I don’t know what to do with my hands. With my body. I’m itching for release and yet, I feel idle.
“I have my people searching the Tacoma area for her. As soon as she’s located. We’ll be the first to know.”
“Your people?” I spit. “You mean Dork out there?”
“York,” he corrects me. “No, Rocco, not the likes of York. My company is built with a spectrum of soldiers. York is an errand boy. Would I waste someone capable of draining a body of blood without a sign of it having been done to collect you from your home? No. That’s a waste of resources. You need the meek and stupid for menial tasks.”
He waits patiently as his words settle me.
“I’ve trusted you with this information. Which means I trust you not to run off to Tacoma waving a gun around demanding answers. You’ll send her underground. We want the same thing, son. Don’t fuck it up.”
Arching my back, I growl toward the ceiling, cracking my knuckles.
“You’re asking me to go against my nature,” I warn.
“No. I’m asking you to think. Don’t be your father. Don’t convince yourself you’re the monster the doubts in your mind attempt to tell you you are, Rocco. Don’t let your hunger for revenge blind you into failure.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole?”
He laughs. “Not to my face.”
I groan.
“Trust can be a heavy burden to carry when you haven’t asked for it. But it’s also a strong fucking shield when you need it most. Don’t throw my trust away, Rocco. No matter how much you struggle to grasp it. It’s not something you can pick back up after you’ve let go. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
I hate how much sense Dominic Rein makes. How his outlook on life mirrors my own. I hate that he’s smarter than me. That he’s honed his outlook as a weapon when I’m nothing but a self-loaded grenade, just waiting to fucking detonate. I hate that I know I should listen to him. I hate that he’s right. But more than any of that, I hate that I don’t trust myself to do any of that. I hate that my mind is so fucked up, that I don’t know if the moment I leave his home I’ll be strong enough not to betray him.
It’s depressing as all hell that someone who should despise me has more faith in me than my family ever did, more than I’ve ever had in myself.
Standing, I nod once, moving toward his office door.
“Maybe Camryn is teaching you something in turn?”
I pause at the door. “Huh?”
“My men tell me you haven’t been fighting. Seems your focus on my daughter has quelled that violence hungry side of you. Maybe your friendship is equally rewarding.”
He looks away, dismissing me without words.
I want to tell him he’s wrong. I want to give him another reason as to why I’ve kept my distance from the ring. But I don’t have one. I hadn’t even noticed. Fighting, pain, longing… I hadn’t even recognized it’d been missing from my life.
“Stop having me followed,” I bark out, slamming his office door as I leave.
Chapter Fourteen
Camryn
“How are the nightmares?”
He gives me the privacy I need to stomach the shock of his question. Back turned, his focus remains on the blender he’s tossing ingredients into.
Protein shakes, he forces me to drink one after every workout. Fuel, he assures me. I’d prefer a fucking Snickers.
I hadn’t really thought about my nightmares until the words fell from his mouth. They’ve been so few and far between since we started training. Especially on the days he demands a pound of flesh from my body, working me to the point of exertion. I barely have the energy to think, let alone dream.
“Better.” I can hear the shock in my own voice. The surprise I feel at being able to admit that.
“Good.” He nods, turning to look at me as he switches the blender on, the sound drowning out our ability to speak. He watches me carefully, the noise a barrier to our thoughts. We can stand in this moment, caught in a silent stare, watching one another without expectation. I can’t hear his thoughts, and he can’t hear mine.
A lot passes between us in that minute. A recognition of friendship maybe?
We’ve been breaking down walls without even realizing it over the past month. We challenge one another like no one else in our lives is brave enough to do. Our families approach us like we’re wounded animals. Ready to lose the final straw of our sanity if provoked. It’s not only humiliating, it’s exhausting. Pretending to be okay on days I feel ready to break.
Rocco refuses to let me get caught up in my own head. He’s comfortable for me to be broken in his company. He doesn’t push me to talk or to be better. He only encourages me to use what’s fucking with my psyche to push through the roadblocks of my own body.
“I haven’t seen you with any bruising,” I offer as the blender comes to a stop. “Either you’re untouchable, or you haven’t been fighting.”
“I haven’t been fighting.”
“Like my nightmares,” I guess.
He nods. “Like your nightmares.”
Giving me his back once again, he pours his awful concoction into two separate glasses. “Your dad thought we were fucking.”
“He has me followed.”
Sliding my glass toward me, I take it on a forced, but thankful smile. Lifting the glass, I touch it to my lips, taking the smallest sip I can manage. “Mmm.”
His chin dips in acceptance, a pride at the fact that he succeeded in getting me to swallow this godawful drink.
“You’re okay with that?”
I lift my shoulders in dismissal. “What can I do about it? It’s his way of thinking he’s keeping me safe. I’d be an asshole if I forced him to stop, to take that peace of mind from him?”
I place the glass down, thinking back to his earlier comment. “How are you still alive?”
He laughs. “I managed to convince him that we weren’t.” His eyes bore into mine. “Fucking, that is. I told him you still hated me.” His voice has dropped, a soft scratch moving along his vocal cords.
I swallow the rock in my throat at what the rough touch of his voice does to me.
“Assuming he’s still right…” he probes.
“Of course,” I answer too quickly, my voice a similar volume to his.
The ring of his cell sounds, breaking the moment. Glancing at the screen, he holds it up. “Gotta take this.”
He moves away without a further word. Alone in the room, I take advantage, emptying the green slush in my glass down the sink. Shifting off my seat, I rush to the sink flicking on the tap to rid the evidence from the sparkling metal. The tap turns on too fast. The pressure too much, it ricochets off the base, spraying up my shirt, hitting me in the face.
“Serves you right.” Rocco’s voice sounds at my back.
Turning quickly, I rub at my face, wiping at the droplets racing down my skin. “Look, in my defense, it’s awful.”
He smiles. “It’s an acquired taste.”
I don’t let myself read into how nice I find his smile. The soft pull of his lips showing off the white line of his teeth. The strong line of his bearded jawline pulling up in a way that hides the animosity that seems ingrained into his features.