Page 29 of Craving the Edge

My words hung between us, the truth colder than the winter frost outside.

“I’m sorry.”

His simple words made me stop. I turned, my whole body tight.

“Look, I shouldn’t have let him talk to you,” he went on. “The media, the sponsors…that’s his problem to manage, not yours. I really do care⁠—”

I cut him off as a humourless sound escaped my throat. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

I jabbed a finger towards the front windows, where the photographers were still camped out. “The damage is done, Declan. My name is already out there. My face. Even if your corporate cockapoo makes the story disappear tomorrow, it’s too late. It’s on the internet and the internet is fucking forever. Someone, somewhere, will always dig it up when they want to make a quick buck off you. I’ll always be a good story, won’t I? A dirty little affair you had that one time in a grubby gym in Brunswick.”

I didn’t wait for his answer. I stalked past him, heading for the back storeroom where I could hide, leaving him standing alone at the desk.

I shoved the door shut and leaned my back against the wall, my breath catching in my throat. My hands trembled.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. My thumb hovered over the contacts, scrolling past Billie, past Gary, until it found the one name I never called. Carla. For the first time in six months, I pressed the button.

My heart bludgeoned my insides as the line began to ring. Once. Twice. A third time.

“Hi, you’ve reached Carla!” Her voice was bright and sickeningly cheerful. Voicemail. It was a recording made in a life I couldn’t picture, in a London flat I’d never seen. “Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now, but leave a message and I promise I’ll call you back!”

The sound of her effortless happiness, of a world so far removed from this freezing storeroom, opened a chasm inside me. It was the voice of the sister who’d held me together when Mum fell apart when Dad left. The same voice that helped a little girl get ready for school because their mother was drunk and heartbroken over a piece of shit man. The same voice that promised to call every weekend, then every month, then not at all. The same voice that was meant to greet me at the airport.

I jabbed the red icon on the screen, cutting off her shitty little message. I had to stop believing she was still around. Carla was gone, just like the rest of them.

I stood there, surrounded by ripped focus mitts leaking stuffing and a stack of cracked plastic step boxes. Everything in here was broken or forgotten. Me included.

The storeroom door opened. Declan filled the frame, his shoulders blocking the light from the gym before he stepped inside and pushed the door shut.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I didn’t move from my spot against the wall, my arms crossed tight over my chest, holding everything in. If I relaxed for a second, I’d fall apart and I wasn’t going to do it in front of him.

He didn’t move closer, but his presence ate all the air in the small room. I could feel the heat rolling off his body, calling to the chill that’d settled deep in my bones. Every nerve ending felt raw. The memory of his mouth on mine was an impossible heat that had no place here, not with Rhys’ manipulative threats still ringing in my ears.

A confusing wave of hatred ripped through me. I hated him for walking into my gym. I hated him for bringing his chaos with him, for making me clickbait, but underneath it, a traitorous part of me wanted to collapse against his chest and let his wrap around me.

A hot sting prickled behind my eyes. I blinked hard, refusing to cry.

The urge to reach out and touch the solid warmth of his arm was unbearable, but if I did, I’d prove them all right. The gossip rags, the photographers, Rhys. I’d be exactly what they said I was. A grubby little whore.

Was all this shit worth a kiss in a dingy office? Was it worth the dangerous feeling that pulled me toward him? Was a mind blowing fuck worth all the pain that came with it? A fuck wasn’t love. It wasn’t caring for another person. It was just…a fuck.

The silence stretched, filling the small space between us, charged with the memory of his mouth on mine and the camera flashes outside.

After a long moment, I ground out, “I’m fine.”

There was a flicker in his eyes I couldn’t read. He took a deliberate step backward.

My heart slumped. There it was. The retreat. I was just another liability. The sickest part was that I was falling for him anyway. Falling for a man whose entire world was built to chew up women like me and spit them out.

“No, you’re not,” he murmured, his green eyes burning with a terrifying intensity. “Char… I’m going to fix this. Rhys. The paps. All of it. They’re not touching you again. I swear to you. I will burn it all to the ground before I let them hurt you.”

His words burned into me. I stared up at him, my mouth dry.

He moved before I could process it. His hand came up and cupped my cheek. His thumb stroked my jaw, a gentle touch that sent a jolt clean through to my core. His gaze held mine, intense and unwavering, but he didn’t move to kiss me. He just held me, his eyes searching my face for something I didn’t have to give.

Then he dropped his hand and walked out of the storeroom. His back was a solid wall of honed muscle, a reminder of the elite world he inhabited, the world he’d eventually return to. A cold slap of reality built into his body.