“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says lightly, although I instinctively know it’s not morning. “How are you feeling?” Hux eases onto the edge of the mattress and picks up my hand. A metallic weight trickles down my forearm; the compass bracelet I’ve been taking care of is still on my wrist.
“Like a sack of shit.” I manage to grumble. Clearing my throat several times, I tip my head back to open up my throat. “Tell me I’m hallucinating and I’m not where I think I am.”
Huxley’s smile drops. Instead of answering me, he releases my hand and shifts to slowly lift me up by the shoulders. Garrett stuffs his pillow behind my back, and I sink back in my new elevated position to look around the room from my childhood.
Yep, I’m really here.
The midnight blue painted walls and solar system project I made in fifth grade hanging by astronaut-themed drawn curtains. My stomach rolls. In all of my nightmares, my focus was on the bed, on what I was subjected to. I’d forgotten how childish the decor was. The safe space of a young boy who felt anything but. Flicking off the TV sitting on the dresser, Garrett mutters under his breath.
“There was nothing I could do.” Despite our company, he snuggles into my side, curling one of his long legs around mine. We’re both wearing black lounge pants.
“Wher-” I clear my throat, “Where are the others?”
“I thought it would be best not to overwhelm you,” Garrett rubs his face into my neck like a feline. “But they’re all here, waiting to see you.” They’re all here. Tears prick my eyes, and I can’t decide if it’s from the comfort of knowing the Souls are nearby or the dread that they’ve walked into my waking nightmare. This house is a poison that taunts your veins and never truly lets you go.
Huxley, who was staring into the distance, working hard to stop his mouth from pressing into a tight line, suddenly stands, seeming to remember something. “I’ll get some soup sent up.” Huxley strides for the door, pulling it gently closed behind him. I shake my head weakly, the thought of food turning my stomach further, but it’s too late. My grunts of protest become too much for my feeble body, leaving me immobile and breathless once again.
“It’s going to be okay,” Garrett breathes, his voice low. His hand finds mine, his grip strong and unwavering. “Whatever you need, Axe. I’m going to be right here.”
Whatever I need. The words rush through my head, the tips of my ears starting to burn. What I need is to forget where I am. To beremoved from the pain, distracted from the dull thud of panic within my chest. I need him.
Unashamed, I trail my index finger over Garrett’s T-shirt, tracing the ridges of his abs underneath. His breath catches, but he doesn’t stop me, and that small act of permission feels like an unspoken surrender. The warmth of his body seeps into me, grounding me in a way I desperately need. His gaze doesn’t falter, locked onto mine, steady and intense. We’ve woken up beside each other countless times before, but this moment feels heavier, charged with something I can’t name.
There’s a shift in his expression, an almost imperceptible flicker in his eyes. His lips part, as if to speak, but the words dissolve before they can form. It’s unlike him, this hesitation. Garrett always knows what to say, whether it’s a joke, a taunt, or some line designed to deflect. Now, though, he’s stripped bare, his usual armor gone. And I don’t think he realizes just how exposed he is, how vulnerable he looks sitting there, watching me like I’m something fragile he’s afraid to break.
A faint stirring of awareness pulls at me, the lingering fog in my head giving way to questions. What exactly happened to me? And more importantly, what’s happened to Garrett? This intensity, this quiet between us, feels new. It’s like there’s a weight behind his gaze, layers I’ve never fully peeled back before.
The pain in my body dulls, eclipsed by the quiet electricity between us. To anyone else, Garrett is just a good-looking college guy. His dark hair catches streaks of gold in the right light, his eyes shift between fathomless and mischievous, and his smile can charm or cut depending on his mood. But that’s not what I see.
I see the self-hatred living beneath his flesh. The way his jokes deflect, how his smile is a shield. He craves affection but convinces himself he doesn’t deserve it. Someone who refuses to believe he deserves more than rough sex and empty promises.
My hand stills against his chest, resting over the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Garrett,” I whisper, my voice rough and tentative. It’s not a question or a statement. It’s a plea. For what, I’m not even sure. I just know at that moment I need something. His fingers twitch, brushing over my bare chest to still over my heart. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“I love you so fucking much, Axe.” He almost whimpers. Like anatomic bomb going off in my head, my ears ring, and I gasp. That’s it. That’s exactly what I needed.
Garrett’s mouth crashes against me before I can say it back, all pretence of gentleness slipping away. It’s a feral, desperate slanting of his lips over mine, hiding the slight tremor underneath. Garrett kisses me as if he won’t survive without it, the hand on my heart clenching. I don’t stop him, twisting my hand into his shirt as much as I can to drag him impossibly closer, despite the sharp ache in my side. The pain is secondary to the way Garrett pours himself into me like he’s been holding it all back for too long.
Leaning over me, his hand presses a touch too hard on my sternum. A gasp is torn from my lips, interrupting our messy kiss. Garrett freezes instantly, relieving all pressure from my body. I keep my hand clenched in his T-shirt, not letting him go far. His forehead rests against mine as he pants, his warm breath mingling with mine.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. His thumb brushes over my cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat. “I shouldn’t have?—”
“Don’t apologize,” I rasp, interrupting him. My grip finally loosens on his shirt, my thumb smoothing over the fabric. “As soon as I’m better, I want you to do that for hours and hours.”
“And I’m going to pull up a chair to watch,” a soft voice cuts through us, alight with laughter. Just inside the door, with her hip popped and a tray in her hands, is Avery. “I thought we agreed to be gentle with him,” she chastises Garrett, but there’s no real venom in it.
“Avery,” I breathe.
“Hey handsome.” Her lips twitch, and she moves to set down the tray holding a steaming bowl of soup. Her golden hair rests over her shoulders, a logo on her sweater for Hollowbrook Academy. Hollowbrook? The name seems unfamiliar, but in my mind's eye, a domed building appears. Or perhaps it’s a stadium, skidded with blood down the halls and a high-pitched scream escaping the locker room. Suddenly, it all comes flooding back.
Chapter Twenty One
Eventually, Axel falls asleep in my arms. None of us were prepared for the sudden surge of panic he would have in response to seeing me. As if he was in a dreamy state, and I was the bucket of cold water dousing it. The drug that the doctor rushed in to give him has done its job, soothing Axel back into the slumber I’d only just got him back from. I understand the logic. Resting is needed to heal, but the episode has solidified what the doctor told us this morning. There is no quick fix here. Axel needs time, and we need to give it to him.
Hugging his head to my chest, I shift down into the pillows as a lone tear escapes my eye. Garrett shifts in my peripheral, returning from the bathroom.
“Peach,” he frowns, but I wave him off.
“It’s fine. I’m fine, honestly. You should get some sleep, Gare. You look like shit.”
