Chapter 5
RUSH
I'm outside Everly's flat Thursday evening, and I know this is crossing a line.
She told me to give her space, told me to figure my shit out.
But I can't seem to stay away.
I watch her leave around seven. She's wearing jeans and a jacket, her hair is down, and she's got her bag over her shoulder.
She meets Maya at the bus stop, and they head into the city center. I follow at a distance on my bike.
They go to a restaurant near Temple Bar, sit by the window, order food and wine.
I park across the street where I can see them, telling myself I'm just making sure she's safe.
It's bullshit but I stay anyway.
They're there for two hours, laughing, talking—a normal Thursday night.
Around nine, Maya leaves and heads toward her flat in the opposite direction.
Everly stays for another drink, pays the bill, then heads out alone.
She's walking toward the bus stop when I see him.
Drunk, mid-thirties, stumbling down the street. He spots Everly and changes direction, heading straight for her.
I'm off my bike before I think about it.
"Hey, beautiful," he calls out. "Where you going?"
Everly doesn't respond, just keeps walking, her pace picking up slightly.
He speeds up too, gets in front of her, blocking her path.
"I'm talking to you," he says.
"I'm not interested," Everly says, her voice calm but firm. "Excuse me."
She tries to walk around him, but he grabs her arm.
"Don't be a bitch. I'm just being friendly."
"Let go of me."
"Come on, just one drink."
"I said no. Let go."
He doesn't let go. Instead, he pushes her backward into the wall of a building. His hand is still on her arm and he's got her pinned.
"You think you're too good for me?" he snarls. "Stuck up little cunt."
I'm there in seconds.
I grab him by the back of his collar and rip him away from Everly, then I throw him against the opposite wall hard enough that his head bounces off the brick.
"She said no," I say, my voice cold and flat.
He turns and tries to swing at me, but he's drunk and slow and I block it easily.
Then I hit him.
My fist connects with his jaw and he goes down hard, blood in his mouth.
He should stay down but he doesn't. He tries to get up.
I kick him in the ribs, hear something crack, feel the satisfaction of it.
He curls up on the ground. I'm about to kick him again, when I hear her voice.
"Rush, stop."
I look down and there's blood on my knuckles. The guy on the ground is groaning and spitting blood.
I could keep going, could break his ribs properly, could make sure he never touches another woman again.
Violence is singing in my veins, begging me to let it loose.
"Rush, please."
Everly's voice cuts through the red haze and I step back. My hands are shaking and my heart's pounding like I've been running.
The drunk guy crawls away, stumbles to his feet and runs.
I watch him go and part of me wants to chase him down, wants to finish what I started.
I force myself to breathe, to lock it down, to be better than this.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
"Are you okay?" I ask without looking at her.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"
"Yeah."
It's a lie and we both know it.
I was a second away from putting that guy in the hospital, a second away from not stopping until someone made me.
"Rush, look at me."
I force myself to turn. She's standing there looking at me like she can see right through all my bullshit.
"Thank you," she says.
"Don't thank me."
"Why not? You just saved me from—"
"I almost didn't stop," I say, the words coming out harsh. "I wanted to keep going. I wanted to hurt him worse than I did."
"But you didn't."
"I wanted to."
"Wanting and doing are different things."
She sounds like Tank and it makes my chest tight.
I look down at my hands. There's blood on my knuckles from where I hit him.
"I need to go," I say.
"Rush—"
"Please, I just need to go."
But I don't move. I'm frozen there on the sidewalk with blood on my hands and violence still humming under my skin.
Everly steps closer. "Hey, look at me."
I look at her. Her eyes are dark and steady.
"You stopped," she says. "You had control. You could have kept going but you didn't."
"I barely stopped."
"Barely still counts."
She reaches out and takes my hand, the one with blood on it, and the touch grounds me in a way nothing else could.
"Come on," she says. "Let's get you cleaned up."
We end up at her flat ten minutes later. She makes me sit on the couch while she gets the first aid kit.
My hands have stopped shaking but my mind is racing, replaying the moment over and over.
The way he pushed her against the wall, the way he called her names, the satisfaction I felt when my fist connected.
"Give me your hand," Everly says.
I hold it out and she wipes the blood away with a damp cloth. Her touch is gentle, and it makes something in my chest crack.
"It's not deep," she says. "You'll be fine."
"I almost didn't stop."
"But you did."
"You don't understand. When I saw him touch you, something broke loose and I wanted to kill him."
She's quiet for a second, then she says, "He pushed me against a wall and called me a cunt. I'm glad you hit him."
"I did more than hit him."
"I know, I was there."
"And that doesn't scare you?"
She looks up at me. "No."
"It should."
"Why? Because you're capable of violence? I told you, I grew up around men like you. My dad's broken bones over less."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because your dad has control. He knows when to stop."
