Frost and Fervor

It wasn’t until we were almost back to the city that the other shoe dropped. My phone buzzed in my lap, a notification from my team’s private chat. I opened it, my heart sinking as I read the message inside.

“They’ve got something on Marcus,” I said, my voice flat, toneless. “Something big. Something that could sink the whole campaign.”

Cormac glanced at me from the driver’s seat, his eyes narrowing. “What is it?” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

I shook my head, my throat tight. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice a little sharper now, a little more brittle. “The point is, they’re going to use it. They’re going to leak it to the press. Unless…”

I trailed off, my eyes fixing on Cormac, on the hard line of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes. “Unless what?” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

“Unless we stop them,” I said, my voice a little desperate now, a little pleading. “Unless you stop them.”

He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the hum of the engine, the rush of the wind outside. “Briar,” he said at last, his voice soft, almost regretful. “I can’t… I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?” I said, my voice cracking on the words. “Why can’t you? You said… you said you wanted things to be different. You said you wanted to try.”

He sighed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I do,” he said, his voice a little rough, a little raw. “But this… this is bigger than us. This is about the campaign. About my job. About… about everything I’ve worked for.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest, my stomach twisting into knots. “So that’s it?” I said, my voice a little bitter now, a little resigned. “You’re just… you’re just going to let them destroy him? Destroy everything we’ve built?”

He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. And in that moment, I knew. I knew that whatever had happened between us in that cabin, whatever connection we’d forged in the heat of the fire and the dark of the night… it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Because at the end of the day, he would always choose his side. His party. His career. Over me. Over what we could have had.

I sat back in my seat, my arms crossing over my chest, hugging myself tight. “Pull over,” I said, my voice flat, toneless.

He glanced at me, his brow furrowed. “What? Why?”

“Just… pull over,” I said, my voice a little harder now, a little more demanding. “I’m not… I’m not going back with you. I’ll find my own way.”

He was silent for a long moment, the car slowing as he eased onto the shoulder. “Briar,” he said at last, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Don’t do this. Don’t… don’t throw this away.”

I shook my head, my hand already on the door handle. “You already did,” I said, my voice a little sad now, a little broken. “The moment you chose them over me.”

I didn’t wait for him to respond, just pushed open the door and stepped out into the cold, biting air. I didn’t look back as I walked away, my feet carrying me down the side of the road, towards the distant lights of the city. Towards Marcus, and the campaign, and the battle that awaited me.

Towards a future without Cormac Byrne.

I walked for a long time, my arms wrapped tight around myself, the cold seeping into my bones. I didn’t know where I was going, didn’t have a plan beyond putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward, away from him, away from the wreckage of what we’d almost had.

It was late by the time I finally made it back to civilization, to the warm, bright lights of the city. I caught a cab to my apartment, my body aching with exhaustion, my mind numb with the weight of everything that had happened.

I didn’t sleep that night. I lay awake in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts a tangled mess of regret and recrimination. I thought of Cormac, of the way he’d looked at me in the cabin, the way he’d touched me, the way he’d made me feel. I thought of the future we might have had, the one I’d let slip through my fingers.

Most of all, I thought of the campaign, of Marcus, of the leak that threatened to destroy everything we’d worked for. I knew I should be focusing on that, on finding a way to mitigate the damage, to fight back against whatever Cormac’s camp had planned. But every time I tried to think about strategy, about tactics, about the next move in this endless game of political chess, my mind drifted back to him. To the way his skin had felt against mine, the way his breath had hitched in his throat when he’d said my name.

I was still lying there, lost in thought, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand beside me. I reached for it, my heart leaping into my throat when I saw the name on the screen.

Cormac. I hesitated for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the answer button. I knew I shouldn’t, knew that talking to him would only make things harder, would only deepen the ache in my chest. But in the end, I couldn’t help myself. I swiped to answer, my voice a little rough, a little raw, as I brought the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said, my heart pounding in my chest. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, so long that I thought for a moment that the call had dropped. Then, at last, he spoke, his voice a low, strained rasp. “Briar,” he said, and the sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. “We need to talk.”

“Briar,” he said, and the sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine. “We need to talk.”

My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs. “About what?” I said, my voice a little unsteady, a little raw.

He hesitated, the line crackling with static, with the weight of everything we’d left unsaid. “About the leak,” he said at last, his voice a low, strained rasp. “About what my camp is planning.”

I closed my eyes, a sudden, visceral ache blooming in my chest. “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that,” I said, my voice a little thick, a little heavy. “I don’t want to fight with you, Cormac. Not… not tonight.”

He was silent for a long moment, the silence stretching between us, taut and fragile as spun glass. “Then what do you want?” he said at last, his voice soft, almost pleading. “What do you want from me, Briar?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, not really. I wanted him to choose me, to put me first, to be the man I’d glimpsed in the firelight of that cabin. But I knew it wasn’t that simple, knew that the world we lived in, the roles we played, would never allow for that kind of simplicity.

“I want…” I said, my voice breaking on the words. “I want to go back. Back to the cabin. Back to… back to before.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, the sound loud in my ear. “We can’t,” he said, his voice a little rough, a little raw. “You know we can’t.”

“I know,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering closed, a single, scalding tear slipping down my cheek. “But I want it anyway.”

He was quiet for a long moment, the silence heavy with things unsaid, with regrets and recriminations and a longing that seemed to echo in the hollows of my bones. “I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice a low, broken rasp. “I’m so sorry, Briar.”

I didn’t answer, didn’t trust myself to speak. I just held the phone to my ear, listening to the sound of his breathing, to the soft, rhythmic inhale and exhale that seemed to anchor me, to keep me from drifting away on a tide of grief and despair.

We stayed like that for a long time, lost in the shared silence, in the space between words. And as I lay there, the phone warm against my ear, I realized something. Something that shook me to my core, that left me reeling and raw and utterly, terrifyingly vulnerable.

I was falling for him. For Cormac Byrne, my rival, my enemy, the man I’d hated for years. I was falling for him, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.