Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Brody
A nother day, another city.
My jaw ached from clenching it, a headache building behind my eyes like a thunderstorm.
Outside the taxi window, London was doing its best touristy impression—all historic buildings and excited visitors—but I couldn't focus on any of it. Not with her sitting inches away, yet somehow feeling miles apart.
Some sightseers were clustered around a royal guard who looked about as thrilled as a cat in a bathtub. Big Ben loomed overhead, probably chiming out the hour, but all I could hear was the deafening silence between us.
Every tiny movement from Avery drew my attention. She was pressed so hard against her door, you'd think my side of the cab was on fire.
Every breath she took drew my eyes to the delicate curve of her neck, remembering how it felt under my lips. The way she trembled when I kissed that sensitive spot just below her ear. The soft gasp that escaped when I'd…
Fuck. I dragged my fingers through my hair, probably making it stand up like I'd stuck my finger in a socket. Focus on the content, dickhead. The feed. The followers. The brand. That's what matters. That's what's always mattered.
Yeah, right. Trying not to think about Avery was like trying to ignore a fireworks show two feet from my face. She was there, in every thought, every breath, every goddamn heartbeat.
The taxi jerked to a stop, and I plastered on my signature grin—the one that had launched a thousand viral videos and said, “danger is my middle name.”
"Ready for today's adventure, Spark?" My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.
Those eyes of hers—the ones that usually looked at me like I was something special, something real—now cut through me colder than a winter in Alaska. The message was clear: she trusted me about as far as she could throw me.
"What exactly do you have planned, Brody?" The flatness in her voice hit harder than any punch I'd taken in my stunts.
I winked, falling back on the persona that had made me famous. Good old Brody Hawkins, social media daredevil, the guy who'd jump off anything for views. It was easier than being the guy who was falling for a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him anymore.
“That would ruin the surprise, Spark. Come on, live a little! When was the last time you did something that made you tingle with excitement?”
As we stepped out of the taxi, the iconic Tower Bridge loomed before us, its gothic towers stretching into the cloudy London sky like two giant middle fingers.
I led Avery toward the bridge, my heart pounding hard. This was it—the moment that would either reignite our connection or blow it all to hell. No pressure, right?
We made our way to the top of the bridge, the wind whipping Avery's hair around her face. Fuck me, even windblown she looked good enough to eat.
I watched her carefully, noting how her eyes widened as she took in the view of the Thames stretching out below us. The sight of her, vulnerable and a little scared, made me want to wrap her in my arms and never let go.
“Beautiful, isn't it?” I said, gesturing to the cityscape but not taking my eyes off Avery.
Avery nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips like a shy kid at a school dance. For a moment, I saw a flicker of the woman who'd turned my world upside down—curious, open, alive with wonder at the world around her.
It was like watching the sun peek out from behind a cloud, if the sun had an ass that could make a grown man weep.
But then her gaze landed on something behind me, and that openness vanished, replaced by shock and fear.
I turned, revealing the surprise I'd arranged—a professional bungee jumping setup, complete with harnesses, ropes, and a team of instructors who looked way too cheerful for people whose job involved repeatedly throwing themselves off a bridge.
“Surprise!” I announced, spreading my arms wide like I was presenting my junk to a doctor.
“Our next adventure awaits. Nothing says 'I'm sorry for being an emotionally constipated asshole' like hurling yourself off a national landmark, right?”
Avery took a step back, her face paling to a shade that would make Casper look like he'd been hitting the tanning bed. “Brody, no. Absolutely not.”
“Come on, Spark,” I cajoled, ignoring the twinge of guilt in my chest that felt suspiciously like a conscience that had decided to make its debut appearance.
“It'll be amazing content. Think of the rush—the way your life will flash before your eyes and you'll realize that the person you want to spend it with is the dumbass who talked you into jumping off a bridge!”
“I said no,” Avery cut me off, her voice sharp enough to circumcise my ego. “This is insane, Brody. We can't just bungee jump off Tower Bridge! What's next, parachuting off Big Ben? Swimming with sharks in the Thames? Oh wait, I think I'm already doing that, being here with you.”
