Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Thirteen

Pacing around the tiny waiting room I’ve been forced into while the doctor performs his morning check-up, I can’t stop replaying that night in my head. Like a scratched record that plays the same song, glitches, and jumps back over and over. Axel’s body limp in my arms, the warmth leaving his body, the words I should have said lodged in my throat. His life was literally slipping away, and no amount of praying or crying could bring him back to me. I can’t even consider if the air ambulance hadn’t shown up when it did; I refuse to travel down that path knowing a part of me won’t come back.

My fingers clasp into fists, my body shaking with the need to be back at his bedside. It’s been two fucking days, and not a single doctor can tell me why he hasn’t woken up yet. Dax and Huxley have been staying at a motel on the edge of the city, returning during visiting hours like one of the nurses suggested I also did. Like I told her, either I’m allowed to stay with Axel at all times or she’d better get a second bed ready in his room, ‘cause I will jab a scalpel into my throat if that’s what it takes.

Funnily enough, not only was I permitted to remain, but we now have security standing guard by the door, and I got a complimentary evaluation from a psychologist. Nothing like a mental sweep of my childhood trauma to get the juices flowing, and I know where to direct all of that unearthed murderous intention. Fucking Fredrick.

That same nurse who called security on me walks past the glass door, rounding the safety of her desk before nodding for me to return. I fly into the hallway, making her flinch as I jog back to Axel’s room, my footsteps echoing down the corridor. Nodding to today’s guard with a cocky smile, I slip into the room, and my heart finally settles at the sight of his sleeping form. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only reassurance I have that he’s still here, still mine.

“Sorry that took so long,” I murmur, like he can hear me. Like he’s just sleeping and not locked away in whatever place his mind has gone. Talking to him is the only thing that keeps me from losing it. Crossing the room, I fluff his pillows out of habit, fingers trembling. The private room, with its simple comforts and muted light, is the best thing Huxley’s money has ever bought.

I kick off my shoes and jeans, slipping under the covers beside him. The sterile smell of the hospital is a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin. I burrow closer, resting my head on his shoulder and tangling our fingers together.

“I was thinking,” I sigh, melting back into his body. “Dangerous, I know, but I had to do something. Anyways, I was thinking that after you’re all healed and I’ve painted my bedroom walls with Fredrick’s blood, we should go away. All of us. Somewhere far away.”

I let the words spill out, trying to sound casual, like I’m not terrified he’ll never hear any of this. Like I’m not deciding to pour my soul of all the shit I shouldn’t have held back.

“Italy, maybe. Florence first, to see Michelangelo’s David. Then Venice, because you’d look ridiculously gorgeous in a gondola. We could hit the Sistine Chapel, rave it up in Vatican City, and finish off with a villa in Rome. Just us, the Souls, and an obscene amount of pizza.”

The dream feels fragile as it leaves my lips. That’s a new development—dreaming. I haven’t bothered holding onto hope in the longest time, because what’s the point? I only trust what I can see and feel in front of me. But while being met with only silence, the mind wonders. No, worse than that. It fractures.

Leaning into Axel, I let the words keep coming. “You don’t know this, because I’ve never told anyone, but I kinda really like history and architecture. When I was a kid, I used to lose myself in books from my dad’s study, imagining I was away on their travels with them. Like they hadn’t left me behind. I taught myself that as long as there was that connection and the fridge wasn’t empty, I was fine.”

The confession comes without warning, raw and unfiltered, surprising even me. This is the reason I hate therapists, and psychologists are even worse. I’ve been mentally battered open like an egg, encased in cracks. Well, might as well keep going. My gooey center might pour out.

“Until they abandoned me for that month-long cruise. I was nine, left with a wad of cash and a list of takeout numbers. I didn’t call a single one. Gave up, I guess. I wanted to see how long it’d take someone to notice I was gone.” My throat tightens, the memory sharp and bitter. “Eleven. Days. It took eleven fucking days, Axe. I barely remember being scraped off the floor by a police officer, the blue lights flashing beyond my eyes, waking in a hospital bed with a tube down my throat. Force-feeding me. Can you imagine?”

