I found the key exactly where it always was — tucked under the third pot by the door, just like she'd been too stubborn to change even after the third break-in on the block. That was her. Soft in a hard world.

I slid the key in slow, quiet, locking the door behind me like a ghost slipping through. The house smelled like lemon cleaner and cheap vanilla candles. Same as always. Home, even when it wasn’t mine to claim.

The fight was still humming in my bones — fists still aching, ribs bruised deep — but here, inside, it all felt farther away.

I headed straight for the kitchen. Opened the cabinet above the fridge, pulled down the bottle of Crown I knew she kept for "special occasions," even though half the time, special occasions meant making it through a Tuesday without losing her mind. I unscrewed the cap, poured a glass, sat at the table like I belonged there.

Maybe I didn’t. But tonight, I needed to pretend I did.

Took a slow sip, the burn tracing down my throat like fire and forgiveness, when I heard her — footsteps rushing in, all fast and sharp. A flash of movement at the corner of my eye. I turned just as she came around the corner, baseball bat raised high, mouth open mid-curse.

And then — Her eyes landed on me. First wide with fear. Then horror. Then something else — something worse.

The bat slipped from her fingers, hit the ground like a gunshot.

She ran to me without a second thought, hands flying out, touching my face, my arms, frantic, like she couldn’t figure out where the bleeding was worst.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I said, voice low, rough from the night.

Lie. I knew it. She knew it. Didn’t matter.

She dropped to her knees beside me, shaking her head, tears already slipping down her cheeks she didn’t even bother to wipe away. I caught her hand before she could touch the gash along my jaw, held it there against my chest where my heart was pounding too loud, too fast.

For once, I didn't shove her away. Didn’t remind her what kind of man I was, or how many bodies I’d stepped over tonight just to make it back to this cracked little piece of peace.

I just sat there. Bleeding. Breathing. Holding on.