It’s been a week, seven long days of agony.

There’s nothing more for me here. I should walk away.

But I can’t find it in my heart to leave.

A knock at the door jerks my attention to it. Cayleigh is gone with Oliver, and Rick is with Peyton, so whoever is at the goddamn door can turn around and leave me to revel in my misery.

Another sound at the door has me growling in frustration.

“Nobody’s fucking home,” I grunt out, loud enough for them to hear, but instead of leaving, another harsh knock comes in response. Shoving off the sofa, I stalk toward the wooden door and grip the handle so hard I’m sure it’s going to come off.

When I wrench the door wide, I’m met with deep cinnamon-colored eyes that peer up at me. Those same beautiful orbs that have pierced the cold, hard exterior of Callan O’Leary. We don’t speak. The air is heavy with anxiety. Her body, those sweet supple curves tremble under my scrutiny, and I wonder if I’m dreaming. If this is some sick joke.

“Hi,” she says. Even though this woman has fought a war beside me, she’s fallen into her shell. A shy, timid girl stands in her place, and I almost don’t recognize her.

“Blossom,” I say, my voice laced with confusion. There’s nothing more I want than to pull her into my arms, but I don’t. Instead, I watch her shuffle her feet on the welcome mat sitting at my door.

I step aside, gesturing for her to enter my apartment. The same place I’ve dreamed of us sharing, of times that never happened, but in the past few days, I’ve pictured every moment I ever wanted with her beside me. She moves into the living room where I’ve fantasized about making out on the sofa with her like teenagers.

I cast a quick glance at the kitchen just beyond where I would love to devour her sweet pussy on the countertop, along with the bedroom, where I woke up each morning thinking she was dead wishing she was beside me making my life complete.

“What are you doing here? I thought . . . I mean . . .” I stutter, turning to face her as I shut the door. Her perfume fills my nostrils, and I inhale it like a man who's been deprived of pleasure. She settles her ass on my sofa, lifting her gaze to meet mine.

“I’m not . . .” Her words trail into silence because she knows what I thought. Her father made an announcement that he needs time to grieve. We all jumped to conclusions. “I’m healed.” Her whisper hanging between us like the night I said goodbye.

“I thought you died,” I bite out, frustration evident in my voice. My tone is rigid with confusion, anger, need.

“I needed time,” she says sullenly. “I’ve been living in a small apartment on the other side of town. Time has been my only friend, allowing me to think about what we’ve been through.” All her words slowly seep into the cracks she left behind. Into the dark recesses of my mind.

“I fucking killed for you. Because I thought he murdered you,” I respond, but my voice is nowhere near as calm as I need it to be.

Each night, I went to bed seeing her face, imagining her beside me. And every morning, I woke up alone, cold, and angry at the world.

“I know why you did it,” she tells me finally.

“He needed to pay.” The words are gritted through my clenched teeth. Even though I’m not angry at her, and I can’t blame her for her father’s actions, I can hold a grudge.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve really cared about someone so much that they become my world. The only thing I want and need. I’ve never loved a man before.” She rises, taking tentative steps toward me. “I broke. I did fall off the wagon as they say, but I never tried to kill myself, Callan. I realized with the week I’ve had to recoup that the more I am away from you, the more I’m punishing myself because I fell for you.”

“You came here to tell me you loved me?” At that, I tip my head to the side, regarding her through narrowed eyes.

“I came here to tell you I do love you. I still do. All the time we spent apart was difficult. I worked through anger, frustration, and sadness. Epic fucking sadness, Callan.” Her voice hardens, her words louder as she forces home the point.

“It took you a week to come to me?” She doesn’t move. Her body is rigid as she lowers her gaze to the floor. I want her eyes on me. To see me. To look me in the eye and tell me what the fuck she was thinking, leaving me to think she was dead.

“I needed time,” she tells me again, “because I loved you too much. I needed you to survive. My cutting was my broken part. I didn’t want you to be my savior. I wanted you to be my equal. You healed me, but I realized, I needed to heal myself first because I wanted to be whole for you.”

“You don’t need to change who you are for me.”

“I needed to change for me, Callan,” she says as she moves in front of me, and my eyes eat her up like I’ve been starving for far too long. Madison faces me then. Her gaze lands on me, and she watches me. “I’m only myself when I’m with you. I’m stronger, but I’m still in love with you.”

