Page 131 of Corrupt Me

“Hunter,” Mia says, approaching me, trying to console me, but there’s no way. While I am realistic enough to accept they have known each other all their lives and have this strange bond where they would do anything for each other, I needed it to be me she wanted there with her.

“Hunter, she loves you. Just talk to me, please.”

I know that, yet I can’t stop spiraling down the rabbit hole of misery. Fuck, love makes me so damn vulnerable. I feel pathetic.

“It’s okay. Go to bed, Mia. I am fine.”

I even plaster on a fake smile. Making sense of how I actually feel is impossible at the moment.

She offers me a small smile in return. “I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thank you, sis,” I say, trying to placate her.

I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. I gulp it down in one go, but my thirst has nothing to do with a biological demand. I want to douse the fire burning my insides to a crisp.

“I always sense when something is up with you,” Celine murmurs, concern etched on her face, as she hugs me from behind.

I sigh, exhausted. “Love sucks.”

She hops up onto the kitchen island, gauging my reaction. “Jealous?”

I nod, ashamed of myself but incapable of changing it.

“Hurt?”

I nod again.

“Blake and Bailey have always been very close. And whatever happened, it must involve him as well.”

I slam my palm on the counter, losing my composure by the second. “I just wanted to be there for her. With her.”

“Love is not always smooth. But tell her about how you truly feel when you see her. Communication is the key.”

I shake my head, trying in vain to clear it. “I can’t even make sense of that right now.”

“Together you will. In the meantime, we can spar. I miss that,” she offers. I am sure it’s more about getting my mind off things.

It seems like forever ago—when we would train every day for hours, preparing for a mission that changed drastically after we moved here.

As we take the steps to the basement, she says, “What are we betting this time?”

I arch a brow. “First, you have to land a good punch.”

She huffs. “You asshole. I’ll show you a good punch. You’ll have two black eyes and a broken nose.”

Celine mumbles the entire way to the gym, and as she tapes her hands, a smile tips the corners of my mouth. It’s good to unwind a bit. Watching her, I’m reminded of the bond we share—a connection that runs deeper than friendship, even though we’re not blood-related. She’ll always be there for me, just like I’ll always be there for her.

Some things change, evolve, shift, or alter. Others remain the same, like anchors to keep your sanity intact and hold you together when life throws a curveball, threatening to knock you out.

“Ready?” she asks, taking a fighting stance—legs spread, arms up with her fists protecting her face.

“Have to hurry before the knight comes to save you?”

She smiles. “Shut up. I don’t need saving. I can take your ass down just fine.”

I taunt her, loving to rile her up. “Sure, keep dreaming.”

Our friendship has always involved bickering, and that knowledge eases me. In my disarrayed state of mind, I need every rope to cling to my sanity.

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