He stops. Like he's not sure how to finish that sentence.
"With us?" I supply quietly.
His jaw tightens. "Yeah. With us."
"Is there an us?" I need to ask. Need to know if this was just—what? A one-time thing? Stress relief? Or something more?
"I don't know." He's being honest. I appreciate that even though it's not the answer I want. "I don't do this. Relationships. Haven't had one in years. Don't know if I'm even capable of it anymore."
"Because of the military? The PTSD?"
"Because I'm broken." He says it simply. "I told you already. I have nightmares that wake me up swinging. I barely sleep. The buzzing in my ear never stops. I fight in illegal matches because it's the only place I feel normal. I don't feel pain properly. I'm not… I'm not good relationship material, Nora."
"You think I'm not broken too?"
He looks at me.
"I ran away from my entire life," I continue. "Left my family, my home, everything I knew because I was too scared to stand up to them sooner. I let my parents treat me like shit for years. Let them convince me I wasn't good enough, wasn't pretty enough, wasn't worth anything. And now I'm hiding in an underground fighting ring with a motorcycle club protecting me from a man who thinks he bought me." I laugh. It sounds bitter. "We're both pretty fucking broken, Marcus."
"That's different—"
"How?" I challenge. "How is your trauma more disqualifying than mine? You came back from war changed. I came back from my family changed. We're both just trying to survive."
He's quiet for a long moment. Processing.
"I want to see where this could go," I admit. "Whatever this is between us. I know it's fast. I know we barely know each other. I know I'm probably crazy for even suggesting it when my life is actively falling apart." I take a breath. "But I've spent my whole life being careful. Being practical. Doing what other people expected me to do. And where did that get me? Engaged to a man I couldn't stand. Running for my life. Hiding."
I reach for his hand. The scarred one. Trace the damaged knuckles gently.
"You make me feel safe," I add. "But you also make me feel seen. Like I matter. Like I'm more than what my family made me believe I was." I look up at him. "I don't know where this goes. But I'd like to find out. If you want that too."
Marcus stares at our joined hands. At my fingers tracing his scars.
"I'm scared," he admits. Voice rough. "I'm scared I'll hurt you. Not physically. I'd never, but emotionally. I'm scared I'll wakeup one night swinging and you'll be there. I'm scared the nightmares will be too much. That I'll be too much."
"And I'm scared Castellano will find me again," I counter. "I'm scared I'll drag you down with me. I'm scared I'm being selfish by wanting this when you could get hurt because of me. I'm scared this is just adrenaline and in a week we'll realize we made a mistake."
"But?" He prompts.
"But I want to try anyway." I squeeze his hand. "I want to be brave for once in my life. Take a risk. See what happens."
He's still looking at our hands. At the contrast, his huge and scarred, mine small and soft.
"I haven't dated in years," he says. "I don't know how to do this anymore. Don't know if I ever really knew."
"Neither do I." I smile slightly. "We can figure it out together. Make it up as we go."
"What if I'm terrible at it?"
"Then you'll be terrible at it." I shrug. "But you just gave me three orgasms in one night, so you're clearly good at some things."
That gets a reaction. His lips twitch. Not quite a smile but close.
"I want to try," he says finally. "With you. With us. Whatever that means." He looks at me. "But if it gets to be too much. If I'm too much. You tell me. You don't owe me anything, Nora. Not after tonight. Not ever."
"Same goes for you." I lean my head against his shoulder. "If this gets too complicated. If I'm more trouble than I'm worth—"
"You're not." He cuts me off. "You're worth it. Whatever comes next. You're worth it."
