A bicycle bell rings somewhere down the lane, and I smile. It’s interesting here, studying the world outside.
Peaceful. Safe.
And for the first time in months—since the moment I heard the news about Macie and Chantal—I feel more like myself again.
Three days of rest, hot showers, and no one trying to kill me, and suddenly my mind is freed up to work like it used to. I’ve brainstormed a handful of new angles to pursue the list of attendees at Eddie Mason’s events. I’ve mapped out timelines, cleaned up the data trail on the girls—Zhara, Chantal, Macie—and even messaged Bryan to have Kieran and Drake looped in.
They should be here soon.
Today is the day I take back control of my life.
And it feelsgreat.
I sip my coffee, sighing as I watch a couple stroll past hand-in-hand. I don’t know them. But unlike Track Suit Dad and Tiny Backpack Kid, I don’t make up their story in my head. It’s probably sappy and demands giving up anonymity and a loss of control. No thanks.
I like my life. Knowing I depend onmeto make me happy, keep me safe, and get done what needs getting done. This is what I’ve been chasing since everything fell apart—structure, safety, control.
My thoughts, as they often do lately, drift off course to a certain Irishman living his life in the city beyond this window—Bryan Quinn.
I wonder where he is. What he’s doing.
Whether his hand is healing properly.
Whether he’s sleeping at all or still walking around like a loaded gun with a fuse lit and ready to ignite.
The moment I think of him, the solid sense of control I’d been clinging to slips through my fingers like dust.
And Ihatethat.
I hate that he still has that kind of power over me. That the mention of his name—or the echo of it in my head—is enough to make my chest tighten.
It was supposed to be simple.
Friends who fuck. Partners in a mission. No strings, no mess.
And for a while, it was.
It was fun with a capital ‘F’.
The chemistry, the danger, the quiet moments after when he held me like I was something fragile—even though we both knew I wasn’t.
But it didn’t stay simple. At least not for me.
Somewhere between dodging bullets and sharing glasses of whiskey, it started to feel like we were athing. Not just allies. Not just two people with scars and a high sex drive. But… something else.
Something dangerous.
I don’t dotogether. I don’t do reliance or vulnerability. I’ve always been the one who kept the ship afloat while everyone else lost their minds. My father worked long hours. My brothers ran wild.Imade sure the bills got paid, the schoolwork got done, the schedules didn’t fall apart.
Being in control was how I survived.
It’s how Istillsurvive.
And Bryan Quinn? He’s chaos. In every way.
He’s also the one person who made mewantto let go. Who made itfeelokay not to be the one holding the reins all the time.
And that scared the hell out of me.
