Page 51 of Dirty Fighter

And then, once I knew she was okay, once I heard her voice and saw the haze of fear and confusion clear… Once our eyes locked and her lips parted on that barest breath… I was fucking done.

For those few frantic heartbeats, all that existed was this woman I’d wanted forever, meeting me in the kiss I swore I would never take.

“It’s… just… a… scratch,” she manages through the bounce of my steps, clinging to me until I make it to the door, at which point she starts to wiggle and push. “Let me down, let me down.”

Squirming out of my arms, she stands at the stoop, the light rain leaving clean streaks down her cheeks. “Here, look.”

I brace for the sight of her blood again, but when she pokes her fingers into the fabric and rips it another inch… I sag with relief.

“See, just a scratch. Not even a big one. And the blood’s mostly washed away,” she says, pulling the soaked denim this way and that to make sure.

And then she’s peering up at me, her eyes soft and warm and promising me that she is somehow totally okay.

I look back to the shed. “You could have been really hurt.”

“I know. It was dumb.” She pushes the wet hair from her brow, the slightest tremor in her hands before she tucks them together at her chest. “I didn’t realize how much weight there was or that it wouldn’t just shift to the side. I should have listened when you wanted me to stop.”

She heard me? “Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to be your hero.” Jesus, that saucy little brow lift. “Duh.”

I cough out a short laugh, mystified that humor is possible at all.

But then she’s looking at me, a shy uncertainty hovering in the mist between us, accumulating until it falls like tears down her face. I know better, but somehow I can’t stop myself from reaching out to⁠—

The hollow wail of a boat horn echoes from the distance, then again.

A stitch pulls between her brows, but I know exactly what that is.

Bruce.

The hand that was a scant inch from sifting into her hair lands on her shoulder in a firm press. “Wait here.”

Rowan

I’m left standing, a little stunned and a lot confused as the man who just kissed me senseless races inside only to return less than thirty seconds later with a coat I don’t recognize. A chilling gust blows past, reminding me that I’m soaked through and making me wish that I was back in his arms. That he was looking at me with that hungry desperation.

I don’t understand what’s happening. What that kiss meant… what the rest of our time together will be like. But for the first time in longer than I can remember, there’s this buoyant sense of hope filling my chest, and for the first time in even longer, I am letting myself want it.

“Quick, put this on.” He’s got me half wrapped in it before I can even take a breath. But when I do…

Ed.

It smells like the woodsy aftershave that he once told me he’d been using since the first time he shaved.

“W-what are we doing?” I ask, running my hand over what is likely to be the last remaining item that carries the scent of the man I loved like a father.

Jason doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the path. “We have to hurry. Are you okay on your feet?”

“Yes, fine,” I say, widening my steps in an attempt to outpace him. He’s still faster, but at least I think he’s accepted that I’m not going to lose the leg over this.

At the top of the path, I see it. A small boat with a single figure hunched against the wheel. “Is that Bruce?”

“It’s not his boat. Too little. But crazy bastard probably couldn’t stand not being able to check on us.”

We pick our way down the steps, Jason’s grip on my hand moving to my arm as he navigates ahead of me, somehow managing to pull me along and keep me from going too fast all at once.

When we get to the downed tree blocking the path, he stops and lifts me over before I can even decide the best way around.