63. Lorelei

63

LORELEI

I run out of the Callahan Enterprises building like the place is on fire.

My heart pounds and I can barely suck in the air fast enough as I try to outrun what just happened.

My body trembles so badly, I've no idea how I keep moving instead of crumbling to the ground. With my eyes focused on the end of the street, I continue moving faster than I should be able to while wearing my highest pair of heels.

But I don't have a choice.

If I stop, I'll have to think about what I just did.

And I can't. Not while I'm in public.

Hell, I don't really want to deal with it when I'm shut away safely in my apartment, but I'm going to have to.

I'm so lost in my head, I don't register anyone I pass as I keep moving.

The easiest thing to do would be to flag a cab or call an Uber. But that means stopping. And stopping means thinking and…a sob erupts and I run faster.

I can't.

I just can't.

I'm almost clear of the busy street, and I have my eyes set on the corner that will allow me to slip onto the quieter back streets that will lead me home. My chest hurts from both the exertion and what I've left behind in that office, and the balls of my feet burn.

Home.

Just get home.

I take the corner too wide, my legs moving faster than the rest of my body. A shriek rips from my lips as I stumble.

This is going to really hurt…

I plummet toward the sidewalk, my muscles tightening as I brace myself for impact.

But it never comes.

Instead, a large pair of hands grab my upper arms, stopping me from impending physical agony to go right along with the emotional pain I'm already in.

"L-Lorelei? Are you…are you okay?"

The male voice is familiar, but in my panicked haze, I can't place it.

I blink, clearing my vision as he puts me back on my feet and everything becomes clear.

"Ryder?"

"What's wrong?" he asks with a deep frown marring his brow as he rips his eyes from me to stare over my shoulder. "Is someone chasing you?"

I look back, my head spinning at a million miles a second.

"No. No one is chasing me."

His attention returns to me, his eyes darting over my face.

I've no idea what he can see, and to be honest, I'd rather not know.

"You look like you're running away."

Yeah…from my mistakes.

I shrug, wishing I could come up with some credible reason for the state of me. "Friday night."

His brows lift.

"Wilder's game is about to start, and I don't want to miss it."

Mentally, I give myself a high five for even remembering the game right now.

Ryder stretches out his arm and looks at his watch.

"You've got time," he says. "But to make sure you don't miss anything…" He immediately flags down a taxi, which comes to a stop right beside us.

I shake my head. It's a move that only men like Ryder and Kian could ever pull off.

My chest constricts the second I even think his name.

"Come on," Ryder says, holding the door open for me.

I hesitate, remembering why I didn't call a car for myself, but the longer he stands there staring at me, waiting for me to do something, the less fight I have to argue.

"Your place?" Ryder asks after sliding in beside me.

"Y-yes, but you don't have to come with me."

His eyes bounce between mine, and I cringe.

Can he tell I've just been fucked on my boss's desk?

"Let me just see you get home safely," he says as if this is a normal thing for us to do.

Sure, we've hung out plenty of times over the years, and not just to hook up. But this…this is different.

There is concern in his eyes and he's knitting his brows. It's not a look I like being aimed in my direction. Ever.

I nod, unable to speak, before turning to look out of the window as Ryder gives the driver my address.

We take off, and it only takes me a second to realize that we need to drive straight past the Callahan Enterprises building in order to make a U-turn at the next intersection.

My teeth grind as the building appears before me, and I force myself to look down at my lap.

I don't know how I'll react if he just so happens to be walking through the doors right now.

I bet he'd look perfect. No one would ever know that he'd just fucked his assistant over his desk.

A heavy sigh spills from my lips, forcing Ryder's attention to turn my way.

"I'm all ears if you want to talk," he offers.

I attempt to swallow down the emotion that's clogging my throat before muttering, "Nothing to talk about."

"Have you met someone?" he asks.

"No," I say too quickly, giving away the truth.

Although, is it the truth? Have I met someone, or am I just fucking up my life all over again with my ridiculous choice of men?

"I assumed that maybe you had when you stopped replying to my messages last week," he says. There's no accusation in his words, more curiosity.

This is why it's always been so easy with us and also why our relationship is never going to be anything more than a friends-with-benefits situation.

I remain quiet for a few seconds as guilt bubbles up inside me. I know he doesn't care, but I'm usually a better friend than to ignore messages.

"Work has been really busy and?—"

"It's okay, I get it. Are you sure you're okay, though? You look…stressed."

A humorless laugh erupts from somewhere inside me.

"Oh yeah, I'm great. Everything is just fucking fantastic."

"Well, when you say it like that," he deadpans.

The taxi pulls to a stop outside my building, and I let another heavy sigh spill free.

"Did you want me to come up?" Ryder offers softly.

For the first time since we got into the car, I turn to look at him.

His eyes are kind yet curious.

"No, I'm okay."

"Lorelei," he breathes.

"I promise. It's just been…it's been a crazy couple of weeks."

"Okay," he agrees, albeit reluctantly. "If you need anything, just call me, yeah?"

I agree, although we both know that I won't be calling him anytime soon.

