12. Reed #2
Sure it’s nice to be away from home and pretend everything is great, but I know when these four months are over, I’ll be going back to the hell I was born into.
My father won’t give two shits about the work I have done with Wilder, or any of my time away, he will just brag about me making a name for myself, and then brush me aside and start talking up Freddie’s accolades.
His only focus is keeping our family image clean, until the spare is old enough to become the heir.
The thought has me polishing off the wine in my glass, and grabbing the bottle to top it back off.
I pretend to let my gaze trail around the busy club, but it still finds its way back to Wilder, like he’s a damn magnetic force.
I hate how good he looks right now, and worse how much he knows it too.
It would be so easy to get drunk and lose myself in him again, but the stakes are much higher now than they were on that balcony.
There he was someone I never planned on seeing again.
Now he is an addictive enigma I can’t work out.
Still just as tempting, but far more dangerous.
When I let myself look over at him again I find yet another guy hitting on him, this one more handsome than all the others combined.
Even from across the club I can tell how interested he is in him, but if possible, Wilder looks more pissed off than usual.
I can’t stop myself from watching him, assessing the guy who is leaning in close to speak in his ear, and noting the way Wilder almost recoils.
I presumed he would take his pick of conquests tonight, but when he all of a sudden shoves past the guy that was hitting on him, I can’t help but frown in confusion.
What the hell?
My eyes track him as he weaves his way through the heavy crowd, not pausing for a second as he shoves past anyone in his way, and I’m on my feet following him before I can tell myself it’s a bad idea.
It takes me longer than it did for him to get through the crowd, but when I finally do, it takes me even longer to find him.
I’m almost ready to give up, presuming he just bailed on us all and went back to the hotel, but then I find a set of stairs leading up to a door that is ajar.
Flicking my attention around, I find no one watching me, so I quickly make my way up to them, and push through the door to find myself on the rooftop of the club.
From how quiet and secluded it is, I can tell I am not supposed to be up here, but when I spot Wilder leaning with his hands on the edge of a wall, almost bent over with his head tipped down, I know I’m not leaving.
“Are you okay?” I call out, startling him completely, and he shakes his head without even looking up at me.
“For fuck’s sake, why are you everywhere, all the time?” he curses, his hands tightening around the wall, as if he needs to hold himself there.
“I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay,” I tell him firmly, ignoring his jab and approaching him slowly, letting my eyes trail over him in apprehension.
Most might mistake him for having drunk too much, but since I have been watching him, I know he’s only had three drinks all night. “I’m fine,” he snaps far too quickly, sounding short of breath.
It’s only then I truly take stock of him. He's breathing heavily, his shoulders tense as he grips the ledge of the roof like his life depends on it. I watch as he rocks back and forth on his feet, trying and failing to take a deep breath, as a thought settles in my head.
“You look like you’re having a panic attack,” I say slowly, knowing all too well what the symptoms look like, and he forces out a scoff.
“I’m not having a fucking panic attack!”
I don’t bother confirming that it most definitely seems to be one, and instead try and figure out what must have caused it.
I mean, the rest of today was nothing short of chaos, with Wilder’s DMs filling up fast, while at the same time Laura and I tried to field emails and phone calls from companies all eager to collaborate with him.
He’s got sponsorship offers, modeling job contracts, and so much merch being offered, that it’s honestly a little insane.
Winning today didn’t make things easier for him, if anything it only added more pressure, so it’s understandable if he feels a little out of his depth.
I know what it’s like to look like you have everything, but still feel like everything is falling apart, so I can’t stop myself from closing the distance between us.
“I’m going to touch you, okay.” I let my words hang in the air for a second before I let my hand make contact with his back, moving it up and down in circular motions.
Wilder flinches instantly, and just like I knew he would, he flies upright to face me.
What I didn’t expect however was his hand around my throat, as he moves us until he can slam me back against a wall.
A sharp pain explodes up my spine, since I didn’t anticipate the impact, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his fingers digging into my pulse point in warning.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he seethes, his chest battling up and down heavily, and I hold my hands up in defense, not shying away from the harsh collar around my neck, as I hold his stare.
“It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe with me, in and out.” I take slow, purposeful deep breaths, mirroring what I need him to copy, and getting lost in his panicked eyes.
His skin is flushed, despite the breeze settling in the evening summer air, yet he is shivering.
I watch him struggle at first, his body not letting him take back control, which I know must be hard for him, but I don’t let myself give up.
I press into his hold on me, breathing calmly until he slowly starts to follow suit.
His chest is still rising and falling rapidly, but I see him forcing himself to follow my breathing pattern, slowly catching his breath.
His fingers are still tight around my throat, but it’s nothing worse than what I felt that night on the balcony, so I know I can handle it, and he does too.