“You said you needed to feel productive, and what better way than to keep up with your dancing? Dax has already lost his scholarship; I won’t let you risk your future too.”
I heard about the call and the subsequent argument. For half of last night, I had Wyatt pacing around the room, venting out loud about how all of Dax’s hard work has been erased, then he tried to comfort himself with the fact that Dax could go back next year. The second half of the night, Wyatt spent it curled around me in bed, flinching in his sleep and murmuring that he needs to fix this. That he’ll fix everything. Hence why I’ve let him convince me to come to the gym and get back to dancing.
Wyatt taps the play button on his phone, a melancholy melody leaking from the Bluetooth speakers around the room. I inhale deeply, raising onto my tiptoes the best I can without the support of my ballet slippers. The music bleeds through my veins, blocking out the guilt, sorrow, and regret, leaving only the stiffness of my muscles behind. I arch my arms gracefully overhead, transitioning into a soft plié. The mirrored wall reflects my silhouette as I slowly spin, lengthening through each limb.
The space feels different without the familiar hum of the studio and the polished floors beneath my feet, but I pour my emotions into every step. A pirouette flows into a sweeping arabesque, my leg extending behind me as my arms stretch toward an invisible horizon.
Wyatt’s presence on the weight bench is something I’m both hyperaware of and determined to ignore. I move into a series of leaps across the cleared gym floor, but on the final one, my footing falters. The angle in which I land shifts my balance, my weight off kilter, and I stumble sideways. Before I can hit the ground, strong arms circle my waist, steadying me.
“Careful, Angel,” Wyatt barks just as harshly, but his eyes are a different story. Filled with concern and relief, the intensity of his gaze makes my pulse race. Planting me back on my feet, Wyatt doesn’t withdraw, his chest warm and solid inches from my face. I tilt my head upwards, my lips parting on instinct. A tremor rolls through my spine where his large hand delicately spans my lower back. The baggy tracksuitI’m wearing does nothing to lessen the contact between us, my hands gliding up his chest to his neck. Wyatt leans in at the same time, his lips a whisper from kissing me.
“Fuck me,” a voice sounds. “It’s true then.” My head whips aside, spotting a very pale Axel leaning against the doorframe. His entire body is shaking, and when he breathes, there’s a small rattle that follows.
“Axel! What are you doing out of your room?” I gasp. Wyatt doesn’t immediately release me, deciding to let Axel suffer under his glare for a moment.
“Why isn’t Garrett with you?”
Beads of sweat pepper Axel’s forehead, his eyes sunken and dark, but somehow he manages a smile. “The guys have been telling me you two are getting on. Some things need to be seen to be believed.” Reaching out his arm, he beckons me to cross the room and tuck myself underneath. My presence is just for show, while Wyatt is the actual muscle on the other side.
Slowly, the three of us navigate towards one of the unused living areas. Once we’ve reached a white sofa, Wyatt sits with a cushion on his lap and lowers Axel until his head is resting upon it. I take the end with his feet, carefully lifting them to slide underneath.
The entire mansion is like a show home, everything pristine and beautiful, yet without a single trace of character. White sideboards hug the edges of the room, and a shaggy rug fills the center to take the cold edge off the marbled flooring. Exquisite vases and ornaments fill the surfaces on the coffee table, mantel, and windowsills, each one containing flecks of gold. I wonder if young Axel was allowed in here or if he was kept locked in his room.
“So, why are you really out of bed?” I ask, filling the silence as we all spiral into our own dark thoughts. Axel sighs, licking his cracked lips.
“I love Garrett,” he starts. Wyatt gives me a strange look over Axel’s head. “But he won’t tell me what’s going on. I need someone to be straight with me. Please.”
“What would you like to know?” Wyatt responds instantly. Axel’s chest deflates with relief, his head lolling slightly to the side.
“Everything. What actually happened to me? Why am I in this damn hellhole? Where did you two go, and why are you no longer trying to spite each other at every turn?” Nodding to himself as if recountingthe questions he’d be saving, something dawns on Axel’s face. He blinks his hazel eyes up at Wyatt. “Oh, and before we get into any of that, fuck you for your stupid note. I was in the frat house that night. You could have woke me up and explained what was happening before you disappeared.”
“You would have tried to stop me. Just how Avery would have if I’d given her any time to fight back.” Wyatt shrugs simply. As always, he doesn’t care to explain himself or ask for forgiveness. Wyatt will die upon the hill that he always knows best, no matter how others feel about his choices.
“That’s the most insane thing you’ve ever said,” Axel blows out a ragged breath. His walk down the stairs unaided has affected him more than he cares to admit. Swallowing hard, Axel’s brows pinch together tightly. “The guilt of losing Avery was tearing me up, you know. I blamed myself.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Axe.” Wyatt cups Axel’s head, absently brushing his thumb back and forth. It’s as close to an apology Axel is going to get, and he knows it. Carefully tucking my legs up on the sofa, I hug Axel’s socked feet close to my chest.
“Well, I can start you off with the info you want to know.” I rub Axel’s shins to get his attention back. His hazel eyes drift to my face, a silent plea there that I can’t refuse. “Wyatt made love to me in this cute little B&B. Went on for hours, and then again in the morning. It made a change from his dick nudging my lower back in a sleeping bag.” Both Axel and Wyatt’s mouths drop open, although Axel quickly smiles. He nudges Wyatt’s stomach with his head.
“Okay, I forgive you already. Tell me everything.”
“Can we not?” Wyatt drags a hand down his face.
“Too late,” I grin wide. It feels good to finally get this out in the open. To normalize it. Going all the way back, I explain to Axel what happened the night of Midnight Madness. The text from Fredrick, how I woke up tied up in Hux’s SUV with a dog licking my face. The crash and subsequent three-day hike until we found out Axe was in the hospital. Wyatt listens for the most part, looking away at any mention of him being affectionate. The tips of his ears go red, but otherwise, he appears unaffected.
Axel, on the other hand, laps up every word that spills from my lips.He pitches in every so often with ‘it’s about damn time’and ‘I bet you gave him hell’, the tension in his jaw easing. Just for a short while, his pain and situation ebb away, until I get to the point of the story he’s not going to like.
“Then Sharon showed up. The hospital called her to take you back into her custody. There was nothing we could do except come with you.” Wyatt returns to the conversation then, his eyes meeting Axel’s.
“And we will stay until you’re strong enough to leave. There’s no rush.” My heart clenches, stilling my chest for a moment. Axel senses my shift, twisting his lips to look up at Wyatt.
“I get that you’re not ready to run straight back into danger, but we all know there is a rush. We need to find Meg before it’s too late.” The tightness in my chest locks down, blocking air from entering my lungs. Meg’s defiant face flashes before my eyes, shaking her head to tell me not to come, but she knows me better than that. I can’t leave her there, and Axel agrees. “Surely there’s something we can do while my ribs are healing. How did you get in contact with Fredrick before?”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens, his muscles bunching as if he’s physically holding back from jumping up and leaving. His hand flexes against the back of the sofa, and for a moment, I reckon he might storm out rather than continue the conversation. Then, with a heavy exhale, he rolls his neck, cracking it audibly.
“I… well, I have the phone number of an ex-con that works for him.” The admission hangs in the air like a lifeline. I straighten, my heart thudding in my chest.
“You do? We could call it!” The words fall out before I can think them through, excitement and hope overtaking caution. Wyatt’s head snaps toward me, his glare sharp enough to cut.
