Chapter 6
EVERLY
I spend Friday replaying Thursday night in my head, and I can't decide if I should be grateful or furious.
Rush saved me from a drunk asshole—that part I'm grateful for.
But then he held me like I might break and left before anything could happen—that part makes me furious.
I'm in the lab running samples and Maya keeps glancing at me.
"You okay?" she asks for the third time.
"Fine."
"You seem distracted."
"Just thinking about my protocol."
"Right, your protocol." She doesn't believe me. "This about what you mentioned this morning?"
I look up. "What did I mention?"
"The guy who bothered you last night. You said someone stepped in?"
I hesitate, then nod. "Yeah."
"That must have been scary."
"It wasn't. Not really."
Maya leans against my bench. "You don't look fine. You look… rattled."
"I'm not rattled."
She gives me a look. "You were shaken when you told me. Whoever this guy was, it sounded intense."
"It was handled," I say. "That's all that matters."
"But you said the guy who stepped in looked like he was about to lose it."
I freeze. I didn't realize I'd said that part out loud.
"He was just… angry," I say.
"Protective angry or dangerous angry?"
I don't answer because I don't know how to explain Rush to someone who doesn't know him. How do I explain that the violence doesn’t scare me? That it pulls me in?
"Just be careful," Maya says quietly. "Guys like that are complicated."
"I know."
She goes back to her work and I try to focus, but I can’t stop thinking about the way Rush held me at my flat.
Not sexual, just close, like he needed the contact as much as I did.
His face in my hair, his arms tight around me, his heart pounding against my chest.
That wasn't just protective, that was something else.
Something dangerous.
And I want more of it.
I finish work around five and head to the clubhouse. It's Friday and I need a drink.
More than that, I need to see Rush.
The clubhouse is packed when I walk in but I spot him immediately. He's at the bar with Tank and Bozo.
He sees me and his entire body goes tense, shoulders tight, jaw set.
Good. He should be uncomfortable.
I walk over to the old ladies and join them, Gráinne hands me a glass of wine.
"How was your week?" she asks.
"Interesting."
"Interesting good or interesting bad?"
"Both."
Chloe leans in. "This about Rush?"
"Why would it be about Rush?"
"Because you keep looking at him and he looks like he's about to bolt."
I take a drink of wine. "We had a situation last night."
"What kind of situation?"
"Some drunk guy harassed me. Rush stepped in."
"And?"
"And Rush almost didn't stop."
The old ladies exchange looks and I know they understand what I'm not saying.
"How are you doing with that?" Ailbhe asks carefully.
"I'm fine. He stopped when I asked him to."
"And Rush?"
"Not fine. He thinks he's a monster."
Gráinne sighs. "Of course he does."
"What does that mean?"
"Rush has been carrying shit around for years. He's convinced he's dangerous."
"He is dangerous."
"So is your dad. Doesn't make him a monster."
She's right and I know it. Danger and monster aren't the same thing.
But Rush can't seem to tell the difference.
"I need to talk to him," I say.
"Good luck with that."
I finish my wine and stand up, then I walk over to the bar.
Rush sees me coming, and I watch him decide whether to stay or run. He stays, but barely.
"Can we talk?" I ask.
"Not a good idea."
"I wasn't asking if it was a good idea. I was asking if we can talk."
Tank and Bozo exchange looks, then they leave without a word.
Rush watches them go. "You just cleared the bar."
"Good. I don't want an audience."
"Everly—"
"Outside, now."
I walk toward the door, and after a second I hear him follow, his footsteps heavy behind me.
We get outside into the cold night air and I turn to face him.
"What are we doing?" I ask.
"What?"
"This, us, whatever this is. What are we doing?"
"There is no us."
"Bullshit. You followed me Thursday night, you protected me, you held me at my flat. That's not nothing."
His jaw tightens. "I was doing my job."
"Your job is to follow me to dinner with Maya? Your job is to hold me like you can't let go?"
"I shouldn't have done that."
"But you did, and now you're running again."
"I'm not running."
"You are. Every time we get close, you bolt." I step closer. "I'm tired of this, Rush. Either you want me or you don't, but you don't get to keep playing this game."
"It's not a game."
"Then what is it?"
He doesn't answer and I can see him struggling, see the war happening behind his eyes.
"I told you to figure your shit out," I say. "Have you?"
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. You're just scared."
"Of course I'm scared. You saw what I'm capable of."
"I saw you protect me."
"I saw myself lose control."
"You didn't lose control. You stopped when I asked you to."
He runs his hand through his hair. "You don't understand."
"Then explain it to me."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both."
I step even closer, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him. "I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
"Stop telling me what I should feel."
His hand comes up like he's going to touch my face, but he stops himself. His hand just hangs there in the air between us.
"I want to touch you," he says quietly.
