Page 92 of Fire

He makes a noise that tells me he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said. Not surprising. I didn’t expect him to.

This conversation isn’t about him anyway.

“Tell me, how much did you use Zara to get you through med school? ’Cause we both know you couldn’t have done it by yourself.”

Now that gets a reaction. I swear to god, there is actual steam coming out of his ears.

“That bitch didn’t do?—”

I move so fast, he barely has a chance to react before I slam his body against the wall. My forearm wedges itself neatly beneath his windpipe, and I hold it there, watching him squirm.

“I think your one minute is up,” Carlos interjects, clearly trying to avoid an impending brawl.

“We’re just finishing up,” I say darkly, easing my grip on his throat. As his lungs suck in air, I pin him with an icy glare. “She doesn’t want to see you anymore, Tanner. She doesn’t want to talk to you. So this is the last time you show up anywhere uninvited. It’s the last time you make demands on her life and how she’s living it. And it’s the last fucking time you call her names. Got it?”

His eyes are staring daggers at me, but he manages a curt nod before Carlos hauls him away. I allow myself a moment to breathe, to steady my shaking hands.

And then I leave Tanner behind, walk to the stage and forget all about Tanner fucking Price.

It’s showtime, baby.

Chapter Twenty-Six

ZARA

The morning after the LA concert, I wake up feeling…off.

At first, I think it’s just warm in the room. Or maybe it’s the hot man snuggled up next to me. But then I quickly realize it’s me. I’m hot. Not just hot. I’m burning up. I throw off the covers and feel the breeze from the air conditioner hit my sweat-soaked skin. It makes me shiver.

Shit, that’s not good.

I instantly shift into doctor mode.

Hangover? No.

We didn’t go out last night after the concert. After Hendrix’s family thoroughly congratulated him and told him how happy and proud they were, the two of us came back here and celebrated privately.

A shiver races up my spine that has nothing to do with my current symptoms. The way that man worships my body, like it’s his sole purpose in life…I’m not sure I’ll ever get enough.

I’m not sure I want to.

Seeing the way he stood up for me in front of Tanner. The way he was ready to tear apart the world after he admitted what I had been suspecting for a while now.

Our entire marriage was a farce.

I thought it would hurt more, but hearing him say it out loud was, in a way, sort of cathartic. I can move on and not feel an ounce of guilt for it. He never loved me, so why should I mourn something that was never real in the first place?

Especially when what is happening between Hendrix and meisreal. So real it sometimes scares me.

I felt some of the walls I was holding up collapse last night.

I loved meeting his family. He’s so close to them. It reminds me a lot of my own, and I can’t wait to introduce him to them.

“Hey.” I hear Hendrix’s soft voice. His voice is groggy as he wakes, sitting up next to me. I turn to face him, and the warm smile on his face instantly fades. “What’s the matter?”

His eyes search my face, down my body, and back up again. I feel gross, and when I self-consciously tug at the tank top I threw on late last night, I realize it’s nearly soaked through.

That doesn’t make me feel any better.