Page 52 of Cross Me

“That’s what I said.” I made my way to the bathroom and flinched when I saw my face in the mirror. No wonder Clara was upset. Soft footsteps padded across the floor and she appeared behind me. She took one more look at me, sighed in frustration, and started opening drawers. She slammed them shut, until she landed on one that held first-aid supplies.

“Your hands,” she said in a strangled voice.

“I had a little accident,” I told her.

“With someone’s fist?” she guessed. It wasn’t exactly hard to deduce. Scotch on my breath, bloody knuckles, and dirty clothes—the evidence was there.

“Brex.”

She relaxed a little. It was probably better news than she was hoping for, given my state. At least I’d been pounding on a friend. “How does he look?”

“He’s still pretty if that’s what you’re asking,” I said, sucking in a breath as she doused my knuckles with rubbing alcohol.

“That’s going to hurt,” she said flatly.

“Thanks for the warning.”

She reached up and took my chin, moving my head from side to side to check me out.

“Did anyone see this fight?”

I shrugged.

“Alexander Cambridge,” she said, no longer holding back her fury. “You are the King of England. Did anyone see this fight?”

“It’s hard to say.” I plastered my most charming smile on my face, but the expression on hers didn’t change. “A lot of people were fighting.”

She dropped her head into her hands, shaking it slowly. “And you’re worried about me being out in public.”

Fury rolled off her in waves. I could swear that if I reached out I would feel its heat. I followed her—at a safe distance—into the bedroom. She strode across it, going for her phone. It’d become instinct to check the news. That was what Norris would be doing. Perhaps Brex, too. I stopped her before she reached it.

“This is under control,” I told her.

“If you believe that, then you’re more out-of-control than I thought,” she said. “Where did this happen?” If she couldn’t look up the details, she’d get them from the source.

“A pub,” I said in an offhanded way. Her eyes narrowed as she connected the dots.

“Would it have been the Dark Horse by any chance?”

“I thought you weren’t interested in his offer,” I said through gritted teeth. The fact she remembered the name of the pub told me she’d been paying attention.

“You’re unbelievable.” She smacked my chest. “You show up here with bloody knuckles, fresh from a bar fight, and you have the nerve to act like I did something wrong.”

She had a point.

“This one’s on me,” I admitted.

“This is going to be a mess.”

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Why did you come here?” she asked.

“I missed you,” I said.

“The real reason, X.”

So she wasn’t buying it. I tried to imagine the mental gymnastics she was going through, trying to figure out what was going on in my head. I reminded myself that now wasn’t the time to tell her. She had enough on her plate. Now she not only had to worry about hosting the games, she had to think about what would happen if the media got ahold of this story.