"Then do it."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I start, I won't stop."
"Good."
His eyes drop to my mouth and the air between us feels electric, charged with everything we're not saying.
“This ends badly,” he says.
I don’t argue, instead, I step closer.
He swears under his breath, low, like he already knows he’s lost this, his hand catches my jaw, firm, holding me there.
My breath stutters, I know he feels it, and thankfully, he doesn’t let go.
"Everly," he says, and my name sounds like a prayer.
"Yeah?"
"I need you to walk away."
"No."
"Please."
"Make me."
He leans in and I think he's going to kiss me, but he stops with his forehead against mine. His breath is hot on my lips.
We're sharing air, sharing space, sharing this moment that's stretched too thin.
"Rush," I breathe.
"I can't do this."
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't. If I kiss you right now, I won't stop. I'll take you home and I'll fuck you and I'll ruin everything."
The words are raw and honest, and they make my entire body flush hot.
"Maybe I want you to ruin everything."
He makes a sound low in his throat. "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I know exactly what I'm asking for."
His other hand comes to my hip, grips tight enough that I feel it through my jeans.
"I'm not good for you," he says.
"Stop saying that."
"It's true. You deserve someone who's not one bad day away from violence."
"I don't want someone else. I want you."
"You shouldn't."
"Too bad. I do anyway."
We're so close now I can feel his heart pounding against my hand, can feel the tension in his body.
He wants this. I know he does.
But he's still fighting it.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
"Doing what?"
"Protecting me from you."
"Because someone has to."
"I don't need protecting, not from you."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't. I'm not fragile, Rush. I'm Diesel's daughter. I grew up around violence and danger and men who think they're monsters."
"I am a monster."
"Bullshit. You're a man who's made mistakes, and you're so afraid of repeating them that you won't let yourself feel anything."
His hand tightens on my hip. "You're going to get hurt."
"Maybe. But that's my choice to make, not yours."
"Everly—"
"Stop protecting me from you. I don't want that. I want you to stop running, I want you to admit you want this, and I want you to kiss me without pulling away."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No, I can't, because if I kiss you I'm going to want more, and more won't be enough, and then what? What happens when I lose control?"
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
"Because you haven't yet, because every time you've gotten close you've stopped. That's control, Rush. That's you being in control."
He closes his eyes and I can see him struggling, can see the war between what he wants and what he thinks he should do.
"I'm going to hurt you," he says finally.
"Maybe, but I'd rather get hurt trying than walk away wondering what if."
"That's stupid."
"Probably, but I don't care."
His thumb brushes across my lip again and my breath catches. The touch is gentle but it feels like fire.
"You're impossible," he says.
"You're infuriating."
We stand like that, breathing together, his forehead against mine.
Then he pulls back and steps away, and the loss of contact makes me cold.
"I can't do this," he says.
Anger hits fast and sharp. "You're a coward."
"I know."
"You want me but you're too scared to do anything about it."
"I know."
"Then why are you still here? Why do you keep following me, keep protecting me, keep touching me, if you're not going to do anything about it?"
"Because I can't seem to stay away."
"Then stop staying away, stop fighting this, and just take what you want."
"It's not that simple."
"It is that simple. You're just making it complicated."
He runs his hand through his hair and I can see him struggling, can see how much this is costing him.
But I'm done making this easy.
"You know what, fuck this," I say. "I told you I'm not chasing you and I meant it. Either you want me or you don't, but I'm not going to keep putting myself out there just for you to push me away."
"Everly—"
"No, I'm done. You figure out what you want, and when you do you know where to find me. But I'm not doing this anymore."
I turn to walk away and he grabs my wrist, the same way he did Wednesday night.
I stop but I don't turn around.
"Don't go," he says.
"Give me a reason to stay."
He's quiet for a long time, then he lets go of my wrist. "I can't."
"Then I'm going."
I walk away, and this time he doesn't stop me. I can feel him watching but I don't look back.
I get to my car and my hands are shaking—not from fear, from anger and frustration and want.
I almost had him. I was so close.
But he pulled back again, and I'm done chasing.
I drive home and the whole way I'm replaying the feel of his hand on my jaw, his breath on my lips, his forehead against mine.
We were sharing air, sharing space, and it was the most intimate thing I've felt in years.
And he walked away from it.
Walked away from me.
I get to my flat and I'm still angry, still turned on, still wanting him so badly I can't think straight.
I take a cold shower but it doesn't help. I can still feel where he touched me, can still taste his breath.
This is bad.
This is exactly what I knew would happen.
I let myself want him and now I'm paying for it.
But I meant what I said. I'm done chasing.
If Rush wants me, he's going to have to come get me because I'm not putting myself out there again just for him to run.
I'm worth more than that.
And if he can't see it, that's his problem, not mine.