“If it wasn’t for my money, you’d have all been gone years ago.”
Dax’s mouth drops open. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he murmurs, but I don’t take it back. There’s very little in this world I can’t use either my trust fund or Nixon’s credit card to fix. But Dax sees that as cheating, and his moral compass won’t permit it.
I’ve offered to pay for his entire degree multiple times, but he wouldn’t let me. He wanted to earn it, hating to feel indebted to people. Even when we first met and he was wearing handouts from the donation bank, he would only let me buy him some new clothes if he could work off the balance. He mowed the lawn. Trimmed the hedges. Repainted the front porch. Pretty much renovated the entire frat house. I didn’t even ask for half of it.
An image of Dax flares to life in my mind, sweating in the summer sun, covered in paint streaks and grime.Wyatt’s smirk is fleeting, his nostrils flaring. He’s worked so damn hard. He deserves his place at that school.
A few tense seconds pass between us, my stubbornness grating on his newfound resolve. Previously, Dax would have backed down and told me to do whatever I saw fit. Now, he’s staring at me like a stranger who hasn’t had his back for years.
Like I haven’t taken them all on summer vacations to the Caribbean or flown Garrett to Paris just so he could eat an authentic baguette. Like I didn’t pay for Axel to have the best trauma counseling for two years after coming to us or bought Dax’s mom a stone memorial when I found out they weren’t able to afford to give her a real funeral. That’s who I am, and that’s the only way I know how to love. Paying my way through life, keeping everyone housed, fed, and happy. It’s all I have at my disposal.
Dax shakes his head, shoving against my shoulder to leave. I whip around, locking my hand around his arm.
“We’re not done here.”
“Why does it even matter to you so much?!” Dax twists his arm free and pushes my shoulder to force me to step back. I only move through the shock of Dax raising a hand to me at seeing him hold so much animosity toward me. “You’ve been holding me to this certain standard for years, like everything depends on me graduating, and I’m not going to lie, Wyatt, sometimes that pressure is crushing. Sometimes I just want to… be.”
I grit my teeth, the words hitting harder than I expected. Dax has never told me this before, always going along with the rules I set, agreeing that it’s what’s best for him. Now he tells me I’ve been causing him stress. I swallow, pocketing my hands and rooting my gaze on the marble flooring beside his feet.
“Were you even going to tell me if I hadn't been in the right place at the right time?”
Dax shifts his weight, his voice tight. “What difference would it make? Our priorities lie elsewhere right now.”
And that’s the truth. We’ve all dropped everything to look after Avery. In truth, and through no fault of her own, once she entered the frat house, nothing except her seemed to matter anymore. We’ve let our studies slide, left our home without a second thought, and become versions of ourselves that we don’t recognize, and I can’t say I regret it. So as much as it pains me to watch Dax let all of his hard work go, as difficult as it is for me to just let it all slide, I do understand. He will figure it out, like he always does. I just hate that he has to.
“I’d best go eat. Avery will probably kill us both if we let those pancakes get cold.” Dax hesitates, glancing back down the empty hallway.
“You go ahead. I just… need a minute.” I nod, agreeing to give him the space to process. In a fashion, perhaps he needs the space to mourn his lost work and wasted time, to console himself that his future is no longer set out in an organized timeline, despite what he might have gained. Patting him on the shoulder, I pause at his side.
“Don’t take too long. If Garrett finds a plate of pancakes by Axel’s bedside, chances are there’ll be none left.” Dax huffs a laugh.
As I head back toward the kitchen, my mind churns, already calculating what needs to be done to keep him from falling through thecracks. Dax asked me why it even matters that he graduates, and the truth is, I respect Dax far too much to let him fall. He’s smart and dedicated. He refuses to take handouts, earning his way through life, and when heartache arises, he doesn’t run from it. He stays, embracing the pain and dealing with his issues before they consume him.
In short, Dax is the man I wish I could be.
Chapter Twenty Four
The days pass in a haze, each one blending into the next as we make use of every corner of the mansion. The gym has become the guys’ second home, their grunts and thuds echoing through the halls as they push themselves harder with each session. Huxley stumbled upon an underground swimming pool the other day, and it’s been our hidden retreat ever since. The library calls to me most often, though I’ve also wandered into the games room once or twice, letting the sound of Garrett and Dax’s playful bickering pull me in.
At the start of the week, Axel could barely shuffle from his bed to the bathroom unaided, his movements slow and labored. Garrett flanked him on one side, his hands hovering protectively as Axel braced himself against the walls for stability. Each attempt drained him completely, leaving him to collapse into bed and sleep for hours until it was time to coax him up again to eat or try once more. It’s becoming easier for him, his breathing isn't as labored, but his progress is still painstakingly slow.
I’ve made a home of sorts in one of the guest rooms, stacking my nightstand with books pilfered from the library. Lately, I’ve buried myself in studies about the stigma of depression and anxiety in men. Not that I think I could use any of the strategies without the guys noticing, but the knowledge comforts me. If I can understand even afraction of what they’re feeling, maybe I can help. Or at least not make things worse.
My nightly companion rotates. Whether there’s an official timetable or they play scissors, paper, stone, I’d love to know. Either way, it seems there’s an unspoken agreement that I only get one visitor per night, and unless I initiate otherwise, we stick to spooning.
As the week inches forward, Friday looms like a dark cloud on the horizon we’re all too aware of but no one wants to mention. It’s there, staring at me from the calendar on my phone, a reminder that we can’t outrun what’s coming. The students will return tomorrow afternoon, filling this house with noise and life, but with them comes the auction. The nightmare we’ve been trying to ignore will no longer be some distant threat. It will be real, pressing in around us.
Axel feels it too. His words are becoming fewer, and his silence stretches longer. He’s retreating into himself, bracing for the inevitable. And tomorrow night, this house will be alive with the very horror he’s been running from.
The butler has been keeping us updated with the few words he mutters here and there. Sharon, thankfully, will not be returning with her husband until late in the evening. Until the event is about to get underway. By then, we will have all retreated to the upper wing, our sanctuary away from prying eyes.
“Okay, break’s over,” Wyatt barks, clicking his fingers in front of my face. I blink up at him, lowering my phone, which has long since faded to black. I’d started with looking through photos of Meg but soon switched to the calendar app, counting the days since I’ve last seen her. I let her go on Christmas Eve, watching the car fade into the night, thinking she’d be safe. Believing that it was for the best. Wyatt clicks his fingers at me again, and I whack them aside, scowling.
“Alright, alright,” I huff, standing from my crouching position by the mirrored wall. The harsh lights beam down on the space Wyatt has cleared in the middle of the gym. Stepping into the center, I stretch my back and roll my shoulders. “I’m here.”
“Get into position,” he demands. I roll my eyes and place my bare feet at opposing angles to one another, lifting my arms in a half circle in front of me.
“Anyone ever tell you how bossy you are?” I catch a quick glance toWyatt. He’s across the far side, sitting on a weight bench with his own phone in his hand. His green eyes are unfazed.
