I cross the bedroom to peer out of the window, the soft thud of my sneakers against the carpet the only sound, despite five of us being huddled around Axel. The air is stifling, and our efforts to forget what’s coming have failed. It’s Friday. The day we’ve all been trying to prevent, despite the fact that it’s been staring us in the face all week.
I glance at the astronaut clock on the wall, the second hand ticking far too loudly in the silence. Sharon’s precious students will start filing in soon, their oblivious chatter filling the halls, completely unaware about our reservations for tonight’s event.
The auction.
I rub the back of my neck, tension twisting its way up my spine. It’s not just Axel who’s on edge, though he wears it most visibly, retreating into himself more and more as the hours tick by. He won’t even take an offered slip of water now. His skin is pasty and warm to the touch. Making himself ill won’t be any good, but he won’t listen to reason. Not until tomorrow morning when we all regroup and prove the auctions are survivable, I reckon.
Wyatt has been biting back his temper all morning, and even Avery has been uncharacteristically quiet. Not even the suggestion of baking or dancing will deter her from biting her nails and staring blankly into space.
“Are we really doing this?” Hux huffs from his spot, laying on his backat the end of Axel’s bed. Garrett makes a noise in his throat, holding Axel’s hand tightly to his chest. Avery is on Axel’s other side, her head on his shoulder, although she’s left enough space to not touch his tender ribs. Our self-proclaimed leader isn’t present, preferring to be holed up in one of the unused rooms, stewing in his frustration alone. The guy isn’t good at sitting still at the best of times, but he figured his nervous energy wouldn’t help.
Leaning against the windowsill, I stare out at the driveway. The afternoon sun does nothing to lift my mood or lessen the ache in my chest. The minibuses will arrive soon, and with them, the start of the chaos. My fingers drum against the glass as my stomach churns. For all our planning and guessing, none of us really knows what tonight will bring.
A sudden flicker of movement catches my eye, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. The gates at the other end of the long driveaway peel open, permitting entry to a singular car. My first instinct is that Sharon has returned, but I can’t imagine her coming home in a standard yellow cab. I squint while leaning closer to the glass. The cab rolls up, its bright exterior glinting in the fading sunlight as it comes to a smooth stop just outside the main entrance. No less than a second later, a figure steps out from the rear door, stretching widely and rolling his neck.
A strange sense of déjà vu settles over me. As if my mind can’t place the familiar man in this setting. He doesn’t belong here. He belongs in my past, where he was at least a foot shorter and riddled with acne. But there’s no mistaking the tall, wiry frame, the unruly curls, or the ever-present smirk that somehow manages to radiate confidence and mischief all at once. His face lifts to take in the mansion, his bone structure so similar to what I see in the mirror every day.
“What the hell?” I mutter, my voice low but sharp enough to draw the others’ attention. Avery lifts her head, her brows furrowing as she follows my gaze. Garrett glances up too, his grip on Axel loosening.
“What’s going on?” Avery asks, filled with concern.
“I’m not sure,” I frown. “I’ll be right back.” My feet are already moving, carrying me out of the room and down the stairs two at a time. My pulse thunders in my ears, a creeping sense of unease prickling at the edge of my mind.What is he doing here?
By the time I reach the front door, he’s standing there, hands stuffedcasually in his pockets, like he hasn’t just appeared out of seemingly nowhere. We’re equal height now, his tanned skin a deeper shade than mine, and his eyes, although pale, are a muted gray rather than blue. His grin widens when he sees me, and for a moment, it’s like we’re kids again, sneaking out after curfew and covering for each other’s reckless decisions.
“Cuz!” he calls out, laughing as if no time has passed. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Thiago,” I breathe, my brows knitted tightly. Stepping aside to let him enter the lobby, he pushes a stack of lengthy garment bags into my hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I invited him.” Wyatt walks up behind me. His stewing seems to have paid off because he looks like the image of calm and collected now. Outstretching a hand, Thiago takes it, and I’m still left with all the questions.
“And you asked him to pick up your dry cleaning too?” I ask, readjusting the heavy weight over one arm. My comment goes unanswered.
“Wyatt, I take it,” Thiago nods, shaking his hand firmly. “Thanks for flying me out. Life was getting rather boring since Dax stopped keeping in touch.” My cousin winks and nudges my shoulder, following Wyatt through the lobby as if it’s his own mansion.
I trail behind them, still trying to wrap my head around what’s happening. Thiago moves through the house with the same effortless confidence he’s always had, like he belongs here, like this sprawling estate isn’t the most absurd backdrop for his sudden reappearance in my life. Wyatt walks ahead, gesturing to the different wings of the house. Downstairs is a sweeping tour, with the pair quickly climbing the staircase. I think they’re going to see Axel, but they turn right at the top and head in the other direction.
“What’s going on here? You’ve brought my cousin into this?” I hiss under my breath, nudging Wyatt’s shoulder. My words are clipped, but he doesn’t flinch. He never does.
“Don’t blame me. Avery batted her big eyes, and guess what? She got her own way.” Shrugging me off, I follow him into the musty old bedroom I wandered into the other day. Except it looks nothing like thedarkened, dusty pace stuffed with stacked boxes and one man’s forgotten past.
Apparently Wyatt hasn’t been pacing all day but rather creating some secret hideout that my cousin is about to move into.
Gone are the towering boxes that once blocked the sun, their contents now neatly stacked against one wall or relocated entirely. A wide desk sits in their place, positioned beneath the tall windows to make use of the natural light. The air smells faintly of lemon-scented cleaner, though the faint musk of the room’s previous state lingers underneath.
The mismatched furniture now forms a cohesive, albeit eccentric, setup. A worn leather chair sits at the desk, its cracked surface giving it a rugged charm. To the side, a narrow bookshelf holds a mix of technical manuals, old novels, and a few potted succulents. A futon, stripped of its dust and draped in a dark gray blanket, occupies one corner, doubling as a bed. Wyatt must have raided every corner of the house.
“Where did you get all of this?” I gesture to the dual monitors humming softly on its surface, accompanied by a sleek laptop and an array of cables snaking toward a power strip. Wyatt turns his head to hide his smirk.
“Sharon’s office.”
Thiago whistles low, stepping past me to take it all in. “You did all this for me? I’m touched,” he quips, running a hand along the desk’s polished surface.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Wyatt retorts, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You’ve got the information I need you to look into. Make yourself at home. I’ll have the butler bring some food up.” Before he leaves, he relieves me of the garment bags, telling me to circle back to Axel’s room around sunset. Thiago swivels in the desk chair, testing it out, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Not got much to say, Cuz? Couldn’t shut you up as a boy.” I look him over, settling on the afro sprouting from his head.
“You need a haircut. You look like Sideshow Bob.” His laugh is unfiltered, a raw joyous sound that I had forgotten was so infectious. His eyes drop to my bandages and splint.
