Page 8 of Anton

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, cutting into my thoughts.

I shook my head and groaned as the room spun. “No. Thanks, Anton. Maybe it’s time for you to go now. I’m sure you must have something better to do than babysit me,” I said, wishing he would go, while desperately longing for him to stay.

“Like babysitting someone else?” he asked with amusement.

A smile tugged reluctantly at my lips. “I forgot that was basically your job.”

“Pretty much. Although I’d rather babysit you than some rap star who thinks he’s a ‘gansta’,” he laughed, referring to his latest client. His eyes bore into mine and I could barely repress a shudder of desire at the heat in his gaze.

Anton and his team were private security for so many rich and powerful people now. He’d come a long way since he’d first started his business. I doubted I could afford his fees these days. But the fact he’d rather be with me, in my current state, than hob knobbing with music royalty, warmed me in a way I wished it didn’t. How was I supposed to get over my crush on him when he said things that made me feel special like that?

And why did he say such things? He must have known they would only encourage my feelings. Surely he wasn’t playing games with me, using me to massage his ego? No, I cut that thought off. Anton wouldn’t do that. But I wished he’d tell me why he wouldn’t take a chance on us. Tears pricked my eyes.

“I… I just don’t get it,” I muttered.

“Get what?”

Shit, he heard?

“Nothing,” I said, but his raised eyebrow told me he didn’t believe me.

Damn it. Throwing caution to the wind, I blurted out the questions I’d been longing to ask. “Why won’t you let us have a chance? I know you feel more than friendship for me, Anton. I can see it in every glance, hear it in your words, and feel it whenever we touch. So, what’s the problem? Why do you keep pushing me away? Am I not good enough for you?” I asked, unable to keep the wobble from my voice.

His gaze shifted to the window. Silence stretched between us, heavy and thick, but my questions were unavoidable.

Eventually, he shook his head.

“Maybe it’s not about you,” he said at last, his voice low. “Maybe it’s about me.”

And with that, he grabbed his jacket, turned, and left.

I listened to him walk down the hall and a moment later the door banged closed. He was gone.

The bile that had been threatening, rose again, and I barely made it to the toilet before it overwhelmed me. I gripped the cold porcelain, fighting the nausea twisting my insides, though I knew it wasn’t just the hangover. His words echoed relentlessly…‘Maybe it’s about me.’What did that mean? Why couldn’t he just tell me the truth, instead of leaving me with yet more unanswered questions?

As the sickness subsided, I wiped my mouth, feeling raw, frustrated, and still painfully in the dark. His reasons might be unclear, but one thing was for sure. I couldn’t do this anymore. If he wasn’t going to let us happen, then I’d have to deal with it and just get on with my life without him—even if it broke me in the process.

CHAPTER 4

ANTON

LATER THAT MORNING – WORKING OUT MY GUILT

As I left Marcie’s place, I drove home with a heavy heart, knowing I should have explained why I kept her at arm’s length. The look in her eyes—wounded and raw—lingered in my mind.

Maybe it’s not about you. Maybe it’s about me, I’d told her, tossing out the cryptic line like it was supposed to make sense. Why couldn’t I bring myself to share the fears that gnawed at me in the dark?

Sitting in my car outside my apartment, I closed my eyes, guilt washing over me with an intensity that threatened to drown me. None of my friends understood why I avoided relationships, why I kept my distance. Only a few knew about my past engagement—and even then, it was just the handful I’d served with. When my fiancée died, it was one heartbreak too many, teaching me that when you loved someone, they inevitably left. Each time, you had to pick up the broken pieces and keep moving forward, no matter how much it hurt. And I didn’t think I could do that again.

A tight knot formed in my stomach as the thought settled in. I couldn’t risk losing anyone else, not like that. It was hard enough loving the guys who were like family to me, worrying about theirlives as Bratva men. I’d learned to love them as brothers while growing up, and there was no turning back from that. But I could avoid caring too much about anyone else—loving anyone else.

There’s a saying that your past defines you, and the scars on my heart were proof of that. I’d built walls around myself, convinced that distance was my only shield. But Marcie had shaken those walls to their very foundations, leaving me with a choice—to let her break through or to shore them up permanently. Keeping her out might protect my heart, but it might also be the very thing that finally broke it.

The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface began to claw its way up, ready to spill over. My body itched for movement, for something to distract from the storm in my mind. Grabbing the bag I kept in my boot, I headed inside to the basement gym, hoping a workout might stop my mind from spiralling into the past—but knowing it was already too late.

Life had dealt me blow after blow, loss after loss—first Mum died when I was a kid, then Dad drowned his grief in drink, leaving Louisa and me to fend for ourselves. Then I lost her, and finally my fiancée. Each loss left a scar that never fully healed, a reminder of my failure to protect the people I loved. And maybe that’s why I couldn’t let anyone close—because if I couldn’t protect them, then I didn’t deserve them. Maybe it wasn’t just about keeping my heart safe, but about not believing I was worthy of love at all. Not when I’d failed every person who had ever trusted me with their heart.

After changing into my workout gear, I jumped on the treadmill, stuffing earbuds in, and blasted heavy metal in an attempt to drown out the memories. I hit the treadmill’s speed, forcing my legs to match the faster pace. The burn in my muscles intensified as I pushed harder, trying to outrun the ghosts that never seemed to leave me. But no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t escape the past.

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