Total pages in book: 176
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164533 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Derek went to grab some extra chairs for Nuala and Martin, and we all began shuffling around to make space for them at the table. It was as we were shifting our seats that Rhys knocked his drink over, and it spilled down the front of his shirt.
“Ah, shite,” he swore in annoyance at himself, and I instantly panicked. I couldn’t explain the reaction, but suddenly, I was jumping up out of my seat, apologising, and grabbing spare napkins from the table to dry his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I muttered, my hands shaking as I pressed the napkins into the spill. My lips quivered, and I had this feeling of impending doom I couldn’t explain before Rhys’ large, warm hand settled over mine.
“Charli, this isn’t your fault. I was the one who spilled the drink,” he said, his voice quiet and firm but also a little confused.
“Right, yes, I know, I just thought—”
My words fell off as my cheeks heated and flushed with embarrassment, my eyes downcast because I was too ashamed to look around and see if anyone else noticed my overreaction. What the hell was wrong with me? I was acting terrified, and the feeling was as familiar as an old pair of well-worn shoes.
So many times, Jesse had fucked up, and somehow, I’d been to blame. Like when he’d spilled coffee on the documents for a case he was working on, it had been my fault for being the one who was talking while it happened. Or when he’d turned a bunch of white shirts dull grey by letting a pair of black socks fall into the wash. That had been my fault, too, because I should’ve had the forethought to go through everything and separate the colours. No matter what had happened, it had always been my fault. This was clearly the reason for my response to Rhys spilling his drink, but it didn’t make it any less mortifying. Nor did it lessen the adrenaline that was coursing through me.
“Charli?” Rhys’ eyes were wide and full of concern as I backed away.
“I’m j-just going to see if they have anything better to clean up with in the back. Those napkins aren’t very absorbent.” My hands still shook as I left the table.
“Wait,” Rhys called, but I was already gone.
My pulse thrummed in my ears as I hurried to the back of the restaurant, finding a quiet corner near the bathrooms. Someone had left a window open, and a pleasantly cool breeze filtered in. It didn’t take away how pissed off I was with myself. Was this how I was always going to react to stressful situations that weren’t even my fault? I’d thought I’d been making progress, but it felt like no matter how much time passed or how far away I got from him, Jesse’s mark on me would always linger. I’d forever be a shaking, anxious mess whenever something happened to trigger a memory or a certain response.
I slid down the wall until I was hunched on the floor, tears spilling down my cheeks as I wept. I was too caught up in the shame spiral to worry about anyone finding me crying my eyes out. I’d had a shaky start to the evening when I hid in the restroom, but things had gotten better. I thought I was doing well, socialising, being around lots of other people. Yet here I was, completely broken.
I would always be broken.
“Charli.”
Suddenly, I was being scooped up into strong, solid arms and carried away from the spot on the floor. I buried my face in Rhys’ chest, absorbing his familiar scent tinged with the whiskey he’d spilled on himself. It was only when someone else spoke I realised we weren’t alone.
“Take her in here,” Aidan said, and more embarrassment crept in. It was one thing having Rhys witness my meltdown, but Aidan was one person too many. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
“Thanks, Aidan,” Rhys replied, his words rough, and Aidan left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Rhys lowered me down onto a two-seat leather couch in the small office, then went to grab some tissues from a box on Aidan’s desk. He approached the couch, sitting down next to me as he quietly dabbed away my tears.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice scratchy and dry from crying.
Rhys’ jaw flickered. “If you say sorry one more fucking time, Charli, I swear to—” His angry words fell off when he saw me tense then swore under his breath, his voice gentling to barely a whisper, “I’m an idiot. I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”
I caught his hand, wrapping my fingers around his while he still held the tissue up to my cheek. “It’s okay. I’m just incredibly … skittish.”
His shoulders slumped as he exhaled, eyes latching onto mine. They flickered back and forth as though trying to read between the lines. “The way you looked at me out there. It was like you thought I was going to lash out or something. Like I was going to blame you for my clumsiness.” His eyes were still on mine, delving deep. I saw it the moment realisation dawned, and if I wasn’t already sitting, my legs might’ve gone out from under me. Because Rhys had just figured out the truth. It was plain as day in his eyes.