Page 57 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Here Comes the Rain Again

Anthony

Chance has been on my mind all this week.

I can’t stop thinking about everything he told me Saturday, drinking tequila on the couch and crying over the past. Every word, every raw detail, every quiet confession replays in my head like a movie I can’t shut off.

I didn’t even get to go to her funeral, Ant , he’d said, his voice broken.

That one sentence alone gutted me.

Now all the years I spent being angry—resentful—feel like daggers to my own chest. He was trapped in a cabin, completely alone, not because he didn’t care, but because he cared too much.

Because he was protecting me.

I wonder if being protective has physical perks, because fuck, he looks good.

Older, sure, but in the best way. Not that twenty-five is old.

His jaw is more defined, his body more developed, like the weight of everything he carried turned into solid muscle.

That longer, wild hair suits him. It’s free and unruly, just like him.

The sleeves of tattoos on both his arms now bulge under bigger muscles.

And his lower body? Don’t even get me started.

I thought I remembered what it felt like to be wrapped up in those thick thighs when I woke up next to him those last couple weeks.

My memory didn’t do them justice. They’re even bigger now, sculpted like a god.

And that ass robs me of every functioning brain cell.

If I ever see that thing bare, there’s a real chance I’ll lose consciousness.

But there’s something else now too—a darkness around his edges, outlined in pain. It’s in his eyes. I see it every time he looks at me.

And the paintings.

God, those paintings.

It seems egotistical to even think it, but they’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. The way he captured me—the emotion, the movement, the soul of it—it’s staggering.

That’s how he sees me?

It wrenches my heart and launches a thousand butterflies in my stomach.

When he walked back into my life, I wasn’t sure I’d even give him the time of day. Now? I’m not sure I can resist the pull. I’m not sure I want to.

Maybe my heart has always known.

Why else haven’t I kissed anyone in all this time? It’s like some part of me has been waiting. Guarding that one thing I still had to give. Like I knew Chance would come back, and I couldn’t give it to anyone else.

Not even Jason.

He’s sitting across from me right now—tall, built, clean-cut—and incredibly attractive. The kind of guy people fawn over. He’s been flirting for the past fifteen minutes, making it increasingly obvious this isn’t just about sponsor contracts. But all I can think about is Chance.

Jason’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

“Anyway, I thought I’d get a condo downtown.”

I blink. “Here?”

Jason laughs. “Yes, here, Anthony. Your offices are downtown, are they not?”

“Oh, um. Yeah. Yes, they are.”

He gives me a look, then reaches across the table, placing his hand over mine. “As much as I’m in town, it will be easier to have a place. Also, I think there could be something here.”

He starts rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand, his voice soft. “I know you’re gun-shy, but I’d like to spend more time with you. See if this can go anywhere.”

I’m frozen for a second, trying to find words. “Jason, I—”

But I stop as Jason’s eyes widen.

I feel it too—the presence.

Then the voice.

“No.”

I snap my head up and see Chance standing beside our table.

He’s soaked from head to toe, rainwater dripping from his hair, his t-shirt plastered to his chest. His fists are clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

His eyes are locked on mine, burning with rage and something even more painful.

“Chance,” I breathe. “What are you doing here?”

He shakes his head, his voice tight. “You know what? Fuck this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m such a fool.”

Then he turns and bolts.

“Chance, wait!” I shout, standing so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the floor.

I can feel Jason watching me, his stare boring into the side of my face.

But I don’t care.

I don’t care about the dinner.

I don’t care about Jason.

I don’t care about anything except the man walking away.

And I follow him, right out into the pouring rain.

“Chance, wait!” I yell again, chasing after him as he stalks away from the restaurant, rain pounding down on both of us like it’s trying to wash away years of pain.

He just shakes his head and keeps walking, fists still clenched at his sides.

“Chance Sullivan, stop walking, right fucking now!”

He freezes.

His back is still to me, shoulders tight. I can tell his chest is heaving as I draw closer.

“Chance,” I say, softer this time, my voice catching in my throat. “Turn around.”

Slowly, he does. And when he’s finally facing me, the look on his face guts me.

He’s wrecked. Absolutely shattered. Eyes wild and wet—not from the rain. His jaw is clenched so tight I swear I can feel a molar crack at the back of my own mouth.

“Chance,” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He barks a bitter laugh, one that sounds like it hurt coming out. “I wish I knew,” he says. “This was a bad idea. You should just go back in there with your boyfriend.”

My stomach drops.

“What?” I say, blinking. “It’s not—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he snaps, eyes blazing. “You don’t owe me anything, but don’t start lying to me.”

“I’m not fucking lying!” I shout back, rain pelting both of us. “That’s Jason Ciccone. He’s the rookie pitcher for Atlanta. He’s a client, Chance. This was a business dinner.”

He shoots a glance back toward the window, eyes narrowing. “Do you hold hands with all your clients?”

I throw my head back with a groan. “No, of course not. Look—you didn’t misread that. He flirts. Every time. I just—I haven’t known how to shut it down because—” I break off, shaking my head. “Because I’ve been confused.”

Chance storms closer, and suddenly he’s right in front of me, eyes blazing as he jabs a finger toward the restaurant window. “Has he kissed you, Ant?”

I blink, startled. “What?”

“Has. He. Fucking. Kissed you?”

That sets me off.

“Why? Why does it matter, Chance?” I yell back, unleashing three years of pain on him. My voice fights the rain, escalating to a scream. “Why do you care? Why are you here? Why did you come back, Chance?”

“Because…” he starts to shout back, but stops himself and shakes his head.

Fuck that.

“Because why, Chance?” I push, voice still near a scream.

“Because I fucking love you, Anthony!” he shouts, eyes wild, arms spread wide. “Everything I’ve done is so we could be together—so you could be safe.”

I just stare at him for a moment.

I’m too stunned to speak.

“Oh.” I stammer, finally. “No, we’ve never kissed.”

He takes another step, and I feel the heat rolling off him despite the cold rain soaking us through. The tension in his jaw eases a bit, and for a second, he just stares at me like he’s drowning and I’m the only lifeline he has left.

“Has anyone , Beautiful?” he asks, voice lowered to barely above a whisper now. “Has anyone ever tasted those lips?”

I don’t answer.

Can’t.

The rain gets heavier, roaring around us like static, but all I see is him.

All I feel is the electricity crackling between us.

Then I snap.

I lunge forward, one hand fisting the front of his shirt, the other tangling in the hair at the back of his head—and I crash my mouth against his.

The world explodes .