Chapter 26
Blake
Iswig my beer, only half listening to Will regale a story from the weekend before.
Truthfully, I wish I’d just gone home with Calla after the match.
Call me whipped, I don’t care. But now that we’re together – officially – without all of this fake dating stuff in between us, I find myself wanting to be with her every moment I can get.
She’s addicting and I can’t get enough. The feel of her eyes tracking my every movement this morning, while I ran up and down the pitch, was enough to send me dizzy with desire.
No wonder we lost; I could hardly run for the hard-on in my shorts. My head wasn’t in the game at all, instead focused on Calla and the way her painted on jean shorts made her legs appear ten times longer and the way her white crop top kept riding up, allowing me to see a sliver of her stomach.
Stretching out my aching calves under the sticky table, I feel my phone vibrate in my jeans pocket.
I smile to myself hoping it’s her.
Wiggling my phone from my pocket, I swipe open my notification panel, my stomach dropping to the floor when I read the text message I’ve been sent.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: CALLA BECKER IS A LIAR
A hyperlink follows the random text message.
I can’t explain why I click on it, it could be scam for all I know, but I’m tapping the link before I can fully comprehend, watching a white circle spin around before a grainy video loads across my screen.
It’s loud in the pub, not surprising really, the crowd around me laughing and joking, drunkenly singing along to the music pumping through the overhead speakers.
Standing, I tip my head towards the door of the pub, my phone gripped so tightly in my hand I can feel it beginning to cramp. “Sorry, I need to take this. I’m just gonna head outside for a second—”
“I’ll come with you,” mutters Dean, fishing his vape out of his jean pocket. “I’m desperate for a hit.”
Navigating through the throngs of people, I find a quiet space outside, leaning up against the exposed brick wall while Dean wanders off to the smoker’s corner.
I hit play without hesitation.
A pixelated view of what appears to be the women’s bathroom comes into view, the seedy camera zooming down upon someone in the stalls. I realise with a jolt of my heart that it’s Calla, her phone pressed to her ear, before her husky voice crackles through the speakers.
“The fact that Blake is Grey Millen’s older brother? Yeah, I think so. I think—”
My stomach drops, landing somewhere on the pavement in a heap.
I desperately try to focus back on what Calla is saying, but it’s hard when all I can hear is the loud whoosh of my blood thrumming through my ears.
“His brother, Car,” Calla repeats. “I remember his face being splashed all over the papers, how he was supposed to make the Olympics when he—”
Bile burns the back of my throat, threatening to expel itself all over the cracked pavement.
I want to press stop, to turn it off, but I can’t look away.
The video rolls forward, this time showing me an overhead view of Calla and her friend, Carmen, sitting in what must be the staff room.
I flick my eyes down to the time stamp sitting in the bottom right-hand corner; 1:15 p.m.
“I truly thought he’d back out,” I hear Calla say. “And then when I started on the rules—”
I flinch.
Carmen frowns. “So, you were testing him? Or trying to find out how far you could push him?”
I inhale raggedly, my heart splintering into a thousand pieces in my chest, cutting me as deep as Calla’s words.
The video changes for a third time, this time creating a grainy image of Calla, McAvoy and – what with the uncanny resemblance to other another – a man who can only be McAvoy’s uncle.
“We have a job opportunity we’d like to offer you, Miss Becker,” he says.
I watch Calla grin, gripping the pen and notepad in her lap tightly.
This must have been the moment she learnt I was going to be her new client.
I grip the back of my neck, squeezing. Hard. While tears prick the edge of my eyes.
How fucking stupid have I been?
All along, Calla has known who I am.
She’s known who my brother is.
The video fades before it loops around again in a vicious never-ending cycle I can’t seem to stop.
My heart feels like it’s been fucking ripped from my chest.
God.
All along… Did Calla ever even want me for me? Or did she just want to use me as a step ladder to get to Grey? The golden Millen brother.
Maybe that’s why she came up with the fake dating thing… To get McAvoy off her back yes, there’s no denying that, but she picked me specifically. Because she knew. She knew who I was. Who my brother is. What she could gain by stepping into his circle.
I feel sick.
I’ve been so blinded by love that I never saw this coming.
Again.
How could I have been so stupid?
Of course she wouldn’t want me.
Feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut, I bend my knees and sink to the ground, burying my head in my hands.
