I’m just a man without oars.
And she…bloody hell, she had started to get under my skin far before last night. I’ve been thinking about her ever since the impromptu rugby match, ever since she left my flat in my clothes, ever since I saw her at the bar. The way she looks at me…it’s not just that she wants me, because I know she does. It’s that…I feel she might see me, too. Beneath the layers.
Not that she ever could, ever would, see all. But just to have someone scratch the surface—to want to see me for more than me, is enough.
Scary as fuck. But enough.
Then there’s the fact that she’s this gorgeous wild little thing. Those eyes that implore me to tell her all my secrets, that beg me to have my way with her. Those eyes that promise I’ll never forget her, if I just give her a second, give her a chance.
I gave her a chance last night.
But I didn’t do it for her.
I did it for me.
Because I fucking needed it. I needed that touch, that comfort.
Hope. Somewhere in there was hope.
I felt it when I put my arm around her, like I was containing it against me.
Hope before death.
It’s tattooed on my side.
I got that a few years after Charlie, to remind me of why I cleaned up and how I moved on.
Or, at least, tried to.
Kayla felt like that hope, even though I know how foolish it is to even think like that over a girl I barely know. But just for that moment, it felt good to have even a glimpse of it.
Of course, when that damn song came on, it threw me back into reality. Of who I was and the parts that made me. The events. The battles. The ugly fucking truth.
That didn’t mesh very well with the here and now.
I panicked. I got up and left—to escape the song, escape the past that liked to show itself on lonely nights. Which is every night. But it had no place right then, not with her there.
I had no idea she would follow me, and when I first heard her call my name, my stomach did a backflip. And then she was there, by my side, her hair messy from running through the crowds, face beautifully flushed.
She came after me.
She worried about me.
I can’t remember the last time someone worried about me. Everyone by now knows not to bother, knows not to ask. Lachlan is a lone soldier, they say. He’s survived. He’ll be fine.
But this girl, this woman with the smiling eyes and the teasing lips, she knew I wasn’t fine.
And when she wanted to come with me, after the dogs, into the dark woods, well fuck. She wasn’t afraid of anything. We share the same tenacity.
And with that same resolve, I could have kissed her all night. Her lips, her mouth, the warmth of her tongue—we fit together like a lock and key. I wanted nothing more than to lay her on her back in the dirt and leaves, explore her body with my hands, my teeth, my tongue, and feel all of her in the dark. Her body promised to take me far away. I wanted to fuck the war out of me.
I had to admit that I wanted Kayla more than anything.
Naturally that didn’t happen. I can’t say I’m disappointed, because in the end I saved the dogs. And I almost got the girl. The peace. And there’s still time. Less than a week now until I’m flying back to Edinburgh, ready to jump into training, ready to shift my whole life to rugby.
There’s still time.
Isn’t there?