"Thank you," I say sincerely. If it weren't for him catching me, well…who knows what kind of mess I would be in right now.

"You're welcome. Message me, yeah? Let me know you're okay."

I nod before climbing out of the taxi.

The second I'm inside my building, I pull my heels off and hit the stairs. I'm too fragile right now to deal with the elevator.

Every inch of my body hurts by the time I pull my keys from my purse and let myself into my apartment, but there isn't a single part of me that hurts more than my heart.

"It's real. It's fucking real, and raw, and fucking painful. Tell me that you're with me. Please, for the love of God, tell me that you feel it too."

His words slam into me with the force of a freight train. All the air rushes from my lungs as I stumble into my apartment and slam the door behind me.

A loud, ugly sob erupts, and I crash into the wall before sliding down and landing hard on my ass.

Pulling my legs up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and lower my head to my knees.

Tears spill down my cheeks faster than I can control as the pain of walking away from him after everything he said drips through my veins.

Everything he said was so perfect. Everything I'd convinced myself I didn't want to hear from him.Everything that would hurt like hell if I allowed myself to be swept away by it all, only to be forgotten about down the line.

I've no idea how long I sit there, purging everything through my tears, but when I eventually look up and catch sight of the large clock on the living room wall, I panic.

Wilder's game has already started.

I scramble to my feet and race toward the TV, turning it on and finding the channel through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

Walking backward, I fall onto the couch the second my calves hit it and force myself to forget everything that happened tonight and focus on my brother.

They're ten minutes into the game, and they're down by three. Wilder is going to be pissed. They killed this team last year. When I spoke to him yesterday, he was confident that they had this one in the bag.

Looks like it's going to be harder than he expected.

I sit on the edge of my seat, watching as his team tries to pull it back. But every time they get ahead, the other team comes out fighting.

It's a good game. Or it would be if I weren't nervous as hell for Wilder.

There are only fifteen minutes left on the clock, and they're tied again as Wilder's offensive line gets into position, ready to secure the win.

My nerves are shot, but I'm grateful for the distraction.

My cell has been ringing incessantly out in the hallway, but I've refused to answer it.

Tate knows that I'll be watching the game. But I also suspect that she's had a call or at least a message from Ryder asking her to check in with me.

I should appreciate the support. I mean, I do appreciate the support, but right now, I don't want to talk. I just want to be left alone.

"Come on, Wild Child," I whisper, my eyes glued to the ball as it flies toward Wilder.

He's ready for it. I can see the determination in his eyes and the set of his shoulders.

"Yesss," I hiss when he makes the perfect catch and takes off toward the end zone. "Come on, come on," I will, perched on the edge of my seat, waiting to celebrate right along with him.

He's almost there, so fucking close he must be able to taste it, when one of the other team's defensemen appears out of nowhere.

"Oh my god," I gasp when he takes my little brother down on a dirty-looking tackle.

Wilder hits the grass hard and I jump to my feet, moving closer to the screen as if it's going to help.

The defenseman gets up and shakes himself off, but Wilder doesn't move.

"Get up," I whisper, getting even closer to the screen. "Wilder." My voice cracks with emotion.

But no matter how much I beg for him to get up, he continues lying there, lifeless.

My tears return, and I swear my heart shatters into a million pieces.

"Wilder, please. Please," I beg brokenly.

When my cell rings this time, I go running to the hallway and pull it from my purse.

I don't bother looking at the caller ID. I already know who it is.

"Everything is going to be okay," I lie.

Honestly, I have no fucking idea if anything is going to be okay again. But Hendrix doesn't need to hear that.

"He's still not moving," Hendrix whispers. He sounds like he's in complete agony.

"I'm coming, okay? I'm getting on the first plane out of here."

Putting my cell on speaker, I grab my suitcase from my closet and run into my bedroom.

"What's happening?" I demand as I absently throw things inside.

"Nothing. He's still lying there."

"Where is the medical team?" I bark, frustrated that I can't do anything.

It's not the first time Wilder has been injured. But it's the first time he hasn't immediately gotten up. It's also the first time I've felt that soul-deep fear when he went down.

"They're there. Shit."

"What?"

"I don't know. I can't see anything."

"Get your ass down there, Rix. He needs you with him."

"Excuse me. Sorry," a soft female voice says down the line.

Noelle.

At least she's with him.

"Excuse us. We need to get down there," she says again, taking charge while Hendrix freaks out.

"What if they don't let me?" he asks nervously.

"I don't give a fuck. Make them. Do whatever you have to do to be with him."

"Okay," he whispers.

"We'll get you to him," Noelle promises from a distance.

"I'm packing, okay? I'm coming for you both."

I run in and out of my bathroom, grabbing bottles. Fuck knows if they're the ones I need or not, but they're bottles nonetheless.

In less than ten minutes, I'm racing back down the stairs to meet the Uber I've called to the airport.

I don't have a flight. I have no idea when the next one is. But I'm not sitting around here waiting when Wilder and Hendrix need me.

Fuck the rest of the world. They are the two most important people in mine, and they need me.