I pat Hux on the shoulder as I pass, doing what little I can to reassure him his efforts aren’t going unnoticed. I swear, after all this shit is over, I’m going to find him the best nutritionist and personal trainer, getting both his physical and mental states back to what they once were. Shuffling behind Garrett, I pause until Avery has turned back to her frying pan and lean into his side.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Garrett’s head tilts, puttingour mouths closer than I’m comfortable with, but I don’t retract, letting him test the boundary I’m sure he would never cross. I hope.
“You shouldn’t whisper in my ear like that, Riot. People might start to talk.” It wasn’t a real answer, but the glint of humor has returned to his dark eyes. That’s more than was there yesterday.
I sit, instantly being handed a cup of coffee. Avery’s blue eyes are glistening too, a look I can’t quite understand etched into her beautiful face. She’s flawless, without the need for make-up or her hair perfectly styled. Even now, the blonde strands are thrown into a messy braid, hanging over her shoulder. The striped, satin pajamas she's wearing are far too big to be hers.
“Have I missed something? Are there drugs in the pancakes?” I raise a brow, casting a glance down the island. I’m not comforted by the low chuckles that sound in response.
“Sharon left first thing for a business trip her husband arranged. She’ll be gone until Friday.” Huxley fills me in. I feel the instant relief that the others have clearly been basking in. That’s one less problem to deal with for a couple of days.
Avery slides me a plate and returns to her frying pan, working on the next batch. Gare draws Hux into a conversation about weight training and how the pair will get back in the gym soon.
From the outside, I can see what’s really happening, as Garrett takes Hux’s fork and stabs it into a section of his singular pancake and then forces it into Huxley’s hand. Hux is in the middle of discussing which protein powder brand would be best for bulking up, not noticing when he pops the pancake into his mouth and chews.
It continues like that, and when Avery asks Hux to reach another bag of flour out of the cupboard for her, Gare slides a pancake from his own plate onto Hux’s now empty one.
Garrett giving up food is unheard of. I’m quickly drawn into the ease of it all. Like we’re just a group of friends hanging out, not a bunch of people caught in the middle of a nightmare.
Movement in the door halts the conversation, Doctor Marcus appearing to join us. He’s also been quick to make himself comfortable, moving across the space to refill the coffee machine with an air of confidence. Today, he’s wearing a mustard yellow sweater, the collar of a shirt poking out at the neckline. Comfortable navy slacks cover his tall,thick legs. The life of a private physician seems to allow for a lot of personal time, apparently.
“Since you’re all here, I’d be happy to provide an update on Axel, if you’d like.” Marcus turns with a steaming mug in one hand and a protein bar he’s located in the other. I lean on my forearms, nodding to continue. “He’s doing well, all things considered. I’m given him a round of antibiotics, although his pneumothorax has healed nicely?—”
“Speak English, Doc,” Garrett muffles around a mouthful of food. Marcus takes a sip of coffee first.
“His punctured lung is expanding the way it should, but Axel needs to take it slow. Ignoring the natural healing time of his broken ribs fixing back together, too much physical exertion can labor his breathing, risking another collapse. What we also don’t want is to rush him, causing a part of his lung wall to stick together when healing. It could leave him with lifetime breathing issues. At best, he develops asthma; at worst, he’s on an oxygen tank from the age of twenty-one.”
“It’s really that serious,” Avery gasps, her eyes racing across the island counter as her mind whirls. The fleeting happiness from before fades away, and the fear for Axel takes over. She switches off the gas, the next plate of pancakes forgotten. Huxley calls out to her, beckoning her to come curl up in his lap. In my peripheral, Hux strokes her hair and kisses her temple, while Garrett continues to stuff his face. The sound of him chewing is enough to put me off my food.
“No rushing, got it,” I huff. Rising from the stool, I scrape my pancakes onto Axel and Dax’s stack. Removing a carton from the fridge, I pour them a glass of orange juice each and balance them in the crook of my arms whilst lifting the plate in my hand. A soft snort sounds behind me as I leave, Garrett’s voice in my head, making a quip about being a domestic goddess.
I roll my eyes as I retrace my steps through the halls. It might not be real, and it won’t last long, but a semblance of the gang we used to be is seeping through. How it was in the beginning, with Garrett’s stupid jokes and everyone attending to a fragile Axel. Hux wasn’t quite the headstrong jock back then, and Dax spent his days reading, escaping reality any chance he could get. When things were so much simpler.
Knocking on Axel’s door, I open it and slip inside. Axel is fast asleep on a mound of cushions and seemingly alone. I look around, loweringthe plate and glass onto his bedside table. Poking my head back into the hallway, I tilt my head this way and that until I pick up on it. Softly, a muffled voice can be heard if I strain my ears.
I follow the sound to a bedroom we don’t use, crammed with dusty boxes and mismatched furniture. A mausoleum of memories with faded family photos and crumpled papers spilling from open cartons. Any light streaming through the tall windows is blocked out. Through a crack in the door, the stale air leaks out, heavy with neglect and dust, which causes my nose to twitch.
“Yes, yes I understand,” Dax mutters. I catch a glimpse of his phone’s light as he paces past the door, the device pressed firmly to his ear. He sighs, his voice weighted in a way I’ve never heard. “I’m sorry too. Thanks for calling.” Hanging up his call, Dax swings the door open, his hand going direct to the back of his neck. He stops just short of barreling into my chest, a flash of guilt and then confusion passing through his tanned features.
“Were you snooping on me?”
“No,” I narrow my eyes, deciding to half bend the truth. “I was coming to tell you that Avery made breakfast. Who was on the phone?”
Dax stiffens, his shoulders rising defensively as he uses his bandaged hand to cover the phone outline in his pocket. “Nobody important,” he mutters, but his averted gaze and the faint tremor in his voice betray him. For Dax to be anything other than naively optimistic in every situation is enough to set my teeth on edge.
“Bullshit. Who was on the damn phone?” Dax shifts uncomfortably, his usually open and carefree demeanor replaced by a wall of quiet frustration.
“Leave it alone, Wyatt. You can’t fix everything.” He avoids my gaze like it burns. My nostrils flare.
“I can try.”
“Not this time.” His jaw works, and his good hand flexes at his side. Then he deflates, knowing I’m not going to back down and that I’ll get the answer out of him eventually. Leaning back against the doorframe with a defeated sigh, Dax tilts his head upward, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers he’s looking for. “Just don’t freak out, okay?” he starts, which does nothing to settle the unease creeping through my chest. “It was the Dean. I’ve lost my scholarship.”
I clench my jaw, murder flashing in my green eyes.
“I’ll call the Dean back right now. Get him to change his mind.”
“It’s not just him. The entire board voted. My unauthorized absences and lack of focus aren't in keeping with the Waversea ethics. It’s a done deal, and you can’t just throw money around to get your own way this time.” Dax’s lips purse, his words striking the cord he was aiming for. I puff out my chest and square chin.
