Blood smears the wall as my breath comes in ragged gasps. My vision blurs, my body trembling as adrenaline surges through me.
“Stop,” Wyatt suddenly growls, catching my fist in mid-air. I didn’t even see him approach, too wrapped up in the straightjacket of my own mind.
“I don’t want to stop,” I grunt, trying to twist my hand free. “I want to hurt.” Wyatt wrenches my arm backward. My other hand rises instinctively, but he moves faster, yanking me off balance with a forceful tug. My knees buckle, and I stumble, his arm hooking around my neck like a steel bar.
The fight bleeds out of me as he drags me away, each step disorienting. The coppery scent of blood clings to my skin, mixing with the dull ache spreading through my knuckles. I twist, trying to defy him in any way I can, but Wyatt doesn’t let up, steering me down the hallway.
The next thing I know, we’re in the gym. My back slams against a padded wall, Wyatt’s arm finally releasing its hold. I stagger, catching myself with both hands on my thighs, chest heaving as I struggle to catch my breath.
“You don’t want to hurt,” he says, standing firm in front of me. I glare at the floor by his socked feet, my hands curling into fists again. The pain that cuts through my hands doesn’t feel as sweet this time. Even so, my shoulders tighten, the impulse to lash out still clawing atme. “You just want someone to see that you’re suffering, and instead of pretending everything’s fine, you want them to tell you it’s all your fault.”
“Will you?” I risk a look up into his green eyes, sensing the spike of vulnerability within like a whip’s lash. I’m struck by the lack of anger in Wyatt’s features and stance, a lack of resentment in having to come and clear up my mess. Instead, Wyatt crosses his arms, his expression unreadable.
“No. This is Fredrick’s fault, and Nixon’s and Cathy’s and every other fucker that has been playing God with our lives. We’re stuck trying to clear up messes we didn’t cause and somehow expected to mentally survive it.” I look away, my jaw tightening. The gym feels too small, the walls pressing in around me.
“You can hit things if you want. Break your fucking hand, scream, and cry, but it’s pointless. Because when you go back upstairs, Axel and Avery will still be there, waiting for you. Relying on you to show up.” Wyatt sighs, releasing his arms to step forward. Next thing, his hands are on my shoulders, squeezing and releasing rhythmically to get my breathing to somewhat regulate. “It doesn’t have to be scary. Trust me, I spent years believing it was.”
I glance at him, the edge of his words piercing through the fog in my mind. I hate how broken I feel and sound, but I push through, desperate for the answers he’s offering. “How did you get over it?” Wyatt smirks to himself, casting a glance over my shoulder.
“I didn’t. But I’ve decided to stop running. I ran from Avery when she moved into the Manor, I ran from Cathy when I couldn’t bear to play nice anymore. I’ve been running from you guys at every sign of attachment.” His tone softens, and as he steps closer, I’m pulled into a willing hug from Wyatt Hughes. That’s how I know I’ve gone too far.
“It’s a shitty, lonely life, Gare, and it doesn’t have to be. The people upstairs deserve better. They need a reason to smile and laugh, and live. It’s our job to give it to them. So pick yourself up, think of a corny joke, and get back up there.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Wyatt shoves my head into his neck. He’s wearing his own orange hoodie for once, the mix of his and Avery’s scents blending seamlessly. A rogue blond hair drapes over the hood.
“Don’t do it for you, Garrett. Do it for them.” He pulls back to putme at arm’s length, his palms warm against my cheeks. His green eyes are more tender than I’ve ever seen them, his lips tilting into a small smile. “Go make them laugh.”
I drag a shaky hand through my hair, my breathing slowing to an even pace. The scent of blood and failure is thick, clogging my throat, but I nod, the motion almost invisible. Wyatt releases me and takes a few measured steps back. This is what he does, offers the right words and then rebuilds the distance to see what I do. Giving comfort and then space, as if I might shatter at any moment. Maybe I will. But not now. Not tonight.
“Thanks,” I mutter hoarsely, my voice rough like sandpaper. He doesn’t respond, just jerks his head toward the door.
The hallway feels quieter than it should as I climb the stairs. My injured hand shakes, gliding along the banister, leaving behind the chaos I’ve caused downstairs. I hesitate at the top landing, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.They’re waiting for you.
I step into Axel’s room, the faint sound of laughter spilling out before I fully open the door. The sight steals what little resolve I had left. Dax is sprawled out on the floor, cards fanned out in his good hand, grinning like a kid. Avery sits cross-legged by Axel’s bedside, her golden hair swaying as she pretends to consult Hux, who’s leaning over her shoulder with exaggerated seriousness. Axel is propped up against a mound of pillows, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. His hazel eyes meet mine as soon as I step inside, warm despite the way I left him, and his smile grows just a little wider.
“There you are,” he says, a little raspy, but his eyes are full of life for once. “Doc gave me the all-clear to start moving around and peeing for myself.”
Dax looks up at me from his cards and snorts. “Should have heard him squeal when the catheter came out. I’ve heard newborn piglets make less noise.” He jerks his head to the floor next to him with mock enthusiasm. “Come join us. I saved you a seat.” I force a smirk, my chest tightening and loosening in the same breath.
“What’s the game?”
“Blackjack,” Avery chips in, her blue eyes sparkling as she glances at me. “Me and Hux are acting as the house, so you’ll lose either way.” For the first time in what feels like hours, I laugh. Not much, but enough to feel theedges of my anger dull. I settle down beside Dax, brushing my knee against his in silent gratitude, and pick up the cards they dealt me.
“Remind me of how to play,” I nudge his shoulder. Looking between my two cards, Dax peers over and groans.
“Well, shit. You’ve already won.” Lifting his bandaged hand, he uses the metal splint in between his flattened fingers to point to the cards in turn. “It’s first or nearest to twenty-one wins. The ace counts as eleven and all face cards are tens. You’ve got one of each, so beginner's luck I guess.”
I shrug happily, sneaking a peak over at Dax’s hand. He’s got six cards, all of lower value but collectively adding to a total more than twenty-one. He sighs and throws them down. “I got greedy and went bust. It’s more fun when you bet with something.” My eyes shoot directly to Avery, who is already shaking her head at me.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not about to play strip blackjack whilst Axel is too injured to get an erection.” My bald-headed lover chokes on his breath, grumbling that he can get an erection just fine, while Hux takes in the cards and deals again. Glancing between my friends, my family, the weight in my chest starts to lift. The world outside still feels heavy, but here, in this room and surrounded by them, I can carry it. For tonight at least, I can show up.
Chapter Twenty Three
I walk into the kitchen, intent on locating some breakfast for Garrett and Axel, only to find the former sitting at the island with a huge stack of pancakes. Avery moves around the counters opposite, flour on her cheek and a splash of batter coating her apron. Hux is sitting beside him, a singular pancake on his plate that he’s struggling through.
“Well, this is cozy,” I raise a brow. All faces swing to me. “Any chance of some leftovers for our injured soldier upstairs?” Avery beams a smile that cuts straight through my morning haze, brightening my mood like a shot of espresso. I'm careful not to let it show on my face, though. If she knew the full effect she has on me, she’d be dangerous.
“I’m just starting Axel’s and Dax’s now. You want some?” she offers, pointing a spatula at me. I nod and move into the kitchen, feeling more at home than I have in months. It’s the quiet, simple moments like this that I would have missed if I’d kept being a coward, if I’d kept running. I’m making an effort to appreciate the small joys while we still can.
