Guys and girls around our age pace the halls, all smiles and flirtatious looks. This living room has a distinctively different feel, swarming with energy. It’s cozier in here, oversized leather couches and mismatched pillows, a massive TV mounted above a stone fireplace currently playing some car racing game. The scent of freshly baked pastries wafts through the air, mingling with the laughter and overlapping voices of the group sprawled across the space.
An expensive coffee table is piled high with snacks, while someone strums a guitar near the window. A few heads turn as we enter, curious eyes scanning us briefly before they return to their conversations. No one seems particularly interested in us, yet the vibe in the room feels oddly territorial, like we’re treading on unspoken boundaries.
Dax’s grip tightens on my hand, his body language protective as his gaze sweeps the room. Wyatt stays behind, silent but watchful, as we move between the groups of people. Escaping without incident to pass the kitchens, laundry room, and a number of storage cupboards, we find more people in both a games room and a home theatre.
Despite Huxley’s warning, I wasn’t prepared for how many of them there were. The uniforms he spoke of are nowhere to be seen. Instead, a sea of fitted tees, crop tops, short denim shorts, and jeans pass by, designer labels on most. We finally reach the end of the house, stepping into a conservatory. The glass walls are lined with potted plants, a distinct winter chill seeping in through the cracked rear door. On that breeze, travels the scent of smoke and weed from those hovering outside.
“Huxley!” a man calls from behind. Hux’s arm tightens slightly around my shoulders. “You missed all the fun.” I turn, although his hold tries to prevent it, to see a lean man approaching. His smile is all teeth and charm, his earlobes stretched with circular plugs and a piercingglints between his brown eyes. Upon his head, dark, wispy hair has been pulled into a top knot.There he is.Extending his hand to me, his eyes sparkle as I accept it, despite the rumble in Huxley’s chest. “Or perhaps you were having some fun of your own. Who is this beauty?”
“She’s absolutely none of your business,” Huxley drags me a step back to sever the connection of our hands. Wyatt and Dax grumble something to the same effect, and Top Knot grins wider.
“Has he always been a selfish lover?” He gestures his head to Hux, earning himself a stern glare. I meet his boldness head on and smirk right back.
“Yes,” I laugh. “I’m Avery, and you are?”
“Taylor,” he replies smoothly, offering a mock bow that brings him eye level with my chest. The action does not go unnoticed. Huxley spins me sharply, only his large hands on my waist stopping me from toppling over. Dax and Wyatt instantly close ranks, their broad shoulders blocking Taylor’s view.
“What are you doing, Swan?” Hux whispers, his face pinched. I reach up to smooth the frown out of his brow.
“Recon. We can’t protect Axel if we don’t know what’s happening around here.”
“Which involves you flirting?” Hux bites back, his fingertips twitching against my sides.
“I literally shook his hand and told him my name. I’ve flirted more with Mrs. Russell, the elderly librarian.” I narrow my eyes, looking up at him with steely determination. “We’re strangers in a house they clearly have the run of, and we don’t need to make any more enemies. Someone is going to have to play nice.”
“Fine,” Hux bites out after a tense pause, his jaw tightening. “I will.” I raise a brow as he releases me and rounds the two acting as our bodyguards. Taylor is still standing there, his grin in full effect. Not that Wyatt will let me get within arm’s reach of him again. His arm bands around my waist, holding me back as Huxley plants himself directly in the way.
“Relax, big guy. I’m just being friendly.” Taylor holds up his hands in mock surrender. His tone is light, but his eyes flick to me again, their gleam suggesting otherwise. “Avery’s off limits. Got it. But you,” Taylor reaches out to drag his index finger down the center of Huxley’s chest, “you should come hang out with us next weekend. House rule, Sunday is Fun Day.”
