He huffs, a ghost of his usual mirth flickering across his face. “Everything about television is filtered, Cammie.”
The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-three
Hale
“Just do it,” I whisper to myself as I stand outside Aksel’s door. My hands clench and unclench at my sides,nerves buzzing under my skin as I debate knocking.
“Are you gonna do it?”
“Hades!” I yelp. “What are you doing here, Eric?”
“I’m here for moral support, babes.”
“Go away.”
“But I’m helping.” “How are you helping?”
“What do youmean, how? I wanted you to know I’m here in case you need assistance.”
“Assistance?” Iscoff.“Idon’tneedassistance,Eric. I’m just talking to him. I don’t need help hiding a body.”
“But youcouldcall me if that becomes necessary.”
“Oh my gods, goaway.”
I start shoving him toward the elevators while he digs in his heels, the two of us bickering loudly enough to wake half the floor. Apparently, it’s loud enough to wake Aksel, too, because the door opens mid-struggle to reveal me riding Eric’s back like an unhinged spider monkey while attempting a sleeper hold.
We freeze.
Aksel’s lips twitch. He’s clearly fighting a laugh. “Can I help y’all?” he asks.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, breathless. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Talk?”Hisbrowsdisappearintohisblondbangs.
“Of course. You might want to let go of Eric before he passes out, though.”
Only then do I notice Eric weakly tapping my arm in surrender. I drop the hold I have on him, climb down, and pat his back a little too hard as he wheezes dramatically, hands braced on his knees.
“Can I come in?” I ask. “Sure.”
I brush past him into the room, leaving Eric coughing theatricallyinthehallwayandmutteringsomethingabout our friendship not being payment enough for this abuse. The door clicks shut behind me.
Aksel’s pheromones hit me immediately, warm, familiar, and comforting in a way that makes my chest ache. I’m not mad anymore. Not really. But I’m still hurt. And I still need answers.
I wander toward the window, staring out at the pool below, fingers grazing the gauzy curtains while I stall for time. His view isn’t as good as mine. I prefer the lights. The fountains. Movement. Distraction.
“I’m sorry,” Aksel says softly.
“What was that?” I ask, not turning around. Yes, I’m being petty. I’ve earned it.
He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Fylgja. I should’ve told you your mom was coming. I should’ve told you my parents were helping her. I should’ve told you everything.” His voice breaks. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
I turn to face him. “Whydidn’t you?”
He shrugs, uncomfortable but honest. “I didn’t want to ruin your chance to see her. I didn’t know how to tell you without upsetting you—which, looking back, makes me an idiot. Things between us were already… complicated. I was scared it would push you away.”
