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“I don’t think he is your friend, Caspian.”

“No.” Caspian shook his head sadly. “I don’t think he is either.”

“Do you know any of these people writing nasty things about you.”

Again, Caspian shook his head. “No, probably not. And they don’t know me.”

“So why does what they think matter.”

His blue gaze drifted up, trapping mine, and he chuffed like it should be obvious. “Because the social media gossip is only the beginning. Trust me, it will get much worse, a thousand times worse. I’ve seen what’s happened to other people in the public eye. These online accounts, even though I don’t know the people behind them, they invade your space and your mind. I’ll be scared to open my phone to make a call because it will have been invaded by cruel messages. And the cruelty will ramp up because they won’t just stop at my marriage. They’ll spew hate about my weight, my hair, my voice, my ability to do my job, my mental health, not to mention my sexuality. And then the threats will start—how much they’d like to kick me, rape me, send me to North Korea, flog me in public, hang me from the fucking gallows. And then all that will spill over into my real life. Even if it doesn’t, because I’m not actually a very big deal, even after they’ve forgotten me and moved onto some other poor sod, I’ll still be scared to open my phone and my front door.”

“Oh.”

That was quite a speech, rendering me speechless. I really hoped he didn’t disappear to North Korea. Seconds of silence stretched to minutes as Caspian stroked my dog. I shuffled my feet and counted my fingers, trying to ignore a creeping urge to rock. I managed to stay still as he regarded me, thin-lipped.

“They won’t find you here.” Unable to rock, I did the next best thing and shifted from foot to foot. Which possibly made meeven more ridiculous. “And I won’t let anyone near you even if they do.”

My jiggling must have increased his agitation because he suddenly flung his hands up in the air. “Why are you doing this, Max? You got some sort of saviour complex? Does it give your ego a boost? Throwing on a cape and flying to my rescue?”

“No! I don’t know! Why are you self-destructing?”

“Who cares?”

“I told you, I do!”

“But why?”

“I don’t know!” God, I needed to rock. Like I’d never needed before. Otherwise, I might burst into tears. “Maybe because you have perfect earlobes and pale cheeks!”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the row of beech trees slow dancing in the late afternoon breeze like they always did, as if nothing was wrong. His expression reminded me of the sad-eyed look Noir fixed on me whenever I left the house without him, convinced I’d never return.

After a few minutes, he stood, brushing himself off. “Sorry, Max, I can’t do this right now. I’m going back to the house. I have an appointment with a razor blade.”

CHAPTER 18

CASPIAN

Leaving on such a dramatic note was an obnoxious, childish thing to do. But aren’t all obnoxious childish actions nothing more than a cry for help?

Anyhow, despite me behaving like a five-star bastard, Max followed, shuffling behind, twitching his fingers and muttering to himself. My stalker. No, not stalker. That was mean. And implied I didn’t like his attentions. I hadn’t been supposed to, but I’d sure missed them when they’d disappeared.

At times, hunky Max and his long peaceful silences felt like the only barrier between me and the cliff edge. But now? Him and his gang of well-meaning friends and family couldn’t do anything for me now. The only thing that could take the edge off was screaming my name from the bathroom sink. And this time, I wouldn’t bother with dressings. I wouldn’t need them.

“Please don’t do that.”

Max, right behind me in the bathroom doorway. Telling, not asking, like my mind wasn’t already made up.

“Sorry, Max, I must have missed the moment I invited you in.”

“You didn’t.”

“Glad we’ve cleared that up. In which case, be sure to close the front door on your way out.”

I stared at the train wreck also known as my face in the tiny mirror above the sink. A fine sheen of sweat coated my upper lip. Above, hollowed red eyes told the story of a thousand sleepless nights. And over my left shoulder hovered a giant, anxiously weaving from side to side and wearing an expression as petrified as my own.

I picked up the razor. As I’d walked back to the gatehouse, an idea formed in my mind. If I rid myself of Max, then this time, I might actually pluck up the courage to do it. Put everyone out of their misery. All that remained was to choose which wrist.

“Please don’t, Caspian.”

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