“Good to know,” Hux replies, although I can hear his teeth grating together. Taylor retreats with lingering looks over where Wyatt’s arm is band around my middle and gives me a wink before he disappears from the room. The three around me exhale heavily. I shake my head, breaking free of Wyatt’s hold. I suppose I forgot that their ease with each other doesn’t mean they aren’t still possessive and jealous.
Heading out of the conservatory with the intention to head back upstairs, the clicking of heels against the marble catches my ears. I turn my head just in time to see Sharon disappearing around the corner with a man, a stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. My feet are moving instantly, and the guys are quickly racing behind. It’s easy to follow that clicking sound through back hallways we’ve yet to explore, halting in an office with tropical canvases instead of windows.
Sharon is leaning against a large desk in a tight skirt and a cropped blazer. Her hair is slicked back into a perfect ponytail, jewelry dripping from her ears, neck, and fingers. She is hitching a perfectly shaped brow at the doctor sitting in front of us.
“Give it to me straight, Marcus. How long until I can get rid of him?”
“I’d be interested to know as well,” I permit my own entry, shadows filing in behind me. The doctor peers over the high back seat and clears his throat.
“I, um, I can’t discuss Mr. Barrett’s care with anyone except his guardian,” the doc stammers. Wyatt strides around the room, placing himself a few feet from Sharon. His sharp, green eyes pierce the room, his stance strong and powerful. The mask of indifference slips to reveal an air of authority. He’d make a ruthless businessman.
“I’m Axel’s guardian. Answer the question. How long before I can get him out of here?”
Hux, Dax, and I fully enter the room, adding to Marcus' unease. He pulls the stethoscope free from his neck and tugs at his navy sweater, looking to Sharon for instructions. She sighs and nods, lifting a hand to inspect her nails.
“Well, it’s hard to say. There’s no telling how weak his muscles are or the effects his mind will have in relation to his delayed responsiveness. Notto mention the trauma his lungs have suffered. Any labored breathing, panic attack, or crying could induce more strain, making the healing period longer.” Sharon snorts to herself, but our eyes narrow on the middle-aged man, ignoring her completely. The Doc taps a thumb on his trousers and relents. “Hypothetically, if Mr. Barrett were to wake today, perhaps he could be ready to move elsewhere within a week. But it all depends on-”
My mind fades out. A week, minimum, depending on what state he wakes in. I raise a hand to my forehead, trying to breathe through the rush pounding in my ears. A week, minimum, that I could possibly get out there and start searching for Meg. What might she be subjected to in that time, and how much can she endure? Dully, I realize my back is being rubbed, and I lean further into Dax’s side.
“Why is he asleep in the first place?” I interject sharply into whatever conversation is happening around me. “Surely at this point, alarm bells are ringing.” Marcus blinks a few times, caught off guard, and scratches his chin in thought.
“There are a few possibilities,” he begins, his voice carefully measured. “It could be a prolonged reaction to the anesthesia, though that’s less likely at this stage. Another possibility is that his cerebral metabolism has been affected. It’s uncommon given the nature of his injury and surgery, but not entirely out of the question.”
“And the other option?” Huxley huffs, his frustration palpable as he moves closer to Wyatt. Dax and I step in, taking the silent stance of Axel’s real family. Marcus hesitates, his gaze flicking between them all.
“Axel isn’t waking up simply because he doesn’t want to.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. A sharp silence fills the room as the weight of the statement settles over us. Huxley’s jaw tightens, Wyatt’s hands ball into fists, and my heart twists painfully in my chest. Dax remains close, stroking circles over my back and whispering into my ear that it’s going to be okay. I don’t see how he can remain optimistic, but I’m thankful that he is.
The doctor stands to leave, revealing the truth of his size. He rivals Huxley’s height, although that’s where the similarities end. Marcus’ size is not toned muscle, but that of a man who stress eats and spends longer typing up reports rather than treating patients. His hair is dark, although thinning, and there are white tufts in his five o’clock shadow. Sharondismisses him with the instruction to keep her informed, leaving the five of us in a stare-off in her office.