How can I have let this happen a second time? I feel like I’m living in a sick version of déjà vu. This isn’t the first time someone’s used me to get to my younger brother, but I stupidly thought after Monica, that she would be the last.
My ex-girlfriend Monica entangled me into her web of lies, so much so I even had a ring hidden in my sock drawer, until the day she revealed she’d only been dating me to get on Grey’s radar.
We fought. It wasn’t pretty. And the next day she upped and left, taking her belongings and the dog we’d bought together with her.
She blocked my number, my socials, even my email and that was that. I never heard from her again.
I swallow back the urge to throw up.
How could I have been so stupid?
For a heartbeat there I really did believe in fate; the way Calla and I kept finding our way back to another one.
Now I know different. Of fucking course this was all premediated.
With shaking hands, I hit call on the unknown number contact. But of course, there’s no answer. I don’t know what else I expected.
Feeling rather like I’m floating or at least starring in a bad dream I’ll wake up from, I switch to Calla’s contact name, pressing the phone to my ear tightly as it rings.
“Hey you,” she answers. “I was just—”
“How long have you known?”
Calla giggles nervously on the other end. “Known what?”
“Who my brother is.”
“Oh.” I hear her swallow and the rustle of sheets. “A while, but I—”
“And you weren’t going to tell me you knew?”
“No, Blake, I—”
“Got it.” I jamb my thumb into the bright end call button, heart racing. Adrenaline pumps thickly through my veins as I watch my phone light up with an incoming call, Calla’s name flashing brightly across the screen.
God, I think I’m going to be sick.
With shaking hands, jaw clenching and blood roaring loudly through my ears, I shut my phone down completely, relishing in the way the screen fades to pitch black.
Then I turn, expelling the contents of my stomach onto the pavement. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I don’t bother to return to the pub, instead I walk, putting one foot in front of the other.
I don’t know where I’m going.
I just want out.
Away.
I hop on the nearest tube, moving on autopilot until I find myself outside of Hudson’s apartment. I can’t go back to mine; Calla has imprinted herself far too much inside the walls of my apartment.
“Hey, mate.” He grins upon answering the door, the smile beginning to slide from his face when he notices me slumped against the doorframe. I can’t imagine I look too good, not after getting the shock of my life and vomiting my guts up outside a pub.
“Who is—Hey Blake,” Giselle calls from her spot on the sofa.
Hudson grips my shoulder, practically holding me up. “What’s up?”
I shake my head, willing my feet to move so I don’t collapse in the hallway to his apartment.
Somehow, I manage to shuffle my way to the sofa, throwing myself down.
“Are you sick?” Gee leans over to place her palm to my sweaty forehead, testing my temperature. “You don’t too good.”
I lick my dry lips, forcing the words from my mouth. “Calla and I are over.”
“Over?!” Giselle cries while Hudson frowns.
“For real or for—”
“For real.”
“Move over, Gee—” Hudson sits beside me, gripping the back of my neck with his hand, staring into my face. “What the fuck’s happened?”
I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “She used me to get to Grey.”
“I don’t get it I—”
Giselle twists her lips. “She’s in love with you, why would she—”
I power up my phone, vehemently ignoring the missed calls and messages littering my notification panel – all from Calla – pulling up the video I was sent.
Hudson and Giselle bow their heads together, intently watching the pixelated video play out across my cracked phone screen.
“Unknown number?” Hudson reads aloud. “Do you know who it is?”
I have a pretty good idea; it’s got to be someone who despises Calla and I together. Plus, somebody who would have access to the cameras in Calla’s workplace.
“I think it’s probably that insane boss of hers, McAvoy. But that still doesn’t change the fact she knew who Grey was before she even came up with the insane idea to date me to get him off her back.”
“Do you think it was all fake?”
“I think she really did need someone to get McAvoy to fuck off and leave her alone. But I think she chose me on purpose, knowing who I am.”
I lean forward, head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I might wake up and this will all have been nightmare.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I mutter to no-one in particular.
Hudson pats my back. “Stay with us tonight. I’ll make the sofa up for you and tomorrow, when you’re thinking a little bit clearer, we decide what we’re going to do.”
I have no choice but to nod; all of the fight, the adrenaline, disappearing from my body, leaving me more tired and drained than I’ve ever felt before.