Page 25 of Only for You
You never had to hide who you were from me.
Images of Friday night filtered through his head, replacing Trainor’s black, steel-toed shit-kickers and the feet of the crowd surrounding them. Of her sinking to her knees before him, a defiant smile curling her lips. Of her sleeping on his chest after so freely giving him her pleasure and trust. Of her beautiful eyes glazed with passion as he sunk deep within her, bottoming out in her tight, hot embrace.
Of her tilting her head back and telling him he wasn’t a monster…that he was the man she’d loved.
Of her asking if he could love her again…
Jesus. Jesus Christ.
He wanted to close his eyes, just let everything fade away. But something smacked hard on the cement next to him, and the sound of heavy breathing jolted him from his stupor. He opened his eyes to find Ben Trainor on his hands and knees, leering down at him, breathing with the rhythm and intensity of a freight train. Obviously, he’d managed to break through the refs’ hold.
“Get up and fight, or I’ll end you right here, right now,” the man snarled.
He pulled his arm back. Killian closed his eyes.
You were my everything.
Killian rolled. He heard Trainor howl in pain as his fist smashed down on the concrete in the spot where Killian’s face had been seconds before. Inhaling, he shoved the pain radiating from his body down, locking it in a steel box deep inside him. Gathering the last of his strength, he rose to his feet. He didn’t want Trainor to bring anything to an end. Not this fight, not Killian’s life.
Not his chance with Gabriella.
Shaking his hand out, Trainor lumbered to an upright position and the two men circled each other.
Not like this.
“If you stop jacking off long enough, you can try.” Killian grinned, which had the desired effect of enraging the other man. Trainor charged. Killian leaped forward to meet him halfway.
At the last second, Killian, grinding his teeth, dropped and, with a low, spinning side kick, swept Trainor’s knee. The big man’s legs buckled. His hands and knees met the cement floor. With all the remaining strength in his body, Killian jumped up and rushed him, slamming his fist into his opponent’s jaw. And Trainor crumpled to the ground.
Sucking in harsh, serrated breaths, Killian waited. Praying the fighter would stay down.
Ten seconds later, Trainor remained out cold, and relief swept through Killian like a swift, frigid breeze. He stumbled once before steadying himself and stalking through the howling crowd. Pain throbbed from the cut above his eye as well as one across his cheekbone. A busted lip, swollen balls, a couple of bruised ribs, and a multitude of contusions rounded out his injury checklist.
But none of those hurts mattered as he reached the corner where he’d left his shirt and hoodie. He snatched up the clothing and hurriedly jerked them on, a sense of urgency driving him to move quickly in spite his protesting body.
He needed to see Gabriella.
To ask her forgiveness for being a coward and running when he should’ve been brave for her. Ask. Hell, beg.
Because itwas him who wasn’t. Him, who out of fear, had crushed the courage and heart it’d required to come to him. To sacrifice for him. To love him. No, he was the one who should be at her feet right now pleading with her to let him in out of the cold. To warm him.
He would be lying to himself if he claimed a small part of him wasn’t terrified to love her. To take this risk. But the alternative… Returning to that desolate, lonely place, where he had to face bastards like Trainor just to feelsomething, didn’t bear thinking about.
Here he stood in this dark, dingy warehouse, still fighting his way out of darkness. Still throwing futile haymakers at the demons that dogged him. He’d believed he’d gotten out, but with just her appearance shining her bright, beautiful life on his shadowed existence, he realized, no. He was still as mired in the muck of his past as he’d been five years ago. The darkness was his current prison—invisible, but as real as the steel bars he’d spent two years of his life behind.
And the person who held the key—no, whowasthe key—he’d pushed away out of fear.
He exhaled, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them to stare sightlessly at the cement wall in front of him. He had to fix this. Had to tell Gabriella not only could he love her, but he did.
And pray he wasn’t already too late.
