Page 122 of Dublin Beast

What would she want? A little library? An office? No, it’s not big enough for either of those.

Maybe it’s a dumb idea.

I turn back to my bedroom and sigh. These rooms have always suited me—but they don’t feel likeus.

It doesn’t feel likehome—not yet.

I cross the room slowly, dragging a hand over the back of the leather sofa, past the espresso bar she hasn’t touched, the mantle lined with dusty frames I haven’t looked at in years.

None of this is her.

She deserves something warmer. Softer. Somewhere she can curl up and work without freezing her ass off or feeling like she’s living in a fucking villain’s lair.

I make a mental list—throw blankets, softer lighting, maybe an actual bookshelf instead of the single shelf full of old boxing trophies and whiskey.

Maybe even flowers,I think with a grimace.

But before I can finish the thought, my gaze catches on my jacket—draped over the back of my desk chair.

Black leather. Stiff and worn from years of use. And inside that jacket… Yasmine’s letter.

My chest tightens.

In all the chaos—Eddie, the safehouse, the hunt—I haven’t opened it. Riya said she kept it, waiting for when I was ready.

I don’t know if I am. Will I ever be?

I’m not sure, but for the first time in years, I want to be. I want to be whole and ready to look forward instead of back. I want to get out from under the grief and guilt that has weighed me down for years.

The mattress dips under my weight as I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed. I stare at the envelope, at the handwriting, so delicate and flowing.

Bryan—written in the soft, looping letters only Yasmine used. My thumb slides under the flap. The paper tears. My heart does too.

I unfold the letter with careful hands.

And read.

Bryan,

My friend. My love. My soul.

If you’re reading this, mama thinks you’ve healed enough to hear my final words. I’m writing this in the hospital after sending you home. I know you don’t actually leave. Papa told me he’s seen you sleeping in your truck in the parking lot.

That breaks my heart, but also fills it at the same time. I don’t know that I could leave you either if our roles were reversed.

Right now, you’re as trapped in my death as I am and that hurts me to my depths. It’s not what I want for you.

I want you to smile like you used to when we’d walk along the river.

I want you to laugh with your brothers as you throw back pints and grill meat in the courtyard.

I want the light in you to shine again, making your eyes glow like the most beautiful emeralds.

I want you to live life for the both of us.

You’ve fought with everything you have, but this isn’t a battle my warrior man can win.

Still, I love you all the more for trying.

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