She’s in front of me, and my hands itch to touch her. To take her and pin her against the wall, drop to my knees, and show her just how much I’ve missed her, but this is going to take time. There’s nothing about her being here that I can rush.

“I want to be here,” she tells me confidently this time.

“And the next time you see me lose my shit?”

“The next time, you won’t shoot my father in the chest.” Her response is sharp, honest, and raw with emotion.

Nodding, I stalk by her, trying to put distance between us, because if I don’t move, I’ll do something stupid. “I’m no longer in that life, Madison. I’ve spoken to my father,” I tell her as I sit on the burgundy leather armchair. Madison returns to the sofa facing me.

“You can just walk out?” She seems as shocked as I was when I told him.

“I’ll still work as security on certain jobs, but I’m no longer the man they go to for permanent fixes.” She flinches at the words, but it’s the only way I can say it without her running for the door. That’s the last thing I want and need right now.

She nods slowly, and I know I can’t fight this anymore. Rising, I settle on the sofa beside her. I can tell she’s still wary, but she doesn’t pull away. I can’t not be near her any longer; we've been apart too long as it is. I can’t fight this anymore. I turn to her, meeting those beautiful eyes that remind me of home and happiness.

“I’ve never loved a woman. Never loved anyone who wasn’t an O’Leary. There wasn’t enough in my heart to offer that to anyone. And for some reason, it never fazed me. I didn’t miss it, need it, or want it,” I tell her. There are tears glinting in her cinnamon eyes. They sparkle. Like the sunlight streaming through drops of honey.

She wants to look away, turning her head, but I stop her. I finally touch her after seven long days of no contact. I haven’t been with another woman. I haven’t even looked at another fucking woman. They didn’t do anything for me. I drank, I slept, and I worked for my brother. Nothing else mattered.

“Then you walked into that fucking club,” I continue. “And you knocked me on my ass.”

“Stubborn ass,” she corrects me, and I chuckle.

“Yes, that. But honestly, Madison.” I take her shaking hands in mine, lowering to the floor at her feet. I beg her for forgiveness, for salvation, and for the love she so clearly wants to offer me. “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me care, that’s made me need and want, and the only person in this world who's offered me all that in return without asking for more.”

I’m practically in her lap when I look up at her then. I can’t not look into her eyes when I tell her this. Her lips are parted, and I want to claim them. I want to steal her breaths, own her moans, and revel in the taste of her sweetness.

“I love you. I have since the moment I laid my eyes on you, till the moment you walked out my door.” I lean in, pressing my lips to hers, needing to make a connection, just one. Only that one kiss, and my body is alight. My heart seems to thud into action. Life flows through my veins, and I’m rabid. I need her like I need my next fucking breath.

She’s everything.

She’s all I want.

The love I feel when our tongues duel together in a dance meant for bed is my drug, and I shoot up as I relish her flavor. I lean in farther, needing so much more, but also needing less at the same time. I’ll overdose, and it will be her that kills me.

I pull away, meeting her glittering eyes. They’re like gems, shining with want.

“Callan, I came back for you,” she offers in a soft whisper. Her plump lips shimmer with gloss, and they’re swollen from the kiss. My mind is far off-track when I finally settle back on the sofa and pull her onto my lap.

She easily straddles me, as if she was made to be there. And I believe she was. I know without a doubt this woman is mine.

“And I’ve been waiting,” I inform her, twirling a dark lock of her hair around my finger. “You’ve taken so long.” My words are a slight whisper, raspy and filled with desire.

“Well, I’m here now.” She lowers her body over mine, cocooning herself in my arms. “My dad is in prison. How did you not get caught after what you did to Hudson?”

“Let’s just say that Oliver has connections. His team found Hudson’s fingerprints on the blade that hurt you. We proved that he was the one who attempted to take your life, and he got me off on a technicality that I was protecting myself.”

“His father, Gregory, has also been taken in.” I nod, because that I know. Thankfully the arsehole was implicated along with Magnus. “Everything I’ve ever known is gone. You’re the only thing that’s still here. A constant.” Her voice is so soft, but it’s filled with love and affection. And I realize just how much I missed her.

“I’ll always be here for you, Blossom,” I tell her.

And that’s a promise I intend to fucking keep.