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She tilted her chin up, stubborn as hell. “Then make me get it.”

My throat locked up. I wanted to explain everything—the white noise in my head, the scars that never fully healed—but how could I? If she knew the truth about my past, if she understood just how deeply I was broken, she’d leave for good. And that was the last thing I wanted.

I shifted my weight, feeling the cold concrete beneath my feet grounding me while my heart raced in my chest. She was right there, close enough to touch but so far away at the same time. I studied her face, searching for a sign of what she truly felt beneath all that defiance.

“You think you’re strong enough to handle this?” I asked finally, anger and vulnerability lacing my words.

Her expression hardened for a moment before softening again. “Damien, I’ve been through my own hell. You don’t get to decide what I can or can’t handle.”

The conviction in her voice sent a jolt through me. She had always been tougher than most gave her credit for—unlike anyone else in my life who’d crumbled under pressure or turned their back on me when things got rough.

“Maybe you’re right,” I conceded. “But this isn’t just about us anymore.”

Her brows furrowed slightly, and something shifted in her gaze—an inkling of fear flickered across her features before she masked it with determination.

“Then tell me what it is about,” she pressed.

I clenched my jaw and turned away briefly, trying to regain control over the tempest raging inside me. The memories flooded back—the pain from my mother’s cruelty and the suffocating expectations of my father pressing down like an anchor around my neck.

“I can’t,” I admitted at last.

I felt like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff with no safety net below—a fall into darkness waiting if I let go of the facade just long enough for her to see how shattered I truly was.

Holly stared at me, her eyes wide and searching. I felt the weight of her gaze like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t anger or frustration I saw reflected back at me; it was something far worse—hurt.

The kind of hurt that twisted the knife deeper into my chest.

“Then I don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” she whispered, each word slicing through the tension between us.

I stood frozen, rooted to the spot as she stepped back, creating distance I didn’t want but somehow felt she needed. Her voice trembled just enough for me to hear how shaken she was, how much my silence had cut into her resolve.

A part of me wanted to reach out, to pull her back in and drown out all those insecurities whispering that I’d only hurt her again if I let her stay. But another part—one too familiar with destruction—remained paralyzed by fear.

She turned away without looking back, leaving me standing there like a ghost haunting my own life. I didn’t stop her as she walked away; instead, I felt like a coward retreating into the shadows while everything around us crumbled.

The air thickened around me, suffocating in its stillness as I grappled with the silence left in Holly’s absence. Each heartbeat drummed louder in my ears, a reminder that every second ticking by was another moment wasted where I could’ve fought for her, for us.

But fear had always been my greatest enemy. The walls I'd built so carefully over the years loomed large now, a fortress shielding me from any real connection.

And yet, with Holly?

It felt different; it felt fragile and raw and terrifying all at once.

I rubbed a hand over my face, frustration mingling with regret. How had it come to this? How had we drifted so far apart? She’d entered my life like a breath of fresh air when all I’d known was smoke and fire—and now here we were, standing on opposite sides of an unbridgeable divide.

I knew if she walked away now, it might be for good.

I didn’t think. I headed back inside the rink, the cold air biting against my skin, and made my way down a secluded staircase that led to the underground fight club. Each step felt like a descent into my own darkness, the weight of everything crashing down on me. I could still see Holly’s face, her eyes filled with hurt and confusion, but I pushed that aside. Here, in this place where violence reigned, I could feel something else—something raw.

The underground fight club buzzed with energy when I arrived, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the air. The atmosphere pulsed with adrenaline, an intoxicating mix of fear and excitement that was as familiar to me as my own skin. I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the remnants of doubt and frustration. This was where I belonged—where I could unleash all that pent-up rage without consequences.

I scanned the crowd, searching for someone to take my anger out on when I spotted him. Cooper. My brother stood near the cage, arms crossed over his chest like he owned the place. He always had this way of exuding calm even in the discord; it infuriated me sometimes.

But it wasn’t just Cooper who caught my eye.

Everly Hawthorne was with him. She had blonde hair that fell in soft waves around her shoulders and striking green eyes that sparkled with mischief. They stood close together, whispering conspiratorially as if they were plotting something dangerous—or maybe just enjoying each other’s company. Her laughter floated through the air like music amid the ruckus surrounding us.

Something inside me twisted at the sight of them together. It felt like another wound reopening—Holly’s best friend next to Cooper while I wrestled with everything spiraling out of control in my life.