Gemma and Chase left for work a few hours ago, her to the gallery and him to Croft Industries. Damn power couple. They promised they’d be back to visit tomorrow.
Lila left to pick up Boo and bring him here, along with some clothes and my laptop. If Nate’s going to hold me hostage, I need basic supplies.
Speaking of my captor — he’s gone, too.
A few minutes after our friends filed out, he pulled on his boots and a black leather jacket, shoved a “for emergencies only” cellphone into my hands, and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” I called after him.
He froze in the doorway, head turning over his shoulder so I could see his face in profile. “Hunting.”
With that, he set the security system to ALARM mode, slammed the door, and disappeared without another word.
Rude.
I’m under strict orders not to leave the loft under any circumstances. Hell, I wasn’t even allowed to let Lila and Boo in without an escort in the form of one of Nate’s men — the scary, commando-type dudes who work at Knox Investigations. I found this utterly ridiculous.
Lila, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind spending time with Alden, the ripped blond with a crew cut and dimples, who escorted her to and from the loft. The dreamy smile on her face told me she’s already moved on from the heartbreak of Padraic.
Shocking, I know.
Boo was happy to see me, at least. We snuggled for a solid thirty seconds on the couch before he got tired of me and decided he’d rather sniff every square inch of the loft. Which means, for all intents and purposes, I’m alone again until Nate gets back.
God only knows how long his hunting trip will take.
A small part of my mind protests that I shouldn’t be so easily accepting of his… shall we say… extracurricular activities. He’s never exactly been a Boy Scout — but there’s a difference between breaking into our neighbor’s guesthouse as a reckless teenager and tracking down thugs to teach them the meaning of the word pain.
It should scare me, right?
I should want to change him, tame him, make him into someone with softer edges — like a wild hawk with a broken wing you slowly nurse back to health, hoping someday he’ll stop snapping at you for daring to come close.
But loving someone isn’t about wanting them to evolve into someone better. My mom taught me that.
Real love is saying: here, take my still-beating heart and hold it in your hands and please, please, please, promise not to squeeze too tight or drop it on the pavement. Love is being naked and afraid, but refusing to flinch.
It’s not asking that person to change; it’s trusting them enough not to. And it’s not even about needing them to love you back equally; it’s just about loving them for who they are.
And I do, I realize. I love him.
Despite all my attempts to push him out of my thoughts, to convince myself all I felt was lust or hate or a burning need for revenge…
I love him.
Even if he never loves me back.
Even if it only leads to heartbreak.
So, I make peace with the thought of Nate going up against the entire Irish mob for me. And I do the only thing I can think of that’ll let me feel like I’ve got even the slightest bit of control over my own life.
I make cookies.
***
I blink awake suddenly.
I don’t know why, exactly. There’s no noise, no sudden light, no alarm pulling me out of my dreams. But something causes me to stir.
My eyes flutter open and I find I’ve passed out with my face on the kitchen island. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall off the stool and crack open my head. I’d been battling exhaustion all day; looks like exhaustion won.