Page 51 of Unleashed By Eden

“Carter.” She shifts closer, onto her knees, and wraps her arms around my back, placing her face next to mine, cheek to cheek. “You know you’re not her, right?” she says. “You’ll never become her.”

I stare at the sheets bunched in my fists. Old instinct curls inside, shame and bone-deep fear knotted together. “Aren’t I, though? I’m drinking myself to death, same as she did.”

“It’s not the same,” she states firmly.

Her hand slides off my arm and presses over my heart. Her palm is warm and steady. Her chest moves against my back, up and down, slow and deliberate. My breath starts to hitch itself to hers, matching her rhythm.

She just sits there and breathes with me.

The panic doesn’t vanish, but it loses its claws.

She gets the fear. She gets me in a way no one else ever has.

The words that want to come out are too big for this moment. So I swallow them down.

“Let me tell Liam,” Violet says.

My head snaps up. “No.”

“Carter.” Her tone sharpens. “He can help. He can make calls, pull in favors, set things up discreetly. Get you tests, scans, whatever you need. You don’t have to drag this worry around on your own.”

I look away.

She hugs me tighter, arms squeezing around my ribs. “He’s your brother,” she says. “He’ll move mountains for you if you let him.”

Silence sits between us.

“I hate this,” I mutter.

“I know.” Her breath brushes my cheek; then her lips do, a light press. “Just say yes. You need answers.”

I shake my head.

Her shoulders drop. “Okay, but I’m not letting this go,” she says.

A sharp pounding rattles the door. We both jump.

I grab my phone off the nightstand. The lock screen flares to life. “Shit.” The time stares back at me along with a stack of missed calls and messages.

We’ve had maybe two hours’ sleep, if that, after fucking like animals for most of the night.

“I’m not getting that,” Vi rushes out, jumping out of the bed and making her way to the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind her.

I climb off the mattress and grab the first thing my hand lands on: a damp towel from one of our many not-so-quick showers. I wrap it around my waist, stalk to the door, and yank it open.

Chris stands there, face already set to fury. Two security guys flank him, arms crossed.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he spits. “You ditched your call time, which means you missed this morning’s media block and the meet-and-greet with the prime minister. What the hell have you been doing?”

I rub a hand over my jaw, feel the roughness under my palm. “Sleeping.”

“Sleeping,” Chris repeats, eyes flicking down my bare chest to the towel knotted at my hips. His expression curdles. “Right.”

I brace a hand on the doorframe.

This morning just went from bad to fucked.

Chapter sixteen