Page 78 of Unleashed By Eden

Every now and then, she looks at me. Watching.

I couldn’t have done Madrid without her. The memory of that day creeps back in, right alongside the results. The doc’s words, the scans, all of it. My liver’s had enough of my excuses and needs a break. But I’m not on a countdown. Definitely not in the way I thought.

I’d been gearing myself up to dying young for months, like it was a concrete fact. Easy excuse for why I didn’t bother taking care of myself.

Then she walks back into my life, and suddenly that neat, fatalistic story doesn’t work anymore.

I want time.

More shows and nights like this. More of her.

Time to not be a complete fuck-up. To fix what I broke, starting with the girl currently stealing the cigarette from my lips, taking a drag, and handing it back to me with a look that says don’t push it.

If laying off the bourbon, easing up on the smokes, and listening to doctors buys me that time, it’s a price I’m more than willing to pay.

For the first time in years, I’m no longer lonely. I know exactly where I belong. Right here. On this very balcony with these idiots. And her.

I glance sideways. She’s laughing at something Kai just said, eyes bright and face soft.

She feels me looking, and her gaze slides to mine.

I’m in love with her. Have been for years, if I’m honest.

The band’s good. Violet’s here with me, and my liver’s not a death sentence. Just one thing left.

Liam.

That conversation is going to be a fucking nightmare.

Chapter twenty-three

Carter

Mornings are a different beast when you’re sober. A hell of a lot more bearable. I was still up all night fucking Vi, but at least I don’t have the pain of my head splitting in two and queasy guts dogging me for the rest of the day.

I drag myself out of bed, throw on sweats and a T-shirt, and step out into the shared living space of the Paris penthouse. Bright light spills through the tall windows, and for once, I’m not squinting or blinded by it. Coffee and croissants hit my nose, and my stomach answers with a full-body growl.

Theo’s slumped on the velvet couch, still in last night’s jeans and wrinkled shirt.

“Morning,” I mutter, dropping down beside him. His stale stench of whiskey and cigarettes cuts right through my coffee-and-croissant high. “You fucking reek,” I grumble.

He flips me off.

Kai and Xander shuffle out from their rooms.

“Morning, boys.” Chris appears from the kitchen, irritatingly fresh in a navy suit, tray in hand. “Fuel for the gods.”

Kai squints at the low glass table in front of us as he perches on the arm of the lounger. “What’s all this shit?”

There’s a mountain of boxes, bottles, and sleek black bags stacked in messy piles—skincare, razors, cologne, supplements. Random crap.

“Product endorsements,” Chris says, setting the tray down.

Before I can open my mouth, a voice drifts in from behind me.

“Product what?”

Violet steps out of my room in my white hotel robe, cinched tight at the waist, hair twisted up and still damp from the shower. The robe’s too big on her, hanging off one shoulder. She looks half asleep and completely fucking edible. A primitive part of me wants to gouge out every pair of eyes in here for getting this view.