Waking up to an empty bed wasn’t what I expected—especially after last night.
My body is a confusing combined state of utter satisfaction and bliss—mixed with a worried alertness that wasn’t there a minute ago.
The first rays of morning sun filter through the blinds, casting a soft, golden light across my bedroom. But the warmth of the sun does nothing to fill the void left by Carlie’s absence.
In fact, she must have left a while ago because her side of the bed has gone cold.
I lie still for a moment, listening for any sign of her in the house as I inhale her scent, lingering in this bed like a ghost.
The stark contrast between the heat of last night and the chill of the morning hits me hard.
I’ve had one-night stands before. But this—I didn’t expect Carlie to be one of them.
I sit up, trying to tamp down my confusion and panic.
Would she really leave without saying goodbye?
Maybe she’s in the kitchen? Or the bathroom?
Clutching at straws, I throw back the covers and the cool air of the room wraps around me like a shroud. I ignore it, slipping out of bed and grabbing a shirt from the dresser. As quickly as I can, I pull it over my head, trying to calm the chaos in my mind. But nothing I do helps.
I need to check the house.
Once I tug on my sweats, I pad through every room, just to be sure. My movements are mechanical as I navigate through each silent space, the quiet amplifying my growing sense of unease.
By the time I stop at the kitchen, the realization really sinks in.
But she’s not here. There’s no note.
No nothing.
The house is as empty as the pit in my stomach.
My eye drift out to my backyard, now bathed in early morning sunlight
Why would she leave without saying goodbye?
Especially after …
I run a hand through my hair as the events of last night replay in my mind.
Last night was ...
Fuck, it was incredible.
It was more than that. The physical connection was intense and real—but it was more than sex. I felt it and I sure as hell know she did.
It was there, in her touch and the way she kissed me.
It felt like we crossed a threshold, reaching a level of intimacy that I’ve only ever come close to once before …
But with that woman, it was all a mirage. An event to take my mind off the fact that I was cheated on and had to deal with that reality every day at work.
And yet, some elements were so similar to that night at the club—the talk of trading truths and the way she wanted me to close my eyes. Being blind left me with the same sensations as having a mask. I had to rely on my other senses and it was hot as hell.
In some ways, it was practically a repeat of that night.
That revelation is strange and sexy, but I shake the thoughts away.
Carlie isn’t anything like the woman that night. She’s sweet and tentative and clumsy at times.
And yet …
The way she moved on top of me—beneath me. The way she held me and stroked my …
“Fuck,” I groan, rubbing my hands over my face.
Why the hell am I comparing Carlie to that woman? Carlie is real and tangible.
Not some fantasy of a woman I’ll never see again.
But now, the empty house echoes back my confusion.
Why would she leave without a word?
Did I do something wrong? Did she feel pressured?
The intimacy of last night, the vulnerability we shared—did it mean nothing to her? Or did something scare her away?
In this sudden silence, my mind involuntarily drifts to past relationships.
The relationship with Jillian ended badly—obviously. She never thought I had enough ambition and by the end, she used that as her excuse.
Our relationship had been a whirlwind of highs and lows, marked by passionate arguments and equally passionate reconciliations.
But even at our best, it was never like this.
With Jillian, it was a fire that burned too hot, too quickly, leaving only ashes in its wake. There was never emotional depth. Never that connection I’ve always been seeking, but almost thought was a fantasy.
Carlie, though … with her, it’s different.
The connection with her is like a slow-burning flame, warm and inviting. I feel it in the way she looks at me, in the softness of her laugh, the earnest smile lighting in her eyes.
What we have is real in a way that I never experienced with anyone.
Jillian, included. She was more about the image—the spectacle.
Walking back to my bedroom, I grab my phone from my nightstand, intending to call Carlie but stop as a flood of notifications catch my eye. My stomach tightens as I open Instagram, only to see my feed blowing up with posts and comments about me and Carlie—again.
My heart sinks.
“Adam Foxx, using a client from his old job to launch his own gym?Sad to see how the mighty have fallen.”
