I giggle. “Okay,enoughwith the Jim-jams.”
Bash cups my face with his hands. It does things to my heart. “Please don’t worry about me today. Because then I’ll worry about you.”
“Well, don’t. Between the two of us, I’ll be perfectly unscathed.”
“Believe it or not, pumpkin, I intend to leave unscathed, too.”
We check out of the inn together and book a driver to take us to the mechanic where his car is waiting. The shop’s parking lot smells like oil and rubber, and the morning air carries a crisp bite. I’m still reeling from last night.
Bash told me he loves me. Bash told me he’s going to stick around The Paw Spa. Bash told me he wants to use his winnings to help me.
I should have told him I love him, too, but I wasn’t ready. I was too scared deep down. Because the last time I told a man I loved him, he left.
God, help me not to be afraid anymore.
The mechanic hands Bash a clipboard to sign. When he’s finished, he opens the car door for me, letting his hand linger on the small of my back.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I slide into my seat, and he gets in, too. Somehow, the tension between us has expanded into something that feels tangible. I know he’s thinking about our conversation, our kiss, but I still don’t know how to bring it up.
After his fight, Romilly. Just wait until all this is over. Then you can tell him you love him.
The soft rumble of the engine vibrates through the car, filling the space between us. My gaze drifts to his hands on the steering wheel, the strong, capable way his fingers curl around it, and I swallow hard when his right hand drops down to wind through my left one.
“Did you sleep alright?” he asks in the soft voice I’ve only ever heard him use with me. As always, it makes my stomach flip.
“Not really.”
“Me either. I’m too wired for today.” He pulls into the gas station just down the road and cuts the engine. “And I’m in desperate need of caffeine. What would you like?”
“I’m good.”
He sighs. “Please name something so I don’t have to pick it for you.”
“Fine. I’ll have a muffin.”
That seems to satisfy him. Bash makes for the convenience store, and when he returns, he has two coffees and a paper bag in hand. “They didn’t have muffins, but these looked good.” He passes me an apple cider donut along with a coffee, and his fingers brush mine briefly. The contact sends heat through me.
“Thanks.” I take the cup and pastry. But I already know I’m not going to drink the coffee. He may think he’s wired, but imagining him fighting today makes so much anxiety spiral through me, I can’t see straight.
When we arrive in Boston, Bash parks at the arena. The lot is already filling up with cars, and the evening air is sharp and cool, carrying the faint smell of coffee and dry leaves.
Bash takes my hand when we step inside. He leans down to murmur in my ear, “It’s crowded in there. I don’t want us to get separated.” He rubs my hand gently, and my body melts in reaction.
The sound of cheers, conversations, and the booming of loud music and announcers swells around us. Bash releases me briefly to check in with his agent and the event organizers. I linger near the edge of the room while I wait. In just a little bit, he’ll be fighting. He’ll be getting punched, tackled, and kicked.Hard.
I try to steady my nerves at the image of it all, but it feels impossible. I’m not even the one stepping into the ring, but it feels like getting punched in the gut knowing Bash might get hurt.
“Hey,” Bash says, reappearing at my side. He fidgets with the spinner in his hand, and his jaw is tightly clenched. “I’ve got to go get ready. You good?”
“Of course. I’ll go find my seat. And…yougotthis.” I reach out, lightly touching his arm. “Whether or not you win, I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you.” His gaze lingers on mine a moment too long, like he wants to say something. “Would you…would you pray for me?”
Something in my chest cracks a little. “Of course. Come here.”
