Page 68 of Sinful Like Us

Akara wears even more disappointment.

Price nods. “Will do.”

Sinclair nears and weaves between boxing bags. “You ladies done having a tea party, we need to get down to this Scotland business.”

My mouth is full of blood, and I’m not about to spit it out on the mats. Quietly, I excuse myself to use the gym bathrooms.

Showers and toilet stalls are empty. I immediately spit a wad of blood in the sink basin. My pulse is racing.

I swivel the faucet and splash water at my face.Come on.I squeeze the edge of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. Droplets trickle down my temples and slip off my jaw.

My eyes are bloodshot.

I can barely blink, and I can almost feel her curious hands sliding across my waist. I can almost see her rising smile peek around my body, and her chin perched on my side. Her eyes glimmering up at me with uncommon strength.

I want to turn around and lift her in my arms. To press my forehead to her forehead and stare into the bluest depths of her gaze.

But she’s not here. She’s back at the townhouse.

The sound of a leaking shower bleeds into the quiet.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It drives me insane. I scrape a palm down my wet face. My hand is shaking. Christ, I just want to hear her voice. I should compartmentalize my feelings and shove off.

But I pull my phone out of my pocket.

Without much thought, I’m calling Jane. Like this is an ingrained reaction.

Jane picks up on the second ring. “Thatcher? Is the meeting already over?”

I can’t move. I stare at the faucet.

“Thatcher?” Her voice pitches in worry.

“It hasn’t started yet.” I grip the sink with one hand and swallow a rock. And then I rehash everything that happened with the team.

I promised myself I’d never hit another bodyguard, and even if I was provoked, I shouldn’t have pushed O’Malley.

With every word I say out loud, I’m sure that I’m painting myself as the biggest villain. “It’s good that he got a punch in,” I continue. “I just don’t want my brother in the middle of it.”

I don’t want her in the middle of it either. But she’s on the phone, and I don’t want to hang up. I just want to hear her.

“You don’t deserve to be punched, I hope you realize,” Jane says fiercely. “I know you want to take fault for what’s happened, but this won’t make you feel any better.”

My chest caves. I can’t speak, but she fills the quiet.

“And I’m terribly proud of you.”

It knocks the wind out of me. Slowly, I shake my head. “Why?”

“You handled everything well, especially under stressful conditions. It could’ve rattled you more, and you could’ve said worse to provoke him. You tried your best I truly believe. So…um, I…” She sounds flustered, and I almost smile because she’s mostly only like this with me. “I’m very,veryproud of you. Which I’ve already said, but it doesn’t hurt to say twice.”

I hear her blow out a measured breath.