Page 99 of Dublin Beast

Not enough.

But it helped.

* * *

The door to the dungeon clicks shut behind me with a finality that echoes in my skull. I roll my neck, trying to shake off the heat still pulsing in my fists. Blood is still singing in my veins like it’s not done. Like it needs another outlet. Another fight. Another reason not to feel a fucking thing.

“Bryan.”

I glance back.

Tag steps out of the holding room, his strides long and angry. When he closes the distance between us, he throws up his hands, jaw tight, watching me like I’m some wild animal he doesn’t want to spook.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

I drag in a slow breath through my nose. My shoulders rise with it. I keep my tone flat, cool. “I’m fine.”

His brow lifts. “Fine, you say. I haven’t seen you thisfinein a long time. Not since Yasmine died.”

The name hits me like a gut-punch.

Rage and grief collide in my chest, a storm I can’t hold back. He sees it, too. His gaze narrows, softens.

I drop my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Of course he knows it’s about Yasmine. Tag always sees too much. Even when we were kids, he could smell a lie on your breath before you even opened your mouth.

“Bryan, tell me what’s going on.”

I consider telling him to fuck off. Or to lie. But Tag doesn’t buy bullshit, and he doesn’t back down. He’s the only one of my brothers I never learned to hide from.

I stretch out my neck, the stiff vertebrae giving way to pop with no relief. “I cheated on her, T.”

Tag blinks, caught off guard.

“Harper and I had this unreal physical connection, and I shared myself with her.”

His brow arches like I’ve lost my mind. “Bryan, I know for a fact you’ve fucked at least fifty women since Yasmine’s death. Probably more, if we’re being generous about your definition ofdiscretion.”

I look away, jaw tight, throat thick. He’s not getting it.

“That’s not what I meant.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “It’s not the sex. It’s thesharingpart. I let her in, Tag. She got under my skin, and we connected. For fuck’s sake, Ifeltsomething for her.”

His gaze softens.

“It’s been four years, Bryan.”

I don’t respond. I can’t.

He steps in closer and squares off with me, gripping both my arms. “It’s about time you let someone in—it’spasttime. You didn’t betray Yasmine by feeling something again—you honored her by surviving her. Stop beating yourself up. You have to stop.”

My chest heaves.

I try to fight it. I try to swallow it. But the tears come anyway, fast and sharp, slicing right through the concrete I’ve poured over my heart for the last four years.

A sound rips out of me—raw, broken—and before I can collapse in on myself, Tag grabs my shoulders and pulls me forward.

I press my face to his shoulder and sob like I haven’t since the night we buried my first love. My knees go weak, and he holds me up, steady as stone.

When the worst of it fades, when I’m nothing but shaken and ashamed, he cups the back of my neck and eases back enough to look at me.

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