I crossed my arms, steeling myself against her protests and trying to ignore the way her words stung like a swarm of particularly sassy bees.
“Actually, we can. I got special permission. And need I remind you, you signed a contract? You promised to participate in my adventures, remember? It's right there in black and white, sandwiched between ‘must tolerate terrible puns’ and ‘no judging my Spice Girls karaoke performances.’”
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd fucked up royally—like trying to put out a fire with a Super Soaker full of vodka.
Avery's eyes flashed with hurt and anger, and I hated myself for putting that look on her face. It was like watching a puppy realize you'd fake-thrown a ball.
But I was in too deep now, my own insecurities and fears pushing me forward.
“You're seriously going to pull the contract card?” Avery asked, glancing nervously at the bungee setup as if it might suddenly sprout teeth and bite her.
“This isn't what I signed up for, Brody. This is… this is manipulation.”
Her words stung like a paper cut soaked in lemon juice, but I shoved the feeling down.
“It's not manipulation; it's part of the job. Come on, Spark. Don't tell me you've gone soft on me. Did your courage run off with my impulse control?”
We went at it, voices rising with each exchange like we were two morons about to throw down in a bar.
My stomach twisted as I watched those honey eyes cloud with fear. There was something else there too—something that cut deeper than any of my stunts ever had. Like she was finally seeing me for what I really was—just another asshole with a camera and too much ego.
The bridge railing dug into my palm as I gripped it. Usually, the height gave me a rush; the familiar surge of adrenaline that made me feel alive. But right now? All I could feel was my heart trying to punch its way out of my chest every time Avery looked at me like that.
This jump was supposed to fix things. Give me back that control I'd lost somewhere between her first smile and our last kiss. Pure genius, right? Nothing says "I'm totally fine" like hurling yourself off a bridge. Christ, I was an idiot.
When her shoulders finally dropped, it wasn't victory I felt. It was like watching someone give up on you in slow motion.
"You're really not letting this go, are you?" The defeat in her voice hit me harder than any landing ever had. For a split second, I almost caved. Almost became the better man she deserved.
Instead, I doubled down like the world's biggest jackass, actually thinking she was coming around. That this clusterfuck of a plan might work.
"Fuck," she whispered, the word barely carrying over the wind. "Let's just get this over with."
My hands shook as I helped her into the harness, trying not to notice how she flinched at my touch. She wouldn't look at me, like my face had suddenly transformed into something too horrific to witness. The familiar straps and buckles felt clumsy in my fingers—equipment I could usually handle in my sleep.
Something deep in my gut was screaming at me to stop, to pull the plug on this whole disaster. To grab her and tell her… what? That I was terrified? That every time she looked at me like I mattered, it scared me more than any jump I’d made ever had?
But that other voice—the one that had gotten me millions of followers, the one that pushed me to bigger stunts and crazier risks—that voice was louder. Keep going, it urged. Show her you don't care. Show her you're fine with or without her.
I forced a thumbs up, nodding to the instructor like this was just another day, just another stunt. Just another way to avoid dealing with the fact that I was falling for this woman faster than the speed that any jump could ever match.
“You've got this, Spark. It'll be over before you know it. Just think of it as a very extreme trust fall.”
As we stood on the edge, Avery was stiff as a board, looking like she was contemplating kicking me in the nuts and making a run for it. With a forced smile, I nodded to the instructor that we wanted to proceed, silently praying to any deity who might be listening that this wouldn't be the dumbest fucking thing I'd ever done.
The wind whipped past us as we plummeted together toward the Thames, my veins flooding with pure adrenaline. For a split second, I felt fucking invincible, like I could conquer the whole damn world.
Then Avery's scream tore through the air, hitting me harder than the g-force. It wasn't the exhilarated yell I'd hoped for—it was raw terror, ripping from her throat like her soul was trying to escape.
Fuck me, what had I done?
The bungee caught, yanking us back up. My body surged with the rebound, but my mind was locked on Avery.
Her face was pale, her limbs shaking like she was wired to a car battery.
This wasn't the rush I'd dreamed of—it was a fucking nightmare I'd created, complete with the soundtrack of Avery's panicked gasps. As we dangled there, swaying like the world's most regrettable pendulum, the thrill I chased turned to ash.
