“Question,” I say, glancing sideways at Axel. “Am I actually going to get a shower this morning?”
I’m mostly teasing, but also very serious. There’s no way I’m showing up to school smelling like yesterday’s chaos and this morning’s sweaty gym socks.
Axel’s eyes flash with mischief. “Depends…”
“On what?” I ask suspiciously.
“On who gets there first!” he yells, already bolting up the stairs.
Oh, it’s on.
He might have the head start, but my room’s closer.
I sprint after him, feet pounding the hardwood, and veer sharply into my room. I dive for the bathroom door connecting to his room at the exact moment he tries to open it from his side.
We end up locked in a ridiculous tug-of-war over the doorknob. Me yanking one way, him the other.
And then, on a whim, I let go.
The door flies open.
Axel falls backward and lands flat on his ass with a stunned expression. The look on his face breaks something loose in me, and I burst out laughing. Full-body, bent-over, tear-streaming laughter. It’s the kind of laugh I haven’t had in a long time. Maybe years.
When I finally manage to catch my breath, I flash him a victorious grin and close the door behind me.
I take a fast, hot shower. Just long enough to feel clean, short enough to be generous. I might be petty, but I’m not heartless. Not today.
Back in my room, I finish my hair and makeup, throw on a cute outfit, and head downstairs. Coffee is waiting for me like a long-lost lover, and I cradle the mug in both hands, inhaling the glorious, brown-bean goodness. Heavenly.
I hate to admit it, but the morning workout did leave me feeling… better. Stronger. More awake. Endorphins are real. Who knew?
On the drive to school, however, the high starts to fade. Memories of yesterday come rushing back.
Darren’s voice, his hand, the panic.
My palms sweat. I twist my fingers in my lap, the way I always do when I’m trying to hold it together.
Axel glances over, catching the shift in my mood.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone gentler than expected.
I hesitate, then sigh. “Just dreading today.”
He’s quiet for a second.
“Don’t. I took care of it,” he says, almost offhand.
My eyes narrow. “Took care of what?”
“I took care of it,” Axel repeats.
I cross my arms. “Okay... but what does that mean?”
He sighs, loud and theatrical, like I’m the exhausting one here. “Darren won’t be bothering you again. And if he does, you’ll tell me immediately.”
“Oh? I will?” My voice drips sarcasm. “And how exactly, pray tell, did you manage that?”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Don’t worry about it.”
