Page 25 of Craving the Edge

I pictured Char turning the corner, the confusion on her face turning to anger as she realised what waited for her. She always walked to work, and if they saw her, she wouldn’t have a way to escape.

My right hand throbbed against the steering wheel. I wanted to get out, to stride over there and tell them to piss off, but I knew that would only pour petrol on the fire. All I could do was sit here, a coward in a ridiculously expensive car, and wait for the damage I’d caused to completely blow up.

Then I saw her familiar silhouette at the far end of the lane and straightened up as her pace faltered. Her head lifted, scanning the unfamiliar cars and the cluster of men loitering near the gym. Her steps became cautious, her shoulders tight with suspicion.

One of the photographers spotted her. He nudged his mate, lifting his camera. The moment his lens centred on her, Char reacted. She yanked the hood of her black hoodie over her head and ducked her chin, a dark shape against the morning light. A flurry of clicks echoed down the alley.

“Shit.” I threw the car door open and jogged towards her, keeping my own head down. The damp air burned my lungs.

“It’s Walsh,” someone said, and the cameras turned to me, clicking like fucking machine guns.

“Charlotte,” my voice came out a low rasp. She flinched but didn’t stop her hurried walk towards the gym entrance. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t want this for you.”

She said nothing. Her face remained a shadow beneath her hood, but I could feel the fury rolling off her. She reached the roller door and her hands moved with frantic energy, fumbling with the keys for the padlock. A dozen flashes went off at once, turning the dark laneway into a chaotic, strobing nightmare.

“Walsh!”

“Over here! Declan!”

“Who is she to you, Declan?”

“Just one picture, mate!”

I stood behind her, a useless shield. My presence only drew more fire. The metallic scrape of the key finding the lock was loud in the sudden quiet between shutter clicks. She unlocked it and her hands grasped the cold steel handle of the door. With a grunt of effort, she heaved the roller door upwards. Each flashbulb illuminated her silent rage. She ducked under the rising door without a backward glance, disappearing into the gym. I scrambled in after her just as the cameras erupted again.

I followed her, pulling the heavy roller door down behind me. It crashed against the concrete with a deafening bang, plunging us into a sudden silence. The storm of camera flashes and shouted questions was cut off.

I turned to face her. In the gloom, her face was pale, her eyes full of fury. “Charlotte, I’m so⁠—”

“Don’t.” Her voice sliced through the quiet. She spun around, her body a tight knot of anger. “Don’t you dare. This is a disruption I never signed up for. This is your circus, not mine.”

Her hand swept out, gesturing vaguely towards the metal door that separated us from the paparazzi.

“That is not my life. I show up, I unlock the door, I work, I go home. That’s it. I don’t want to be in an Instagram story, and I sure as hell don’t want my face plastered all over some gossip magazine.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Anything I said would be useless as fuck. She was right about all of it.

“I want nothing to do with it,” she went on. “Nothing to do with you, or them, or any of this.” She took a sharp breath, her stare pinning me in place. “I want to be left the fuck alone.”

I just stood there, the sting of her words landing like a sucker punch to the balls.

Before I could find a response, a scrape and a rattle echoed from the roller door. It lifted a few feet, bathing our legs in a strip of watery dawn light, and Tomas ducked underneath.

“Fuck me, the vultures are out in force this morning.”

He let the door crash back down, the bang echoing the first. Tomas ignored me completely, his gaze landing on Char. “You holding up? They didn’t mess with you, did they?”

I watched her, a knot twisting in my gut. She didn’t answer, but she nodded. That small gesture, that crack in her armour she offered him and not me, made me want to punch the wall…and his face.

“That’s a full-on shitshow to walk into,” Tomas continued gently. “Anything you need?”

He was stepping in. His easy empathy did nothing but highlight how stupid I was. A hot, possessive anger flared in my chest. It was irrational and ugly as fuck. I was pissed at my best mate for having the decency I lacked.

Without a word, I turned on my heel and stalked away from them, past the reception desk, my gym bag smacking against its side, and walked into the quiet of the gym floor.

“Declan, calm down.” Tomas’s voice followed me.

I dumped my bag on the floor, the heavy thud echoing off the concrete. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”