Page 61 of Desperate Actions

I am completely, utterly enamored with this woman.

And I don’t give a shit who knows it.

I wish I could say I saved myself for her, that I spent my whole life waiting for this moment, just like she did.

But the truth?

I spent years ignoring my feelings, burying my need, pretending she wasn’t mine.

Because she was too young.

Because she was too innocent for the likes of me.

Because war had stained my hands, turned me into something dark and lethal and unworthy.

But ever since she turned seventeen, I never even looked at another woman.

Because I knew.

I knew I was born to love her.

And I’ve been planning for this moment ever since.

No, we haven’t talked about the usual things—houses, kids, forever—but that’s okay.

I’m flexible.

Still, I think about the house I built for her back home, the furniture I chose, the cars in the garage.

The way I planned everything from our Saturday date nights to our daily commute into the city—which, yes, I fully intend to share with her since we both work in Volkov Towers.

I rub her bare shoulder, lost in my thoughts, loving the feel of her in my arms.

When I was younger, Uncle Adrik used to ask me and a few of the other boys if we thought we were hard men.

He’d tease us—something he didn’t get to do much, having only daughters and no sons.

And man, I wanted to impress him.

I’d stick my chest out, my twelve-year-old voice full of false bravado, and say,“Yeah, Uncle Ad, I’m a hard man.”

He’d just laugh, shake his head, and say I had a hard head, just like my father.

Then he’d say,“Be hard sometimes. But somewhere inside, you must be soft, Sammy.”

I’d frown, confused.

“When, Uncle Ad?”

“When you find your wife, she will sometimes need it. Then you must be soft for her.”

I was just a kid, had no idea what he meant.

But now?

I think I do.

I was raised with love, with understanding, with care and compassion.

---