Deploy, Part One (Rawlings #1)(78)

“Friendly fire,” he quipped putting his arm around her and guiding her out to his truck. “I guess Dawson wasn’t joking when she said she was going to put you through boot camp.”

“I don’t think Dawson knows how to joke, she needs a dose of a good time—overdue.”

The random phrase stifled the mood all the more. It was said around the Rawlings the reason ‘Tomorrow’—as they called her— fit Nolan so well was because they were perfect opposites. He’d never be serious about anything without her, and she’d never smile without him. Justice still didn’t know their story, but had a feeling it wasn’t all sunshine and butterflies.

The storms were rolling in the emotions of everyone, Declan and Dawson bore the brunt of the pain and there was nothing Justice could do to make it better. Hell, it was all she could do to get herself right most days.

It was hard the first few weeks with Declan. His touches were too cautious, he’d glanced away too much when they spoke, and the silence wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it used to be.

Sex sucked.

There was a gaping hole between them and in the gap her fear and his anger swelled. Neither emotion was meant for the other. She told Dawson about it, and after Dawson cussed her out and threatened to fly to where she was and kick her ass, Justice came up with a plan.

When Declan came home from work that afternoon, she had all the furniture moved and was standing in the center of the living room in boy-shorts and a tank, in a stance that said she was ready to fight.

~

Declan’s gaze was full of confusion and anger. More of the first.

He’d been as delicate as he could with her, and done his best to keep his anger in check, something he figured out was far easier to do on the phone, or even when they Skyped for hours at a time.

Being in the same room with her, feeling how different her energy was, feeling the space between them—what his career, the loss of Nolan and all the other shit had done to them only made it worse. Declan was sure he felt like an obligation to her, a mountain, a challenge she had stubbornly chosen to climb.

Loving someone shouldn’t be hard. And they had always been hard.

“Let’s go,” she said, loosening up.

Declan recognized this philosophy, it was dished out to him his whole life, and when it wasn’t, he was dishing it out. On the surface, it seemed more physical than anything, but the truth is it was all-emotional. This exercise burned away all the bullshit that had been clogging your head. It proved to you and yours that you were stronger than before, whatever jacked you up was a gift.

What happened to Justice was not a f*cking gift. It was a curse. The curse of him. She’d never see it that way. His girl walked through hell her whole life, had only poked her head out of it for moments across her life. To her this was how life rolled. Declan knew she deserved more. She deserved to feel safe and he couldn’t give that to her, no matter how hard he tried.

Declan’s stare stayed the same as he emptied his pockets like he did at the end of every day. When he reached for the remote as if her standing half nude in front of him wasn’t interesting, she kicked it from his grip.

“Stop it,” he snarled when she engaged again and he blocked her. “Not right.”

“Why? Because I’m a girl?”

“Yeah,” he roared. His girl had been hit one too many times before she reached the age of six. This. Was. Not. Right.

Delicate rose. A delicate, wilted rose. One he had let down. One he could never understand.

She charged him again and his anger boiled. “Back off!”

Again.

“What are you? Two? I’ve had a shitty day. I don’t need this.”

Again.

She didn’t even hear what he was saying.

It was all games at first then her blows hurt. Shit, Tomorrow—you created a warrior...

Understanding he was in debt to his brother’s ex distracted him long enough for her to get another blow in. Fuck!

A sly smirk ghosted across her lips. Declan could see her adrenaline building across the lean tone of her body. How had he missed this? Fuck him, she had never looked more sensual. He felt his own body flex, a raw need to let loose come over him. There was no way he was going to hit her but he was positive the raw f*ck he heard calling his name was the last thing she needed—the last thing he was willing to put her through. No matter how strong she was on the outside, he saw her demons sleeping in her eyes, heard them growl when they woke her at night.

Declan managed to pin her arms. “Stop this shit, get dressed. We’ll go get some beers.” He needed something to get him out of this cage with the only temptation he’d ever met that he could not best.

Justice slipped his grip and circled him, charging him again.

“Fucking fine,” he growled. She wanted a punching bag—bring it. Maybe it would make him feel better.

He turned and blocked her. Declan let her hit him; God knew he deserved it, if not worse. He should’ve done something about her daddy long before the storm, long before he dared to ask her if he was right about that f*cker. The second he realized how corrupt his town was, he should’ve pulled her from there. He should have told her he didn’t give a f*ck about her independence, that she could go to school where he was, build a life there. He should have been a bigger ass.

Instantly, Declan figured out that it would be best for him to pay attention to her blows. They were fierce and had far more power than he assumed they would. She was only playing before.