“Typical player moves, pretending to care just for the ‘gram.”
“I’d use the chubby chick, too. Those thighs. Mmmmm.”
Each word cuts deeper than the last and I think I’m gonna puke.
They don’t know the first thing about what Carlie and I share. They sure as hell don’t know anything about her. She’s funny, and smart, and fucking gorgeous.
They’ve got it all wrong.
Working with her—training her, dating her—isn’t about publicity or some shallow game.
What I feel for Carlie ... it’s real.
But then the realization hits me hard—what if Carlie saw these?
Could that be the reason she left?
What if she thinks I’m just using her? Used her.
I run a hand through my hair, my frustration mounting. The one time I find someone who ignites something deep inside me, and this social media circus tries to tear it down.
I won’t let it happen. No fucking way.
I need to set things right.
But how?
I scroll through the comments, each one a mix of speculation and accusation. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, and I’m the driver, helplessly watching as everything spirals out of control.
There are pictures of us taken out of context. Mashups with my old dating history and the type of women I’ve been known to date. Stupid theories about how I’ve been masterminding this for the past few months.
It’s all bullshit.
The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the weight of public opinion bears down on me.
This isn’t just idle gossip—it’s a targeted attack.
A smear campaign that’s not just hurting me, but potentially destroying something that was just beginning with Carlie.
Frustration boils within me—transforming into a potent mix of anger and helplessness. I’ve been in the public eye long enough to know how damaging these rumors can be, but I never thought they’d seep into something so personal—so real.
Fitness was always meant to be fun. To be encouraging and empowering. Not—whatever the hell this is.
Jillian’s comment yesterday flashes in my mind, and a bitter taste fills my mouth.
Fucking Jillian.
This has her fingerprints all over it.
I always knew she played dirty, but this ... this is a new low.
Dragging Carlie into her petty games, trying to tarnish our relationship with her jealousy and spite. Who the hell does she think she is?
I can’t just stand by and let this happen.
No way am I going to let this slide.
I have to fight back, not just for my reputation, but for what I feel for Carlie.
Hell, for Carlie herself.
She needs to know the truth—to see beyond the lies and the rumors.
But how? How do I convince her that what we have is real? That it’s not just another story for the tabloids?
I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over Carlie’s contact on my phone.
No, not yet.
I need advice, a plan. I scroll through my contacts and hit call on the one person who always knows what to do.
“Why in the fuck are you calling me at seven in the morning?” Brian’s voice is groggy, betraying the early hour. “Hate to break it to you, but not everyone loves being up at this ungodly hour.”
“Brian, man, I need your help,” I start, my words rushing out.
I explain everything—Carlie leaving, the Instagram debacle, my suspicion about Jillian’s involvement.
“Damn, that’s messed up,” Brian mutters after a pause. “First things first, bro, you need to put Jillian on notice. You can’t let her control the narrative. She’s obviously messing with you just because she thinks she can.”
“I know, but how?” I ground out, frustration edging my voice.
“Go to St. Mary’s. Confront her in person. It’s time she knows you’re not playing her games anymore. And Adam, if you need me to, I’ll go with you. You don’t need to face that bitch alone.”
His offer is a lifeline in the chaos. “Thanks, man. I’d take you up on that, but I think I need to deal with her on my own. She won’t take it seriously otherwise.”
“Okay, I get that. Don’t wait too long, though. You need to clear this up. I know all too well how bullshit lies can spiral out of control. So, take care of it. Not just for the public, but for Carlie, too,” Brian advises. “And about Carlie ... talk to her, bro. Be honest. Tell her everything. She deserves that much.”
He’s right.
Carlie does deserve the truth.
All of it.
I need to explain the situation and show her that she’s more than just a headline to me.
“Thanks, Brian. I’ll head over to St. Mary’s now. And I’ll call Carlie afterward.”
“Good luck, Adam. Call me if you need me,” he says before hanging up.
Armed with a plan, I feel a surge of determination.
I’m going to put an end to Jillian’s antics once and for all. And then, I’ll do everything in my power to make things right with Carlie.