Avery, my fierce, beautiful Spark, looked broken. And it was all my fault.
I wanted to pull her close and apologize for being such a monumental asshole.
And as we hung there, suspended between sky and water, I realized I might have just torpedoed the best thing in my life.
The rush of the jump was nothing compared to the sinking feeling in my gut. I'd pushed too far, and the prize was a lifetime supply of regret and self-loathing.
“That was… intense,” I said weakly as our feet touched solid ground again, her face greener than a seasick rookie on his first fishing trip.
“You did great, Spark. Really. Your scream probably set a new fucking record for 'Most Creative Cursing While Free-Falling Toward Potential Death.'“
Avery's glare could have frozen hell over.
Without a word, she started yanking off the harness. I fumbled with my phone camera, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut that felt like my common sense was finally sobering up after a three-day bender.
“That'll make for killer content, right?” I said, knowing I sounded like a grade-A asshole even as the words left my mouth.
It was like trying to fix a bullet wound with a Band-Aid—fucking useless.
And then, Avery went nuclear. Not literally, thank fuck, because that would've been messy and probably violated some international treaties. But figuratively? She exploded like a powder keg doused in gasoline and righteous fury.
“Killer content?” she roared, her voice raw. “Is that all you care about, Brody? Your fucking content? Your image? What about me, you selfish prick? Did you even consider how I might feel about being strong-armed into this death-defying bullshit? Or were you too busy planning your next Instagram caption? 'Just tossed my partner off a bridge #RelationshipGoals #YOLO'?”
Her words were an air nailer to the nuts, each one exposing what a self-centered bastard I'd been. I tried to defend myself, to explain, but my arguments sounded weak even to my own ears.
“You've been pushing me away for days,” I shot back, my own hurt and frustration bubbling to the surface like a shaken can of emotional beer.
“I thought this might actually get a reaction out of you! You've been colder than a penguin's dick, and I just… I wanted you to feel something, anything!”
As the words left my mouth, I realized how pathetic I sounded. Avery stood there, still trembling from the jump, looking at me like I was something she'd scraped off her shoe.
And fuck me if I didn't deserve it. I'd pushed her too far, all because I couldn't handle my own insecurities. I'd crossed a line. The fear in her eyes when she jumped, the anger radiating off her now—I'd done that. Me and my stupid, selfish need for attention.
“A reaction?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You wanted a fucking reaction, so you risked my life? Who the hell are you, Brody? Because the man I thought I knew—the one I was falling for—wouldn't pull this kind of shit. He wouldn't treat me like I'm just another prop in his goddamn social media circus.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, if the gut punch was delivered by a professional boxer wearing brass knuckles made of dark regret.
I reached out to her, my voice dropping to a tone I usually saved for talking down bar fights.
“Avery, I fucked up. I didn't mean to—I just—Christ, I'm a fucking moron. A grade-A, prime cut, grass-fed idiot. I was scared shitless of losing you, so I… decided to throw you off a bridge? Fuck me, it sounds even worse out loud.”
But it was too late. Avery turned away, her shoulders shaking in a way that made my chest feel like it was being carved open with a rusty spoon.
As I watched her walk away, the weight of what I'd done crashed over me like a tsunami of shame and self-loathing.
In my piss-poor attempt to protect myself, I'd hurt the one woman who'd started to break through my tough-guy act. I'd basically taken a wrecking ball to our relationship, all because I was too chicken-shit to admit I was falling for her.
I stood there, the wind whipping around me. The thrill of the jump, the excitement of the content—none of it mattered anymore. All I could see was Avery walking away, taking with her the chance at something real, something worth a damn.
I'd traded the shot at love for a few likes on social media, and the exchange rate was absolute dogshit.
As I watched her disappear into the crowd, my mind raced.
Maybe I was the one who needed to take a leap—not off a fucking bridge, but into the scary-as-hell world of actually opening up to someone.
Avery wasn't just some chick; she was the real deal—smart, tough, sexy as sin, and way too good for a fuck-up like me.
And I'd just pushed her away harder than I'd ever pushed anyone.