My mouth’s gone dry, and my hands tingle.
Brodie shoots Scottie a look like he’s just drop-kicked a puppy, but Scottie shrugs. ‘What? We saw the hand-holding. Not exactly covert ops.’
‘Scottie, for fuck’s sake!’ Brodie blasts out.
He moves towards me, but I hold up a hand and shrink back. I can’t help it. The betrayal is like acid burning through my chest.
‘Don’t.’ The walls are pressing in, and the air is getting too thick. ‘Don’t touch me.’
He reels back, pain splintering across his face. ‘Charlie, it’s not what it looks like.’
‘You’re sitting here with a mountain of cash and a deck of cards, surrounded by your teammates, and you’re telling me it’s not what it looks like?’ My voice cracks on the last word, and I hate how broken and angry I sound. ‘You know when I heard that fucked-up sentence the last time?’
His face tells me he does. I have to say it, anyway. ‘When I found my fiancé with his trousers round his ankles.’
I can’t even feel my fingers.
Scottie’s staring at us like he’s watching the roof cave in. One of the younger lads mumbles something about getting out of here, but no one moves. The whole room’s frozen, tension so dense you could drown in it. My hands shake, and I have to tuck them into my sleeves. I feel every eye on me, waiting to see what I’ll do next, and I’m naked. Exposed. Like they’re dissecting each word and gesture, like they’re already thinking of how this’ll play out when the press gets hold of it.
I shake my head, fighting back a flood of tears. ‘I-I have to go.’
‘Charlie!’ He steps forward, and his hand touches mine for a second before I yank it back. ‘Don’t fucking walk away. Let me explain—’
If I let him talk, I’ll cave. I’ll crumble, and then I’ll never claw my way back out of the mess I’ve made.
I don’t give him the chance. I spin on my heel and storm out, ignoring the shock I leave in my wake. The world blurs as I shove my way out the door, running from it with teeth and claws. My feet barely touch the ground, slippers skidding over the hotel floor.
I don’t stop moving until I’m back in my suite, door slamming shut like a full stop. My ribcage rattles with every panicked beat, my hands trembling so badly that I drop my key card twice before throwing it onto the bedside table.
It hurts. Hurts worse than anything has a right to hurt.
A knock.
‘Charlie. Please.’
No. Not now. Probably tomorrow. I need a moment.
‘Go away.’
Nothing. He stays.
‘You really think I’m that fucking careless? You think I’d risk it like that? After everything?’ He sounds muffled through the door, but he’s mad and he’s loud and I hear every word.
‘How the hell am I supposed to know what you’d risk, Brodie? I thought I knew you. I thought I could trust you.’
The air itself is bracing for impact. Then a sharp thud. My body jerks. I recognise that sound. His flat palm on the wood. Not forceful enough to scare me, but enough to tell me he’s on the edge.
His fucking temper.
‘You’re the one still too scared to call this real!’ He’s yelling now. But I hear how he’s fighting it. Fighting the anger.
‘That’s not fair,’ I say towards the door, suppressing the sob that’s building in my throat.
‘Isn’t it? You keep me at arm’s length and then get pissed off when I’m… hanging with my team. You don’t want anyone to know, but you’re furious when they figure it out on their own. I can’t fucking win with you, Charlie!’
A dull sound. Like he’s leaning his forehead against the door in defeat. I can almost see it, his hand braced against the frame, shoulders hunched, his whole body trying to cage in the frustration.
‘Listen to me, woman. I did NOT play cards.’
