“Only if every category is music related,” I shrugged. “I did okay in school, but only because of my parents going on and on about my older brothers’ achievements. Every second of freedom I had was spent on music forums and chat rooms and reading old Rock Heat magazines.”
“Well, I think we’re going to have to retire musical trivia. Unless you’ve got weak spots? Jazz? Reggae? Classical maybe?” Ryder teased me, gently tickling my side.
“I know less about jazz… possibly.” I teased back vaguely, letting them wonder if I really was a walking, talking song encyclopedia.
“I need a drink,” Dixon stood. He was gripping the large velvet pillow he’d been holding against his stomach as he leaned forward, desperately trying to spit out an answer.
“No wonder. At least the rest of us got a few right. You goose egged, Dix.” Tray raised his water bottle as if saluting a fallen warrior.
Dixon glared at him, fingers digging into the poor pillow ferociously. The next thing we all knew, he was ripping the damn thing clean in half. Goose down and feathers exploded outward, snowing across the living room. “Son of a bitch,” Dixon snarled. “I just can’t fucking keep it together.” He dropped the remnants of the pillow and covered his face with a large, trembling hand.
On instinct, I stood up and rushed to him. “It’s just a silly game, Dixon. Completely unimportant. Who cares if I know a bunch of stupid facts.”
“I care,” he grunted out, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want you to think I’m stupid.”
“Well, you are being stupid if you think I’d care one bit about you knowing this stuff.” I pulled his hand away from his face. We locked eyes. The line between Dixon’s brows had formed, cratering deeply. “I care about a guy who went out of his way to buy me flowers. Happiness flowers, remember?”
Dixon nodded, brow still furrowed. I continued, soothing him with both words and with my scent, which now bloomed outward with notes of chamomile and valerian laced into my normal perfume. Dixon visibly relaxed as the smell struck his body, weaving with his own personal Alpha cologne.
“I care about the guy who rushed out to buy medicine when my stomachwas hurting stubbornly eating those spicy noodles last week. And the guy who pushed the shopping cart for two hours yesterday because I had no idea what to buy at the grocery store. Even when someone recognized you guys, you refused to make me cut the trip short despite everyone saying we should leave.”
“We probably should have left,” he’d grumbled. “The day I bought you that succulent, the articles were relentless.”
“Her name is Fiona.” I tried to lighten the mood.
“You named the plant?” He looked at me with innocent, hopeful eyes. How could he be so achingly handsome? How could he be so beautifully broken?
“Of course I named her. She’s mine now. Just like you’re mine now,” I spoke gently, sweetly.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold shit together,” Dixon whispered in a low, defeated thrum.
I took his hand, gave the other guys a reassuring smile—no one tried to stop us leaving; I saw understanding in all their eyes—and I began to lead Dixon away from the others and towards the pack suite. Once there, we sat on the bed together. I lifted his hand, tracing my lips against his knuckles. Just a flutter, light as a butterfly wing beating. I let my deep-seated need take over. My Omega wanted to make everything okay.
“I’m so sorry this is so hard for you. I’m so sorry I’m making us wait because I’m scared. Scared to say yes. Scared to bond with you guys. Scared that I’ll get too comfortable and then lose everything again.”
“You’re not going to lose us, Tessa,” Dixon said fiercely. He pulled me against his body, slamming us together with a brutal, unyielding force that echoed his claim. “You’re stuck here. With us. Safe.” He punctuated his words oddly, as if he wanted his brain to remember these bullet points. Stuck here. With us. Safe. We held each other, and my heart ached at the way his body trembled.
When we parted, his eyes were surrounded by smudged black liner. I’d traced both of my thumbs gently beneath his eyes, trying to swipe his skin clean. He reached up, fingers encircling both of my wrists to stop my movement.
“I want to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything.”
My heart ached as Dixon bled memories. Seventeen, sent to prison becausehe gave his friend drugs and the friend died. The only saving grace was his age, tried as a juvenile. When he’d gotten out, his family had wanted nothing to do with him.
“If Ryder hadn’t stuck by me, I don’t know where I’d be. Dead maybe. I did want to fucking die after Rick overdosed.” His words were garbled as he forced them out. He seemed both deflated and relieved after spilling his story.
“It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart.” I crooned, rubbing my hand gently across his thigh. “I know you bought the drugs, but he asked you for them. He took them. He took too much despite your warning.”
“If I’d never gotten the drugs then?—”
“You can’t do that. God, not that I’m one to talk. I’ve blamed myself for going to your concert instead of the skiing trip, but I’m alive. Because of what happened, I’m alive. And you’re alive too, Dixon. We. Are. Alive. And we both have suffered enough, don’t you think?”
Crawling onto my knees against the plush comforter, I closed the gap between us. Dixon sat statue still as I leaned in and kissed his neck. Once. I moved higher. Twice. I moved a little higher. The third time my mouth grazed his chiseled jaw, and his hands suddenly gripped my waist. I blinked up at him, lips still hovering near his skin.
“I can kiss you?” He asked, voice broken. So hopeful. If I said no, I knew it would hurt his fragile heart.
“Can I kiss you?” I volleyed back, turning the tables. “I didn’t ask first.”
