Page 53 of Craving the Edge

“Hey Carla, it’s me,” I drawled. “The gym burned down tonight. I’m okay, but…yeah. It burned down. Give me a call when you get a chance.”

I hung up before I could say anything stupid. I stood there, gripping the phone so hard the cheap plastic cover creaked. I only called because of a stupid, reflexive twitch for a connection that wasn’t there. She wouldn’t call back. I knew she wouldn’t. Not even a fire would be enough to make her call.

I slid my phone back into my coat pocket. My gaze drifted back to Fighter’s Edge. Black smoke continued to pour from the charred trusses, curling up into the dark.

A presence settled beside me, a solid warmth at my shoulder. I knew it was Billie before I looked. She was dressed in her work uniform, with heavy make up and a perfect slicked back ponytail. At this hour, she must’ve been on her way home from the bar…

The flashing blues and reds of the emergency lights washed over her sharp features, making her wide eyes seem dark and hollowed out. She stared at the wreckage, her red-lipsticked mouth a thin line.

She didn’t say a word, wrap her arm around me, or offer useless, comforting words. She just stood there, shoulder to shoulder with me on the cracked footpath. We watched as a section of the roof finally gave way, collapsing inwards with a groan of tortured metal and sparks. The firefighters aimed their hoses at the new opening.

Finally, she said, “Fucking Gary.”

Headlights cut across the scene as a silver Audi came to a stop further down the street. The driver’s side door opened and Declan got out. He didn’t look at the fire. He didn’t look at the small crowd of onlookers or the news van that’d just pulled up, its camera operator already scrambling out. He looked right at me.

He started walking, a direct line through the chaos, his focus absolute.

“Your boy’s here,” Billie murmured, her voice low enough just for me. She shifted her weight. “I’m gonna go see if the kebab joint on the corner is open. All this drama’s made me hungry. You want anything?”

I shook my head, my gaze locked on Declan.

She squeezed my arm once. “Call me if you need anything.”

And just like that, I was alone again, left on the footpath to face the man who lied to me while the last pieces of my life burned down in front of us.

He came to a stop beside me, but didn’t say a single thing. He just stood there, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and faced the fire with me.

I tensed as my anger threatened to break free of my control. I wanted to hit him. The lie about Sydney, his hand, the sex. It was all still there, tangled up with the sickening memory of how easily I’d fallen for it. I should’ve told him to get stuffed. I should’ve turned my back and walked away. There was nothing left for me here.

But the fight had drained out of me, leaving nothing but a hollowed-out shock. Not even my anger could override that.

My whole world was a bonfire. He was here. He’d come.

My own sister couldn’t be bothered to answer her phone, but Declan, the man I had every reason to hate, had driven here in the middle of the night to stand in silence beside me. The simple act of him just showing up was more than anyone had done for me in years. It undid me more than any kiss or whispered promise ever could.

A primal, desperate need to lean into him, to let his strength hold me up, surged through me. It warred with the bitter fury, a volatile mix that left me frozen to the spot. I hated him for making me want him. I hated myself for being too weak to send him away.

We stood there for what felt like hours as the chaos slowly ebbed. The roar of the fire died down to a hiss and crackle, the giant plumes of flame replaced by smoke that stung my eyes and throat. Firefighters moved across the blackened skeleton of the building, their yellow uniforms glowing in the gloom. They pulled apart smouldering debris, dousing stubborn embers with targeted bursts of water.

The inferno’s heat vanished, and the Melbourne winter morning rushed back in to take its place. The adrenaline that’d propelled me from my bed and down the street evaporated, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

My gym was gone. My job was gone.

The sky began to bleed from black to a soft, miserable grey. The flashing lights seemed less urgent now, just a sad pulse against the dawn.

“I’m taking you somewhere warm,” Declan murmured.

I looked at him then, really looked at him for the first time since he arrived. His expression was unreadable. He’d pulled on jeans and a hoodie, his hair a mess. He looked like he’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. I probably didn’t look much better.

“I know a place,” he went on. “An all-night diner. We can get some food.”

I should’ve said no. I should’ve told him to piss off back to his fancy apartment and his perfect life, a life I was never going to be a part of, but the words wouldn’t come. There was no fight left in me. There was just a vast, empty space where Fighter’s Edge used to be. The thought of arguing was more exhausting than the thought of what I was going to do now the gym was gone. The thought of being alone was worse than both.

I nodded.

He didn’t touch me, just turned and started walking toward his car. I followed. I didn’t look back. There was nothing left to see.

I sat in the passenger seat of the Audi, staring out the window as the familiar streets of Brunswick slid past in a dark, watery blur. We drove down Sydney Road, its late-night kebab shops and shuttered storefronts swimming in the ghostly orange of the streetlights. The city was in that strange space between the last drinks and the first bakers starting their day.