“What did you say?”

“No, thanks. I didn’t need him or his money, and I’d do it on my own like I’d done everything else in my life.” That’s when Dante’s voice had overtaken his thoughts. Telling him that their father shouldn’t have to pay forever for their mother’s words, which had driven him away. “It fucking killed me to watch every bit of happiness drain from his face. So I agreed to work part-time. I found a gym and a dojo. The guy running the gym also promoted legitimate fights. I gradually shifted my focus fully to my training.”

“Is that when you fought Ronin?”

“He told you that, huh?”

Molly moved in to stand next to him. “He mentioned it was an underground and unsanctioned fight.”

“I’d started doing both and participated in enough amateur bouts to qualify as a professional fighter. After I returned to Texas, I reached second-degree black belt level and became a certified kickboxing instructor at the gym. I also added Muay Thai to my training regimen.”

“So Ronin snapped you up for Black Arts?”

Deacon turned toward her. He touched her sweet face before he tucked an escaped tendril behind her ear. “More or less. I agreed to Ronin’s six-month trial period, and I’ve been there ever since.”

Then Molly wrapped herself around him.

He closed his eyes. He wanted this—a life with her—more than anything in the world.

“Thank you for telling me. Not just what happened when you were fifteen, but all the choices you made in the aftermath.”

“How do we move on from this?” Deacon swallowed the fear crawling up his throat when Molly didn’t immediately answer.

Then she chased all those shadows and fears away by simply laying her hands on his chest, over his heart. “We promise to be open with each other about everything. Big and small.” She offered him a watery smile. “I know you claim you don’t like to talk about shit.”

“Claim? Babe. I don’t like dissecting every damn thing.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Shit. “Well, except the important stuff.”

Molly banged her forehead into his chest in mock frustration.

Deacon kissed the top of her head, drawing strength from the fact Molly was here. Touching her, holding her, breathing her in . . . gave him the push he needed to do this. No matter how hard his heart raced. He slowly moved his hands up her back, tugging on her hair to get her to look at him. Those beautiful brown eyes locked on his and provided the courage for him to say what he needed to. Curling his right hand beneath her jaw, he whispered, “I love you.”

If he hadn’t been holding on to her jaw, it would’ve dropped.

“I never understood what that meant. Now every time I look at you, I know.”

Tears pooled in her eyes. “Deacon.”

“I didn’t say it because I’m trying to manipulate you into forgiving me faster. I’m telling you because I feel it. Fuck, do I ever feel it for you. Even though I let you in more than I’ve ever let anyone else, I still held back.” He swept his thumb across her trembling lower lip. “No more holding back with you. I wanna be the man to give you everything you need. I say that and I know how goddamn selfish it sounds, because you’re so fucking perfect and you deserve more than a broken man like me. But dammit, when I’m with you I feel . . . whole again.”

Molly was so freaking beautiful with that light glowing from within her reflecting back at him. “Was that hard to say?” she asked so softly he barely heard it.

“Terrifying.”

“I can tell. You’re shaking.”

“I spent the last five days worried that I’d lost you. I’m standing here, touching you, and I’m still freaked the fuck out that it’s too little, too late.”

“It’s not. I hurt for you. I know that sympathy or empathy pisses you off, but I ache thinking about how closed off you’ve been when you’ve got so much to give. So much more than you’re even aware of. And that of all the people in the world you could’ve fallen for, you chose me.”

“My heart chose you, babe.”

Molly cried harder. “I’ve never had anyone love me, Deacon. I’m as scared as you are. I don’t know how to do this—how to give it back either.”

That admission floored him—which just proved they had a lot to learn about each other. “So we’re both kind of a mess, huh?”

She sniffled. “I guess that makes us a good match.”

“It makes us a perfect match.” Deacon gently wiped her tears. Then he kissed her, just a soft press of his lips to hers, more promise than passion.