“I needed you to know,” he said, voice rough. “I’ll do this again and give you the ring when I get back. I promise. Tomorrow. Or the next day at the latest.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re serious?”
“I wouldn’t joke about this, Sprite. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it.”
Her breath hitched for a second. And for that second, he was afraid she would turn him down. Then she reached up, touching his face, and said, “Yes, Daddy. I want my life to be with you, too.”
The words hit him like a shockwave. “Yeah?” he asked, barely breathing.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
He pulled her into him. And for a moment, they forgot everything else. The kiss deepened. Heat flared. His hands tightened on her. He forced himself back, breathing hard.
“Why’d you stop?” She blinked up at him.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Because I’ve waited this long.”
Her lips curved softly. “And?”
“And if I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop. I want a ring on your finger before we do that. And I want it right.” Because she deserved it. She deserved everything to be perfect. It was old fashioned, but he was an old fashioned guy.
Her eyes went soft. “You always do.”
He kissed her again. Quick. Soft.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promised. “Or the next day.”
“I’ll be here.”
“I know you will.”
Jaxon sucked in a sharp breath. The road blurred for a second before he forced himself back to the present. His chest ached. Dwelling on those memories didn’t change anything. They just made it hurt worse.
Of course, he hadn’t come back. Not the next day. Or the day after, or any other day for eight long years. And now he was here, trying to fix something that might be beyond repair.
He pulled up to the warehouse and cut the engine. The silence hit him harder than it used to. It was heavy and unforgiving. He swung off the bike and headed inside.
The gym was empty. Jaxon wrapped his hands, then stepped up to the heavy bag and let everything go. Normally, he would warm up first, but not today. The first punch landed hard. The second even harder. By the third, he wasn’t thinking anymore. Just hitting. Moving. Breathing through the pain.
Pain was therapeutic. It grounded him. Centered him… keeping the memories at bay. Sweat poured down his back. His muscles burned. But it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough to get the picture of Tazzy with that damn cigarette out of his head.
“Damn,” a voice drawled from behind him.
Jaxon kept punching the bag and ignored the voice. He recognized it was Ravage, but he didn’t care about Ravage or anything else but the next punch.
“That bag didn’t do anything to you, man.”
Jaxon threw another punch. “Didn’t say it did. It was just the closest target.”
“Fair enough.”
Jaxon finally stepped back from the bag. Breathing hard, he unwrapped his fists.
Ravage leaned against the doorway, beer in hand. “Saw you pull out from behind the coffee shop and thought you might be here.”
Of course, he had. Nothing went unnoticed around here. That was one thing about Darling that hadn’t changed. Jaxon grabbed a towel. “I needed it.”
“Yeah,” Ravage said. “Looks like it.”