I tip my empty glass at her. ‘Wasn’t aware you had pipes.’
‘I have layers, MacRae.Layers.’
‘You did good tonight,’ I say, voice low. ‘You did good…with me.’
She stills, caught off guard. As if she didn’t expect me to say it. Hell, maybe I didn’t either. But something shifts in the air between us. That current. That charge. That buzz under my anger. The part I’ve been ignoring for weeks, acting like it isn’t real.
She pulls back, clears her throat. ‘Another round?’
‘You trying to keep up with me, Harrington?’
She grins, a bit wobbly but full of fire. ‘No. I’m trying to win.’
For a second, I almost let it slide. Almost let the moment stretch out without bringing up the thing that’s been gnawing at the back of my mind. But she’s got that look. Wide open and real. And that makes it impossible.
I can’t keep acting like it doesn’t matter.
If I don’t ask now, it’ll make it harder and harder to separate what I thought I knew from what I’m starting to see. To…like.
Aye, I need to know once and for all.
‘Was itreallynot you? Leaking the gambling rumours to the media?’
Charlie doesn’t freeze or yield. She just goes quiet in a way that cuts and looks at me. Flat and blank and direct.
‘Youknowit wasn’t me.’ Her voice isn’t sharp or cold. It isn’t anything, and that’s what hits hardest.
She runs a thumb over the condensation on her glass, watching it smear.
‘I never leaked a damn thing, Brodie,’ she says in that way that tells me she’s beyond tired of this conversation. ‘Wasn’t evenawarethat you had poker debts. And yes, I’m loyal. But I don’t do anyone’s cheap dirty work. And certainly not Callum’s. Never have, never will.’
The space between us stretches, too tight, too thin.
She inhales slowly, weighing up if it’s even worth continuing. I’m glad she does.
‘But youhadto blame someone, right? And I was convenient. PR girl. Callum’s fiancée, in his thrall. Easy target.’
Something tightens painfully behind my ribs.
‘Me and Callum—’ she huffs a laugh that isn’t really a laugh, ‘—we made a neat package deal, didn’t we?’
I swallow. They did.
‘Not saying it was definitely him.’ She shrugs. ‘But I wouldn’t be shocked. And hewasshagging that presenter from the station that first broke the “story”. Could’ve been a coincidence. But I doubt it. Well, I’ll guess we’ll never find out.’
I’m an absolute eejit. I let this sit in my chest for months. Let it fester. Let it turn into something that coloured the way I saw her. Part of me still doesn’t want to accept it – because if I do, I have to admit I’ve been wrong this entire time. But the more I look at her, the better I get to know her, the harder it is to hold on to my version of events.
She says she never even knew about the fucking poker debts. I want to believe her. More than I should. And if she’s lying, she’s doing a damn good job of it.
So no, I don’t think she was involved.
I misjudged her. I put her in the same box as Callum, and I should have known. Should have seen her the way I’m seeing her now. Exhausted from having to defend herself, fight for herself, looking at me like she’s tired of caring whether I believe her or not.
And that makes me feel worse than anything. I’m not exactly generous with apologies. But even I know when one’s due.
‘I’m sorry, Charlie. Truly. You’ve always been better than Fraser. Always been too good for him.’
Her shoulders drop, and the tension that’s been locked in her spine unwinds. She watches me for a beat. Then she knocks twice on the table, like we’ve settled a deal.
