Page 45 of Unleashed By Eden

“I have to tell Liam,” I murmur, mostly to myself.

“Don’t,” he responds immediately. “Please don’t tell him.” His voice cracks.

“Why the fuck not?”

His jaw clenches. “Because I don’t want him making a big deal about it. We’re mid-tour. Nothing can be done until after anyway.”

“Carter, you need scans and tests. You can’t just wander around with this hanging over your head. Surely, there’s space in the schedule.”

“What’s the point?” The next words come out thin. “I already feel dead inside.”

I freeze, and my chest splinters in two.

“The only time I feel anything is onstage,” he admits quietly. “And when I’m with you.”

I quickly shove his words aside before they can take root.

“You chose this,” I say, voice shaking. “You chose this career. The touring. The fame. The chaos. No one put a gun to your head. It comes with responsibility and pressure and yeah, ridiculous privilege. But it also comes with sacrifices, and you knew that. This is the life you made.”

He flinches, barely, but I see it.

“So now,” I say, stepping closer, “it’s time to grow the hell up. Go to therapy. See a doctor. Stop drinking yourself into oblivion like your mom. Fix your shit before it buries you.”

He lets out a breath that sounds scraped raw. “I hear you.”

“You don’t.” I shake my head. “You really don’t.”

I cross to the side table, grab my camera, and flick through the gallery until I find it.

Then I shove it in his face.

“This is you,” I bite out. “Drunk off your face, unconscious in my bed. Remind you of anyone?”

He stares at the screen for a long second, then exhales hard through his nose.

I don’t lower the camera.

His eyes lift—jaw tight, scanning my face.

“You think I’m the only one who’s messed up?” he fires back. “What about you?”

My spine stiffens. “What about me?” I turn away, set the camera back on the side table, then march back to him, my arms tight across my chest.

“You walk around acting like the coldest, toughest bitch alive,” he retorts. “But that’s not you. Not deep down.”

My eyes narrow.

“So, what happened to you, Vi?”

The question hits a nerve.

Tears burn before I can blink them back. “You want to know what happened to me?”

He nods, jaw tight.

“You happened.” The words tear out of me. “You broke what little confidence I had. After all the crap from other kids—the names and the bullying—what you did . . . that was the final blow. The last straw.” There’s a lump in my throat I can’t choke past. “You crushed me.”

His face drains of color.