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For half a second, his face was open—completely, devastatingly open—and then he shut it down. The flat, controlled mask she now understood was the face he wore when he was bracing for damage.

Damage he felt like he deserved.

Neither of them moved. He stood with his bleeding hands at his sides and the bag still swaying behind him.

She watched him read her. His eyes moved over her face, trying to calculate what she wanted so he could give it to her before she asked. Except he was getting it wrong.

She could see it happening in real time: the man who read everyone so well was misreading this because the thought that she’d come here with something positive to say never crossed his mind.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore. Don’t have to worry about anything.” He wiped his knuckles on the wrap, not looking at what he was doing to them. “After this mission, I’m done at Zodiac. I already told Ian. You won’t have to⁠—”

“That’s not why I’m here. I never wanted you to quit. I never thought you couldn’t be a valuable member of Zodiac.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us. And I know myself a lot better than you do.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance, Ryder.”

“I’ll be sure to let Hallmark know so they can put it on a card.”

“You do that. And while you’re at it, be sure to mention you’ve spent every day for four years trying to earn a second chance while telling yourself you’ll never deserve one.”

“All I’m telling myself is the truth.”

“Look, I’m not saying your past doesn’t matter. It does. But it doesn’t erase who you are now.” She held his gaze. “And I trust you. I trusted you before I knew about your past, and I still trust you. I didn’t handle it right, and I’m sorry. But I know that the man who sat outside my door all night because he didn’t want me to wake up alone is not a man who turns empathy on and off like it’s a switch.”

Something moved behind his eyes. He shook his head, barely, and she watched him reject it—watched the part of him that had decided he was irredeemable push back against what she was saying.

He turned back to the bag and hit it. Once. Twice. Hard enough that his knuckles left red on the leather.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yes, I do.” She stepped closer. “I know exactly what I’m saying and who I’m trusting. We all have pasts. You walked away from the worst part of yours, and that’s what matters.”

He hit the bag again. The impact echoed off the concrete walls. She watched his shoulders absorb it, watched the blood on the leather, and understood that he wasn’t arguing with her.

He was arguing with himself—and losing.

She closed the distance between them and reached for his wrists. “Enough.”

He went still. She held his wrists, and he let her. She could feel his pulse hammering against her fingers.

“You never made me feel less because of how my brain spirals. Never made me feel less because I can hardly leave my room. I won’t let you feel less because of something you used to be.”

He didn’t move. She didn’t let go. She wasn’t going to let go even if she had to stay here the rest of their lives.

“Come with me. Let me take care of you.”

She tugged gently on his wrists. He resisted for one more second. Then something in him gave, and he let her lead him away from the bag.

Chapter 27

His hands looked worse under the bathroom light.

She held his right hand under the faucet, her fingers wrapped gently around his wrist. The water ran pink over his knuckles, swirling into the drain. He stood beside her without pulling away, his jaw set, his shoulders still locked with the tension from the gym.

He was watching her instead of the water.

Neither of them had spoken on the walk here. She hadn’t tried to fill the silence, and he hadn’t offered. Things had changed fundamentally between them, and neither knew exactly what step was next.