practiced efficiency. “He's also cocky. Leaves his right side open when he commits to the left hook. And he gasses out in the later rounds if you can push the pace early.”
“You've been studying him.”
“Of course I have. That's my job.” She glanced up at me with a slight smile. “Your job is to not get your face rearranged. Think you can handle that?”
“I'll do my best.”
“That's all I'm asking.” She worked the tape between my fingers and around my wrist, building the foundation that would protect my hands when I was throwing everything I had at another man's face. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you're going to surprise a lot of people tonight. They're writing you off because you're older. Because you took time away from competition. Because they think you've lost the edge.” She finished the left hand and started on the right. “But I've watched you train for weeks. And I've never seen you this focused. This determined. Whatever's been happening in your life lately, it's made you sharper.”
The observation caught me off guard. “You think so?”
