Instead, I close the folder and toss a hurried thank-you over my shoulder, my cheeks burning, my entire body flushed with the same heat as I flee from his office and pretend that he’s not the man… the stranger that I thought him to be.
Already pretending. Exactly like we both just agreed on.
Good thing I’ve spent most of my life practicing the same measured, fake smile and have long since mastered the art ofpretending.
CHAPTER
FIVE
WILDER
Each timemy knuckles touch the bag, the bruised and battered skin threatening to split open from the force behind each hit, I will myself to make the next harder.
Hits that hold so much power that my teeth chatter together, over and over again, attempting to bleed out every ounce of aggression that’s been festering inside of me for the last few days.
It’s still not enough.
It’sneverfucking enough.
My vision blurs from sweat as it drips down my forehead, soaking my T-shirt completely through, and even though every muscle in my body is screaming for relief, I won’t allow myself to stop.
Not until I’m too exhausted to stand, too exhausted to even think.
Most nights, it’s the only way I get any sleep at all, sheer exhaustion taking over and quieting my head for a few hours, a reprieve from the thoughts that never seem to end.
Vaguely, I hear the sound of my phone ringing somewhere across the room, but I ignore it and focus on the bag, on pushing my body to the limit.
Hit.
Jab.
Hit.
“Fucking harder,” I grunt to no one but myself.
Jesus fuck, this goddamn phone.
The incessant ringing sounds again.
Huffing out a frustrated sigh, I stop the bag and flex my fingers as I cross the room and grab my phone off the counter.
When I see Camila’s name on the screen, I consider ignoring it like I have for the last few days. But if there’s anyone capable of making me experience any semblance of guilt, it’s her.
My stomach clenches, and my chest pulls tight when I think about how my fucked-up avoidance bullshit continues to hurt her, so I begrudgingly decide to answer.
Despite how much I’d rather turn the phone off and pretend she’s not the only person on the planet who gives a shit about me, I swipe my finger across the screen and put it to my ear.
“Thank God you finally answered,” she scoffs before I can even say hello. “I was going to send the cops over for a welfare check if you didn’t.”
“Do not send the cops to my house, Cam.”
She laughs lightly. “Do not tell me what to do, Wilder. You’ve been ignoring me, and you should know by now that’s not going to work. You’ve been avoiding me since you got back to New Orleans. I want all the details.”
Yeah, I have been avoiding her. Every time she calls, I send it to voicemail. I leave the texts unread. Half the time, I don’t even check my phone. She’s the one and only person who texts me anyway.
I don’t need to bring Cam down with me. I can’t, and I won’t.
Not when she’s clawed her way out of hell to a better life. I don’t want to be responsible for her worry and stress. It only makes the guilt worse.