"So do you. You stopped today."
I pull my hand away. "I barely stopped. If you hadn't said my name I would have kept going."
"But I did say your name, and you stopped. That's what matters."
I stand up and start pacing. The energy is still there crackling under my skin.
"You need to stay away from me," I say.
"We've been over this."
"I'm serious, Everly. I'm not good for you."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true. You saw what I'm capable of."
She stands and walks over to me, gets right in my space. "I saw you protect me, that's what I saw."
"I saw myself lose control."
"You didn't lose control. You were angry and you handled it."
"I wanted to kill him."
"But you didn't."
I close my eyes and try to breathe but all I can see is juvie, all I can feel is the promise I made.
Never again, never lose control again.
"Rush, what happened to you?"
The question is soft, but it lands like a punch.
"What?"
"Something happened, something that made you think you're a monster. What was it?"
I could lie, could deflect, could walk away.
But I'm tired of running.
"I went to juvie when I was thirteen," I say. "Shot someone, held a kid at gunpoint, spent four years inside."
She doesn't flinch, doesn't step back, just watches me.
"And in juvie I learned how to survive, how to be violent enough that people left me alone. And I promised myself that when I got out, I'd never lose control like that again."
"Okay."
"Okay? That's it?"
"What do you want me to say? That you're a monster? That I'm scared of you?"
"It would make this easier."
"I'm not going to lie to make you feel better about pushing me away."
I drag a hand through my hair. “You’re impossible.”
She huffs out a breath. “And you’re a nightmare.”
Neither of us looks away. Something in the air tightens, pulling too thin, I feel it low in my chest, sharp and unwelcome, like one wrong move and it all snaps.
"I don't know what you want from me," I say.
"I want you to stop hating yourself for feeling things."
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."
I step closer, close enough that I can feel her breath on me. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"Don't I?"
My hand comes up before I can stop it, wraps around her wrist. My thumb finds her pulse point.
It's racing.
The touch feels like possession, like claiming, like everything I'm not supposed to want.
And I hate myself for it, hate that I can't seem to let go, hate that touching her feels this good.
"Rush," she says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Your hands are shaking."
I look down. She's right, my hand is trembling where its wrapped around her wrist.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, just breathe."
I force myself to breathe, to focus on something other than the violence still humming in my veins.
"You're okay," she says. "I'm okay, everything's okay."
"I could have hurt you."
"But you didn't. You protected me."
"I could have lost control."
"But you didn't."
She steps closer and puts her hand on my chest, right over my heart. "Feel that? You're here, you're present, you have control."
"I don't feel like I have control."
"That's because you're coming down from adrenaline. It'll pass."
She's right. I can feel it ebbing now, the violence slowly receding.
But my hand is still around her wrist, and I can't seem to make myself let go.
"You should tell me to leave," I say.
"I'm not going to do that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want you to leave."
"Everly—"
"Stop, just stop." She steps even closer. "You protected me tonight, you stopped when I asked you to, and now you're beating yourself up about it. But I'm fine, you're fine, everything's fine."
"It doesn't feel fine."
"Again, that's the adrenaline talking."
She's so close now I can feel her breath, can smell that clean, sharp scent that makes my head spin.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Calming you down."
"This isn't calming."
"No?"
"No. This is making everything worse."
"Or better."
She reaches up and touches my face, and the gentleness of it breaks something in me.
I pull her close—not sexual, just close. My arms wrap around her, and she fits against me perfectly.
She doesn't pull away, just wraps her arms around my waist and holds on.
We stand like that for a long time, breathing together, my face in her hair.
The violence is gone now, replaced by something else, something warm and solid and real.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Yeah, I'm okay."
"Good."
We stay like that, and I realize something. She's not afraid of me.
She saw me at my worst and she's not afraid.
That should make me feel better, but it doesn't. It just makes me want to protect her more, makes me want to keep her close.
Which is exactly what I can't do.
But right now, with her in my arms, I can't seem to make myself care.
"I should go," I say eventually.
"You don't have to."
"I do. I need to think."
She pulls back and looks up at me. "Okay, but Rush?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for tonight, for protecting me."
"You don't need to thank me."
"I do, and I am."
I touch her face, just briefly, then I step back. "Lock your door behind me."
"I will."
I leave before I can change my mind, before I can pull her back and kiss her like I've been wanting to since that night outside the clubhouse.
I swing onto my bike and ride, my grip steady and my focus is locked in, but it doesn’t stop the thoughts from circling.
Tonight changed something. I crossed a line and there's no going back.
Everly saw what I'm capable of and she didn't run.
She calmed me down, held me, and made me feel human instead of monstrous.
And that terrifies me more than anything else.
Because now I know what it feels like to be close to her, to touch her, to have her touch me back.
And I don't know if I can walk away from that.
I don't know if I want to.