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The Dirty Series 1(43)

By:Amelia Wilde


Before the final words are out of my mouth I know they’re a mistake. Cate’s face had been softening, but she turns on a dime.

“You know what?” she says, shaking her head. “Fuck you, Jax.”

“I—”

She holds up a hand. “Don’t.”

Cate pushes past me, and I want to reach out and grab her, stop her from going, carry her to her bed…but I don’t.

I can’t control her.

Within minutes, she’s gathered her purse and a couple of outfits and she’s out the door, without another word.

The silence she leaves in her wake is deafening.





Chapter Thirty





Cate



Carl dances back on the balls of his feet, giving me some extra space to catch my breath.

This is the fifth time.

I drop my hands to my sides, frustrated beyond belief, and turn away from him, heading for my bag.

“Cate—”

“I’m done, Carl,” I call over my shoulder. “I’m done for today. Thanks for the session.”

“Don’t be pissed at me,” he says, stepping beside me and stripping off his own gloves and headgear.

“I’m not.”

“You are, but I don’t know why.”

My jaw clenched and painful, I zip my bag and throw the strap over my shoulder, ready to shove my way past him to leave. “I don’t need to be coddled, okay?”

Carl looks incredulous. “Coddled?”

“I saw what you were doing out there, and I don’t need it. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you serious? You were just hospitalized for exhaustion, Cate. I don’t even think you should be working out.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” I shout, locking my eyes on his. “If you don’t think I should be working out, cancel my sessions. Here. I’ll do it. We’re done, Carl.”

Carl puts both hands on his face and takes a deep breath before he speaks again. “Cate, I don’t know how to say this in a way that will get through to you, but I’m worried as hell about you. You have this look in your eyes that…it’s scary, Cate. I haven’t canceled our sessions because, to be totally honest, I’m afraid that if you work out by yourself you might take it too far, and…” He can’t finish. “It could be a bad situation.”

All the fight goes out of me, and it hits me what a royally bitchy person I’ve become.

This isn’t like me.

Before the last year of my life, I lived for kindness, for fun, for laughter. For friends.

Now I’m an overtired shrew who yells at everyone who tries to be nice to her.

My shoulders droop under my shame. I owe another person an apology. They’re starting to stack up.

“I’m really sorry, Carl.” My voice comes out not much louder than a whisper. “I’ve been—” There’s a lump in my throat, and I have to swallow in order to be able to speak again. “Things haven’t been easy.”

“I can see that,” Carl says gently, patting me on the shoulder. “Listen, it’s okay. I’m just telling you, friend to friend…” His eyes are serious, sincere. “You have to back off. Maybe not totally, but something has to give.”

His words echo my own thoughts, and when he says it out loud, it’s a lot harder for me to brush it off.

“I know.”

“Nobody’s going to think you don’t care about the job. Just think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

Carl walks me to the car and closes the door behind me. I roll down the window before Mark pulls away. “You’ll think about it?”

I nod, my throat tight.

How many more people have to warn you?

With a couple of taps on the roof of the car, Carl sends me on the way to my apartment.

I drop my head into my hands.

I’m already exhausted.

It’s 6:30 a.m.



For the first time in months I take a lunch break. Basiqué has a great cafeteria, and I buy the adult equivalent of a bag lunch and take it outside to a bench in front of the building. I’m just biting into an almond butter-and-jelly sandwich on artisan bread when my cell phone buzzes. It’s Bee. We haven’t talked in a few days, and she wants to video chat.

Why the hell not?

I put down the sandwich and hold the phone up in front of my face, then press connect.

Bee’s face comes into view. She’s wearing a big smile and laughing at something I can’t see—but then she sees my image and the smile fades. “Cate? Are you all right?”

If Bee thinks I look like shit, then it’s game over. Something has to change.

My witty excuse dies on my tongue. “No. Not really, Bee.”

“What’s wrong?”