Page 59 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

My laugh comes out sharp, bitter. “You think a couple of punches fix this?”

“What I said was wrong. I didn’t mean it.” The words feel clumsy, inadequate. “I just… I need us to be good.”

“There’s nothing good about this.”

I need space, need oxygen, need distance before I forget how many years we’ve stood side-by-side in blood and fire.

But Gabe grabs me.

Hand wrapped around my forearm, tight enough to make my skin pulse with heat. It stops me cold.

“You don’t understand.” The desperation creeps into his voice despite my efforts to control it. “I need us to be solid. You’re the only anchor I have right now. I’m going to slip up. Say stupid shit and do even stupider shit. If things aren’t right between us, I don’t know if I can get through this.”

I uncross my arms and turn to give him a long look. Something shifts in his expression.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re good.”

“We’re not good.” His words come out hard. “If we were good, this wouldn’t feel like shit.”

“If you need to kick my ass again, just do it already. We’ve got plenty of time, and I’ll take the hits. I earned them.” The words spill out fast, ragged, like they’ve been clawing at the back of his throat and he’s finally letting them loose. “Whatever you need to do, just—fucking do it. I want tofixthis.”

“What I need,” I grit out, voice low and shaking with restraint, “is for you to give me some space and leave me the fuck alone.”

I need him to take it back. Not with words. With something deeper. Something that says he understands the line he crossed.

He’s already bracing, like he knows what’s coming. Shoulders squared, mouth drawn in that stubborn line that used to mean loyalty and brotherhood. Now it just looks like a wall I want to tear down with my fists.

“You sure about that?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” But I’m not. Too much anger and hurt stir in my blood. I take a shot because I fuckingneedto take it.

My fist slams into the side of his jaw before I know I’m moving.

A clean hit.

All my fury coiled into that single, punishing strike. His head whips sideways, his body dropping like I cut his strings. He hits the rocky shore hard, a grunt punching out of him as he rolls.

He doesn’t get up.

For a second, he lies there, blinking at the sky like he’s trying to make sense of gravity. Then he groans, pushes up on one elbow, and spits the blood trailing from his mouth. He swipes at it with the back of his hand, eyes finding mine with a look that might’ve been disbelief if it weren’t for the edge of something else.

Pain. Shame.

“What the fuck, Hank?”

“You told me to take a swing,” I growl, stalking forward. “I did. You gonna bitch about it now?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have time.

My boot connects with his ribs, hard and fast. He folds around the impact with a sharp curse, arms curling in as he drops to his side, teeth bared in pain.

“Shit! Fuck, man—what the hell?” He coughs, dragging in a breath through clenched teeth, voice tight and raw. “That’s not cool—kicking a man when he’s down.”

I stand over him, breathing hard, fists still clenched, chest heaving like I’ve just come out of combat.

“That?” I snarl, voice low and vibrating with rage. “That’s nothing. That’s a whisper of pain compared to what you did. What you said.”

He’s still gasping, still doubled over, but his gaze finds mine again, and this time there’s no disbelief—just regret.