Page 16 of Butterfly

“I knew it.” Vance presses two fingers to his forehead. “You’re losing your shit for that woman.”

I pull the string too tightly, and the leather bites into my flesh. Bloody hell. “What if something happened to her? What if she’s sick?” I spread my arms. “I want to know if she’s okay. That’s all.”

“You gave her your number.”

“Maybe she lost it.”

“Bollocks.” He gives me one of his nods that makes him look like a mafia boss. “It’s your wounded male pride, or maybe delusion. Did you consider she isn’t just that into you? And thank fuck for that. Your fans wouldn’t be happy to see her with you. I’ve been working my arse off to sell you and Emily as a couple.”

“I’ve never asked you to.”

“For God’s sake, Alex.” Vance coughs into his closed fist. “It’s all good, cheap publicity. Fans love seeing you and Emily together. The perfect couple. The perfect romance. We’re making millions with that rumour only.”

I curse under my breath. “I don’t need anyone’s approval regarding my personal life.”

Vance stands up. “You damn well do.” His tone is all ice. “You have a job to do. Leave the girl alone. Dead, sick, lost number.” He rolls her eyes. “Excuses. She doesn’t want to call you. Get over it. Focus on your career. Now get your arse out there and jog.”

What hurts the most is that he might be right. I should stop searching for Sienna. But dammit, can’t I make sure she’s fine before leaving her alone? I don’t want to shag her. It’s a basic concern.

“Alex. It’s time.” Vance holds the flap open for me. “Get the hell out.”

I brush past him without saying a word. My skin pebbles with goosebumps when I step outside. Clouds drift through the sky, pushed by a wind from the north. The voices of a few hundred people thunder in the wide field. On my T-shirt, the number twelve is printed in large characters that keep getting wrinkled, no matter how many times I smooth them. I scan the crowd. Some faces are familiar; others are not. The runners are a mix of celebrities and non-famous people. Everyone is here to raise money for the victims of the storm. I agreed to this, but annoyance is poisoning the moment. On top of that, I’m not sure why I should be annoyed. Pathetic.

A few journalists snap pictures and ask questions I don’t care to answer. Vance waves and smiles next to me, all the frustration gone from his face. He should be an actor. His skill at mastering his emotions is better than mine.

I shake my head and jump around to warm up while an official lists the rules and reminds us of the dangers along the path. Slippery rocks, sharp cliffs, and a-few-feet-deep holes in the ground concealed by creeping vegetation. Yeah, whatever. That’s why we’re doing this marathon. If it were too easy, it wouldn’t be a challenge.

I pat the shoulders of the two runners next to me. Rounds of “good luck” echo. I spot my mum in the crowd and raise my hand to her. She waves back.

After the official flourishes a flag to signal the beginning of the race, the ground shakes with the thumping of feet. As soon as the adrenaline pumps into my veins and my muscles are warm, I focus on the trail. It doesn’t take long for me to get separated from the rest of the crowd. A group of marathon experts is way ahead of me. The inexpert ones are way behind. I fall into a rhythm on a nearly flat stretch, and for the first time in months—three to be precise—I relax, surrounded by spruces and green moss. Sweat is dampening my skin, but the energy flowing through my body loosens the knot in my back.

Tall trees obscure the sun when I trek deeper into the forest. Some corners are too dark to see what’s behind them. I wince as my ankle twists. The uneven terrain is riddled with mud pools and sharp rocks that bite into my boots. Only the sound of a few birds chirping can be heard. The noise of the crowd died down a while ago. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a bloody unicorn riding through the brush.

Quick footsteps come from behind me. I toss a glance over my shoulder to see which contestant is approaching and catch a glimpse of golden hair. A young woman sweeps into view from behind a turn. My pace falters. My mouth grows dry, and the forest turns into a green blur. It’s Sienna, her face free of cuts and bruises, her steps agile and fast. Sweat trickles down her temples. A blue tank top stretches over her breasts, and her tight leggings enhance her lovely legs. My pulse stutters. I nearly stumble over a tree root. What the hell?

She gazes up, and her chest heaves a sigh. Not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing.

I slow down until I stop. “Sienna.” What am I supposed to tell her? The frustration is gone, leaving a trail of worry behind.

Her pace slows as she approaches me, wheezing from the run, her face red. “Alex.” A few wayward strands of hair flap over her cheeks.

I’m not ready for the sudden devastation caused by her saying my name in that breathy voice. With her flushed cheeks and quick breathing, my brain conjures up a quite different situation than me and her in a forest. My hands become clammy.

Sod it. I stride towards her. My heel catches something soft. “Where have you—”

The air rushes out of my lungs. The ground disappears from underneath my feet, and I fall with a whoosh of broken twigs and snapping branches. I’m down to my chest in a pit, my feet caught in a tangled mass of roots and stems.

“Bloody hell.” I slam a hand on the ground, gritting my teeth.

“Oh, my gosh.” Sienna runs to me and crouches, her small hands closing around my biceps. A little shiver vibrates through me, waking up a dark hunger that makes my body way too sensitive to her touch.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“A few scratches.” I try to pick myself up, but my foot is stuck somewhere. When I gaze down, I can’t see shit.

“Can you get out?” Sienna pulls my arm, but my foot doesn’t move an inch.

“Hell.” I give a tug at my leg. “Something has taken me by the ankle. A vine or something.”

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