“I made peace with my demons a long time ago. I know who I am and what I have to give you. It’s not money or muscle, but I’m pretty sure it’s something you crave. Love and care, my complete understanding and attention.”
“That’s all I want,” Avery breathes. Our mouths crash together, a merging of passion and promise. Since the day I met Avery, I’ve never faltered in my feelings or needed clarity. She’s the epitome of everything my mom raised me to look for in a partner, and who she helped to prepare me for.
Avery’s tongue skates over mine as a sharp knock sounds at the open door. We both look aside, although I’m half expecting Thiago to be there, creating a diversion before he ducks out. Instead, the elderly butler is standing in his usual black and white uniform, his eyes strictly on the bookshelves ahead.
“Your presence is required in the dining hall this evening. Dinner will be served at seven sharp. Formal dress is compulsory.”
Avery exhales harshly against my lips, her fingers still tangled in my hair as she pulls back just enough to glance at the butler. I sense she’s about to say something unsavory, but she doesn’t get the chance. The butler turns on his heel, his expression unreadable as he leaves.
Avery shifts in my lap, trailing her hands down my arms before she sighs. “Guess we will have to revisit this later.” I nod, rubbing circles over her hip before reluctantly letting her slide off me. Our bodies are a far cry from the languid state we were just in, our spines and shoulders stiff. I smooth a hand around Avery’s waist, keeping her close as we storm into the hallway, colliding with a pair of very sweaty figures.
Wyatt and Garrett are scowling, their jaws set and their shirts damp with sweat. Wyatt is stretching his shoulder, his green eyes sharpening when they land on Avery before flicking to me. Garrett, as always, is the first to speak.
“The only thing that would lighten my mood right now is finding out the butler walked in on the two of you fucking over the fairy fiction.”He slings an arm over Avery’s shoulders. She rolls her eyes but doesn’t shake him off.
“Sharon doesn’t have a section specifically for fairy porn,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
Wyatt’s gaze flickers between us before he exhales, rubbing his knuckles over his jaw. “We’re being bossed around for dinners now?”
“We’re not doing anything until we’ve spoken to Axel,” Avery grits out. Those recent smiles are nowhere to be seen, tension holding her painfully rigid.
Wyatt nods, and the four of us move through the sprawling hallways of the mansion, a heavy silence pressing in. When we reach Axel’s door, I knock once before pushing it open. Inside, Axel is perched on the edge of his bed, stretching his arm in slow, measured movements under Huxley’s watchful eye. The Doc isn’t present anymore, but the room smells faintly of antiseptic and a trace of his cologne. Axel glances up, a furrow forming between his brows.
“What’s wrong?”
“The butler called for a formal dinner tonight,” Avery explains. “Has anything been said to you?” Axel and Huxley shake their heads, but Wyatt strides forward, his sharp eyes catching something on the bedside table. Sitting neatly beside the lamp is a thick envelope embossed with a dark wax seal. After giving Hux a curious look and receiving a shrug in response, Wyatt reaches for it cautiously. He slides a card out, quickly scanning the words on its surface. A sigh deflates his chest, his eyes lifting to the ceiling.
“This isn’t from Sharon,” he growls. I cross the room in time with Garrett and Avery, leaning forward to read the name scrawled across the bottom in an elegant, practiced hand. Richard Barrett. Gare snorts, swiping the card from Wyatt’s hand.
“What a cockwaffle. As if we’re going to attend a dinner hosted by the she-devil’s husband. Did he really think?—”
“I’m going,” Axel says all of a sudden. The atmosphere in the room turns glacial, as if any breath harsh enough could shatter it. We’re all staring at Axel, our eyes bugging out of our heads, but he’s not looking. His focus is on his feet, his fingers flexing and unflexing against his thighs like he’s trying to bring himself back to the room.
"Axe," Wyatt starts, voice low with warning.
"I’m going," Axel repeats, firmer this time. He finally looks up, his haunted, hazel eyes stern and resolute. “If Richard wants to see us, there’s a reason. I want to hear what it is.” Avery shakes her head, folding her arms.
“You don’t owe him anything.”
“I know,” Axel nods. “But I want to see this through anyway. I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Garrett scoffs sarcastically, tossing the card onto the bed like it’s tainted. “Because I really don’t.”
I open my mouth to tell Axel this is a terrible idea. But I see the way his hands won’t stay still, how his jaw clenches like he’s bracing himself for the inevitable blowback. He’s thought about this. He knows how we’ll react. And he still stands firm.
For a moment, only silence follows. The weight of Axel’s decision settles over us like a thick, suffocating fog. Everything we’ve been on high alert for, everything we’ve wanted to protect him from, could be undone in this one evening. But Axel has so many demons within these walls, and I promised to do whatever I can to alleviate his struggle of being here. I have to trust he has his reasons without needing an explanation. Exhaling sharply, I rake a hand through my overgrown hair as I nod.
“If you want to go, Axe, then we go,” I say simply. Avery’s lips press into a thin line, Wyatt clenches his jaw, and Hux stares out the window, but no one argues. And maybe that’s the most significant sign of all. Even though none of us understand Axe’s choice, we still won’t let him face it alone.
Chapter Thirty Three
“You really don’t have to do this,” Garrett tells me for the seventh time. I wince, pulling a white shirt over my shoulder and tugging the material across my chest.
“So you’ve said,” I grumble. When I struggle to both hold the shirt closed and fasten the buttons, Gare steps in and lightly smacks my hands away.
“Then why are you?” He huffs, buttoning my shirt to the bottom. Then, he bends to help me step into my slacks and pulls them up my legs, fastening the clasp a little too roughly. I slowly lower onto the bed, feeling the energy already draining out of me.
“Can I ask you a question first?” I hang my shaven head, working on getting my breath back. “Why have you never gone to visit your parents?” Gare’s dress shoes, which were pacing before me, come to a sudden halt. When he speaks, his voice holds no familiarity. Only pain and loathing.
