Page 60 of Brawler
So, he had split his real life and his romantic life. A clean divide. Toby on one side, safe and untouchable. On the other, bar fucks, surface-level women who wanted the uniform or the story, nothing deeper. No overlap. No risk.
Now, sitting in the brutal heat with Emily’s hair plastered to her temple, her small body trembling with exhaustion, he was staring down the truth he’d never wanted to face. He was falling. Not just wanting her. Not just aching for a touch. Falling.
The realization was a blow, sharp and unforgiving. His focus had shifted. He didn’t know how or when, but she was in his system now, threaded through his veins with the same inevitability as Toby.
The fear hit next, jagged and relentless. What if loving her tipped the scales? What if she pulled his attention, his care, his heart away from where it had always belonged? Not because he doubted Emily—hell, she was fierce, stubborn, more than capable—but because emotional risk had never been his alone. If he broke, Toby broke, and that was unbearable.
He pressed his thumb hard into his temple, as if he could grind the thought out of his skull. But it stayed. The first crack in the wall he’d built. The first tremor of something he’d never allowed himself to need.
But the risk? Oh, damn. That freaking Shortcake was his. She was goddamned his, and the fierceness of it hit like a red haze, scorching through him with a need that would never burn out. Not lust, not adrenaline, something older, deeper, carved into bone and blood. He’d spent years controlling every variable, walling off what mattered, but there was no wall strong enough to keep her out.
The truth of it terrified him. Wanting her wasn’t passing. It wasn’t temporary. It was forever, and forever was a weight he’d sworn he couldn’t afford.
This tiny pixie beauty, this stubborn, wild-eyed little David without even one sling to her name, had felled Goliath. Had felledhim. He would never be the same.
Awkwardness stretched long. Beast sat heavily between them, tongue lolling, ears flicking as though even he wanted to ease the tension. Emily sipped from her canteen, eyes fixed anywhere but on him. The silence said enough. He’d hurt her, and now he didn’t know how to take it back.
He tried anyway. “Emily?—”
“Ready?” she asked over her name, voice dull. She rose, turned away.
That just wasn’t going to fly.
“Goddammit. This is killing me,” he whispered.
Her sharp inhale cut the air. She half-turned, eyes glistening. “I know. It’s killing me, too. But this is where we are…and there’s no going back.” Her voice softened, husky with grief. “I know you’re sorry. I know you’re doing your job. What’s most maddening is that I understand…but it still hurts so bad.”
For the smallest moment, she reached out, fingertips brushing his forearm. A touch so light it could’ve been an accident. But it wasn’t. It was hope, and he latched onto it with such a pitiful need as his throat worked. He nodded, the ache burrowing deep, shifting his ruck higher because if he didn’t move, he’d break. No apology left his mouth. No words here; no were enough.
Then Beast froze. His whole body went still, every muscle locked in perfect point.
Brawler felt it before he saw it, the charge in the air, the way the forest seemed to hush. He lifted a hand, halting Emily at his side.
The brush parted in a ripple of shadow.
There she was.
The jaguar flowed into view like liquid muscle poured into fur, shoulders rolling with power, head low, eyes burning pale as lanterns in the dim. Her coat glimmered gold and black, spots shifting with the light as if she carried the jungle written on her skin. Behind her, two cubs tumbled, clumsy feet tangling, their bodies darting close to her flank before scurrying under her belly.
Brawler’s chest tightened. Christ. Catching just a glimpse of her on Emily’s camera had been something. But here, alive, breathing, so close he could hear the soft pad of her paws against the earth, it was a punch to the gut. Beautiful. Untamed. Regal.
He couldn’t stop staring. This wasn’t just a cat. This was the embodiment of survival, the raw, unbroken will of the wild.
He turned, and Emily was already frozen beside him, her lips parted, breath shallow. Her eyes shone, wide and wet, fixed on the jaguar with the kind of reverence most people reserved for saints.
Her whisper trembled into the air. “Sombra.”
The name seemed to settle over the clearing like a benediction. The jaguar stilled, her head lifting, ears flicking at the sound. Slowly, deliberately, her gaze shifted. Pale, lantern-bright eyes found Emily through the lattice of vines and shadow.
For a breathless moment, predator and woman regarded one another, one the wild’s fiercest guardian, the other a stubborn interloper who had trailed her through storms, fire, and silence. Sombra’s nostrils flared, testing the air, catching the truth of Emily’s scent, her resolve, her intention. Not threat. Not prey.Recognition.
Emily’s breath hitched, tears blurring her vision. But she didn’t look away. Couldn’t. It was a meeting of souls across the divide, fragile as smoke, eternal as blood.
Then, with a ripple of muscle and grace, Sombra turned, slipping back into the green, her cubs darting after her. In seconds, the jungle swallowed them whole.
Silence closed in again, heavy and charged.
Brawler finally dragged in a breath, his chest still tight. He glanced at Emily. She was shaking, her hands pressed to her mouth, tears streaking her cheeks. But her smile, fuck, that smile, was radiant, fierce, alight with something he’d never seen in her before. Joy untampered by grief.
