She doesn’t say a word, just stares down. The breath backs up in my lungs, like I swallowed a fist, thick with everything she won’t say.
Is it me? Am I not enough for her to risk it? Or is she still somehow hung up on Callum, still dragging his shadow around like it’s stitched to her heels? Or maybe afraid of what her dick of a dad might think?
I want to shake it out of her, make her see I’m nothing like either of them. But I shut my mouth and let it settle. Doesn’t mean I’m not thinking it. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like fuck. Aye, I get it. But how long am I supposed to stand here with my arms open, pretending it doesn’t sting every time she retreats?
She shakes her head, voice barely a breath. ‘I’m just careful.’
Careful. That’s what she calls it. Like it’s professional caution.
I pull my hand back, rubbing the back of my neck. ‘You’re acting like being seen with me would torpedo your life.’
‘No, but… This isn’t a game, Brodie. One tabloid headline about us and everything I’ve built—’
‘What?’ I lean closer, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. ‘You lose clients? Get called a tart chasing athletes? Daddy being mad at you? That it?’
‘Don’t be dense. I’m also trying to protect you.’
‘From what? Being happy?’
Charlie twists away, fumbling with her buckle, that stubborn jaw set like steel. She’s not protecting me. She’s protecting herself. From the messiness. The risk.
Lads are waking up, stretching, muttering about jet lag. The plane lurches, slowly descending through clouds. My gut churns worse than any turbulence ever could. And the doubt creeps in, slow and insidious. Does she not feel what I feel? Am I making this bigger in my mind than it actually is?
Everything in my face pulls tight, but I force it loose. No point in getting worked up now.
I unbuckle, standing too fast. ‘Need the loo.’
The cubicle’s a fucking coffin. I brace against the sink, watching my reflection sneer. Bloody eejit. Maybe I’ve been kidding myself this whole time.
Knuckles rap the door.
‘MacRae.’ That’s Finn’s sleepy drawl. ‘You birthing a rugby ball in there?’
‘Piss off, Lennox.’
Half an hour and one podcast episode later, the plane dips and wobbles as it descends. I steal another look at Charlie. She’s already pulled her game face back on, all business. But I can’t unsee it now. How hard she works to keep me at arm’s length.
I make myself smile and crack a joke about Finn snoring like a chainsaw, but the feeling doesn’t leave.
The plane touches down with a thud, and I command myself to focus.
We stand to gather our bags, and Charlie’s already two steps ahead. My eyes follow her, trying to ignore the hollow burn behind my breastbone.
It’s nothing. I’m tired. Long flight.
But when she flicks a look over her shoulder and finds me tracking her, the smile she sends me slips at the edges.
Something’s shifted.
And I’m not sure how to fucking fix it.
Chapter20
Charlie
My hotel room’s too quiet. Too big. Feels like a warehouse with a bed stuck in the middle. It’s only half past nine, but I’m ready for bed – or I would be if I could sleep. I pace the space between the door and the window, trying to unhook the knot between my ribs.
The bed’s too wide without Brodie. Absurd, because we’re not even living together, and I’ve managed on my own just fine before. But now? Now it feels like if I fall asleep without his warmth next to mine, I’ll wake up wrong. The pillow doesn’t smell like him. The sheets don’t feel right.
