Page 89 of The Endless Want

“To send me halfway across the country,” I say, breath catching. “Like distance is a plan.”

Nadia snorts. “Of course he does. That’s the male method. If something scares you, pack it in a suitcase and hurl it off the nearest cliff.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No,” she agrees softly, “but it’s true.”

I lower my blade, rubbing a hand across the back of my neck. “He hasn’t acknowledged the baby. Not really. He barely looks at me. He’s… locked up. And every time I try to reach him, it’s like he’s bracing for a punch.”

Nadia studies me—really studies me—then slides her knife back into its sheath. “Ailish, they don’t have normal emotional instincts. They have survival instincts. Declan’s whole life has been about anticipating danger and removing it before it touches the people he cares about.”

“He doesn’t act like he cares.”

“He does,” she says firmly. “He just thinks caring makes him weak. And weakness gets people killed.”

Something in my chest twists painfully. “That’s not how relationships work.”

“No,” she murmurs, “but it is how trauma works.”

She reaches out and squeezes my forearm. “Be patient with him. Not forever—he doesn’t deserve forever if he keeps being an ass—but for now. He’ll come around. He’s terrified.”

“You’d know,” I say quietly.

Her lips quirk. “I’m married to his brother. Terror runs in the family.”

A laugh breaks out of me, unexpected and grateful. Ronan calls the next rotation, pairing me with Mackenzie. She taps her blade against mine with a crooked grin.

“Ready to stab imaginary Russians together?” she asks.

“More than anything.”

Training becomes a blur of movement—redirecting grips, ducking past strikes, grounding my weight low. Sweat beads along my spine, the familiar ache in my calves grounding me more effectively than any conversation could.

When Ronan dismisses us, Nadia throws a towel around her shoulders and announces, “Liam’s picking me up. We’re grabbing dinner.”

Mackenzie hoists her bag. “And I am stealing Ailish for a post-training snack like civilized criminals.”

Nadia smirks. “Good. Feed her. Keep her upright. And for the love of God, if Declan tries to corner her again, mace him.”

“I’m not carrying mace,” I remind her.

Mackenzie grins. “I am.”

We leave the training room together, exhausted but steady. The adrenaline has eased, replaced by the muted calm that always follows Ronan’s workouts. Mackenzie and I walk toward the compound exit for our snack run, and for a moment, the world feels almost normal.

Almost.

CHAPTER 27

Declan

I dream of her.

Not the real Ailish—the sharp, stubborn, brilliant strategist who can dismantle me with a single look. Not the bruised woman from the alley. Not even the furious version who told me to get out before I poisoned her with my fear.

In the dream she’s soft. Bright. Laughing at something I said, her hair brushing her collarbone as she leans forward, cheeks warm, eyes lit like I hung the stars there myself. She looks happy. Whole. Entirely untouched by every mistake I’ve made since I first let her slip through my fingers years ago.

She touches her abdomen—her belly—and smiles down at it.