How deeply satisfying it feels to protect her.
No, more than satisfying—fulfilling.
As if it were the thing I was born to do.
But I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t go back to that first day I saw her eleven months ago, helping an old woman cross a busy boulevard, stopping traffic by holding up her hand as the light turned from red to green. I can’t unfeel what I felt when she glanced up and our eyes met through the windshield for a moment before she turned her attention back to the old woman doddering by her side.
She was beautiful, but I’ve seen a thousand beautiful girls.
Never one who looked so fierce, though.
With her jaw set and her mouth pinched and her brows drawn together, she looked like she’d rip the head off anyone who dared to honk his horn at the painfully slow progress she and her elderly friend were making.
She was a lioness. Even without opening her mouth, I heard her roar.
So yes, it was simple curiosity that made me tell Declan to pull over. Yes, it was on a whim that I watched her wave goodbye to the old woman when they reached the other side of the street. Yes, I fully admit it was foolish of me to follow her into Buddy’s Diner, and to sit in her section that first time.
But it was sheer stupidity that I kept coming back.
As long as I was out of the country, I could tell myself I wouldn’t see her again. I thought I had the strength to stay away. But as soon as I returned, the wanting rushed back. The pull to see those clear green eyes. The need to hear that lilting voice and see that shy smile and be near her, if only for a moment.
Now, because I indulged myself, I’m well and truly fucked.
Because need and want have turned into something more powerful. Something darker and far more perilous, for us both.
So now I have two options.
Option one: claim her.
Option two: give her up.
I can’t bring myself to do either.
“Declan.”
“Aye?”
“What do you do when you have to decide between two impossible choices?”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. He says, “Create a third.”
A third.
Claim her or give her up. Those are the choices at hand. But if I created a third choice from those two, what would that look like?
My heart stops when it comes to me.
Then I exhale a hard breath and stare out into the passing night, shaken by the knowledge that this idea is mad, reckless, and incredibly dangerous.
And one Tru will agree to.
Which makes it the most selfish idea I’ve ever had.
But even knowing all that, how wrong it is on every level, how selfish and wrong, I’m gripped by a violent, almost overpowering need to turn the car around, kick down the door to her apartment, shake her awake, and put the idea to her right now.
So to prove to myself I still have a shred of self-control, I clamp my jaw shut and let Declan drive me farther and farther away from her, deeper into the night.
In a life full of dark moments and hardships, it counts as one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
10
Tru
Before I even open my eyes, I know he’s gone.
I lie there in bed, my cheek pressed to the pillow, listening to the city’s morning sounds. My body hurts a little less than it did yesterday. I can tell without touching that the swelling around my eye has gone down. But though my body feels better, my heart feels exponentially worse.
I’ve never encountered it before, but longing is surprisingly painful.
I roll over and look at the clock. It’s Sunday, so I don’t have to worry about school, but I’m feeling guilty over missing my shifts at Buddy’s. We’ve got part-timers who can cover for me, but knowing Carla, she’ll take on the shifts for the extra money.
Her husband was laid off from his job as a mechanic a few months ago. They’re barely making ends meet.
So, in a way, it’s good that I’ll be out.
But I’m still feeling guilty about it. Growing up on a farm might not be glamorous, but it definitely gets that work ethic ingrained.
Yawning, I throw on a robe and head to the kitchen. I need coffee before I can face the day. Especially today, when everything has been turned upside down by what happened in that alley. Everything, especially my brain. And my libido.
I can’t stop thinking about the feel of Liam’s body against mine.
How his fingers trembled when he touched me.
How every hair on my body stood on end when he inhaled against the nape of my neck.
“Good morning!”
I jump when Ellie greets me over her shoulder. She’s frying eggs at the stove in the kitchen in her bathrobe, barefoot, her hair mussed, her back turned to me. I’d been staring at the floor, lost in thought, and didn’t notice her there.
“Holy Moses, Elliebellie,” I breathe, pressing a hand over my thundering heart. I shuffle into the kitchen, scowling at the back of her head. “You practically gave me a heart attack.”
She snorts. “Did you forget you had a roommate?”
I say drily, “No, especially after that concert you and Ty put on last night. No wonder you’re so cheerful this morning.”
Poking at the frying eggs with a spatula, she laughs at my tone. “Don’t hate. I can’t help it that our makeup sex is so—holy shit!”
Noticing my face as I move beside her to open the cupboard, she gasps. “Oh my god, Tru! Are you okay?”
I wave a hand dismissively, reaching for a mug. “I’m good. It looks worse than it feels. I’ve always been a bruiser. It’s this pasty skin.”
Shaken by my appearance, she rests her free hand against the base of her throat. “Jesus. When Liam said you’d had a minor accident at work, I thought he meant like a slip and fall or something. It looks like you got punched in the face!”
The way she says Liam’s name makes it sound like they’re old friends. Which is odd, because she doesn’t like anyone. I say absently, “Kicked, actually.”
She almost drops the spatula. “Kicked? By who?”
Mug in hand, I lean against the counter and gaze at her. “An idiot who regretted it. Back up a sec. I’m curious. Liam knocks on the door and says to you…what? ‘Hi, I’m a handsome Irishman you’ve never met, your roommate has had a little accident, give me your spare key?’”
She thinks about it. “I mean, in a nutshell, I guess. But in between all that, he put away the groceries.”
“Wait. What?”
“The groceries,” she repeats patiently, as if I didn’t hear her the first time. When I just stare at her, she gestures toward the fridge. “Bags and bags of them. Took forever.”
Frowning in confusion, I go to the fridge and open the door. Packed inside like sardines is a rainbow of produce, cold cuts, dairy products, drinks, snacks, deli salads, and a variety of cut fruit in square plastic containers.
And water, of course. Designer French water in glass bottles nestled in between everything else.
Ellie says, “There’s a bunch of food in the pantry, too. Fancy shmancy stuff. Half of it I’ve never even heard of.”
On a hunch, I open the freezer door.
It’s full to bursting with pints of pistachio ice cream.