"Everyone needs saving sometimes," he says finally. "Doesn't make you weak. Makes you human."
"Do you need saving?" I ask. "Ever?"
"Yeah." He says it so simply. "Every time I close my eyes and the nightmares start. Every time the buzzing gets so loud I can't think. Every time I step into the Pit because it's the only place the noise stops." He pauses. "My brother saves me from that.Rampage, the other fighters, they save me by giving me a place where being broken is useful."
I look at him. Can barely make out his face in the darkness but I see enough. The shadows under his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The weight he carries that nobody else can see.
"You're not broken," I whisper.
"Yeah, I am. But so are you. Doesn't mean we're not worth saving."
We. Again.
Like we're in this together. Like I'm not alone anymore.
"Thank you," I say again. "For everything. For being here. For protecting me. For making me feel like maybe I'm not—"
"Not what?"
"Not nothing."
His hand tightens on my shoulder. "You're not nothing, Nora. You never were."
For the first time in my life, when someone says I matter,
I believe them.
Chapter 7 - Reckless
I'm way out of my comfort zone.
The thought hits me hard as I sit on the edge of Nora's bed, my hand still on her shoulder, watching her believe me when I tell her she's not nothing.
This, comfort, support, actual conversation that goes deeper than fight strategy or workout routines, this isn't what I do. I break things. I fight. I exist in a world where words don't matter as much as action, where emotional support is a beer and silence with my brother.
But here I am. Giving advice. Offering reassurance. Sitting in a very closed space with a beautiful woman who's looking at me like I just handed her something precious.
And fuck, she is beautiful.
The adrenaline is wearing off now. The immediate threat is gone. The Riders are handling it, Castellano's men are scattered or captured, and we're locked in the safest room in Blackwater Falls. Which means my brain finally has space to process things that aren't tactical.
Like the way Nora's auburn hair falls around her face. The curve of her cheek. Those hazel eyes that keep finding mine in the darkness.
Like the fact that she's curvy in a way that makes my hands itch to touch her. Soft where I'm hard. Gentle where I'm broken. A piece of heaven I have no business even thinking about.
I shouldn't be paying attention to any of that.
She's still trembling. Still a ball of anxiety and fear and exhaustion. Still processing the fact that armed men tried to drag her back to a life she'd rather die than live.
The life she's been living for the past weeks is bonkers. A civilian should never be on the run like this. Should never be fueled by constant adrenaline, always looking over her shoulder, never feeling safe.
When's the last time she had a peaceful night's sleep?
I pull my hand back from her shoulder. Put distance between us before I do something stupid. Before I lean in and—
No.
I'm not going to make a move and ruin this bubble of safety we found for ourselves. She needs protection, not some damaged bastard who can't even feel pain properly trying to—what? Kiss her? Touch her? Pretend like I'm capable of being what she deserves?