I chuckle, a rough and hollow sound. As if I haven’t been catching the food trolley three times again when it’s being wheeled past, ensuring I’m eating Axel’s fair share. It’s included in the room cost, and I’m not one for wasting Huxley’s money. Alas, I digress.

“That was the last time I gave a shit about being loved, until you. I never ever thought I could deserve you, but I swear if you come back. If we can get Avery back, I can show you both. I can make you both so happy.”

Axel doesn’t stir, but his presence continues to ground me. I reach for the remote hooked to the bed, pulling the TV closer. I flick through channels until a Planet Earth documentary takes my fancy, leaving it on silent. When words fail me, when I’ve run out of things to say, I take to reading the subtitles. Hopefully the cadence of my voice, something steady and familiar, is soothing to Axel. A bit of familiarity to latch onto and pull himself back to me.

Or he’s cursing me inside his head to shut the fuck up, but until such a time that he is screaming it in my face, I will keep going. This is all I have to offer him right now, and it’s all that's stopping me from falling apart.

“Hey, I’ve told you before. You can’t be in the bed with him,” a deep southern drawl cuts through my blissful Italian reverie. I wake with a startled snort, my cheek pressed to Axel’s shoulder.

A broad woman with pale skin and a mischievous smirk looms over me, her blue-and-white dress valiantly struggling to contain her ample curves. She jabs me in the side with a playful poke. “C’mon now, sugar,” she teases.

I swat at her hand like she’s a fly. “Back off, Mamma. Don’t you know I’m a taken man?”

Sitting upright, I stretch my arms over my head, earning a satisfying crack from my spine before swinging my legs off the bed. The nurse, who has insisted I call her Mamma ever since Axel was rushed into surgery, grins and scoops up my discarded jeans, tossing them at me.

“Boy, you better put those chicken legs away before Dr. Breeson comes back. One more strike, and he’ll boot your behind out of this ward faster than you can say ‘fried okra.’”

I catch the jeans and glare at her, indignant. “First of all, we’re paying Dr. Breeson’s annual salary to keep Axel in this room. And second of all, I do not have chicken legs.”

Mamma arches a brow as I glance down at my thighs, noticing the lack of definition I’ve been studiously ignoring. Huffing, I hop off the bed and yank on my jeans. She cackles as she smooths the sheets around Axel, artfully disguising the evidence of my illicit cuddle session.

On the other side of the bed, I take Axel’s hand in mine, careful not to jostle the cannula. My shirt clings to my chest, damp with stale sweat, and I’m pretty sure I smell like I’ve spent a week marinating in regret. My mouth tastes like something crawled inside and died. A fitting reflection of how I feel inside.

“Mamma,” I say, dragging a hand through my disheveled hair, “can you stay with him for five minutes while I grab a shower?”

She pauses, adjusting the IV with practiced efficiency, before her eyes crinkle into a warm smile. “Course I will, darlin’. Go on now. ”

Leaning down, I brush a kiss against Axel’s forehead and run my hand over his cropped hair. He’s going to lose his mind when he wakes up and sees it growing out like this.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Mamma muses softly, her voice carrying a surprising tenderness as she folds the blanket over his chest.

I glance back at him, my throat tightening. “No,” I murmur. “He’s really not.”

In the bathroom, I strip off my rumpled clothes and twist the shower dial all the way to scalding, knowing damn well it’ll barely reach lukewarm. Stepping into the spray, I grab the cheap hospital shower gel and lather up my chest, the faintly medicinal scent doing nothing to improve my mood.

The distance between us, even just these few feet, feels unbearable. My heart aches like a wound that refuses to heal, bleeding fresh every time I look at his face. Distracted, I forget about the bruises lining my ribs until my hand brushes them, and I hiss in pain.

Cursing under my breath, I rinse off and twist the shower off with a sharp jerk. I reach for what has to be the world’s smallest hand towel and attempt to dry myself, the thin fabric doing little more than smearing water around. Pulling on clean clothes from the bag I’m living out of, I brush my teeth and take a moment to lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles shadow my eyes, bruises lining my cheeks and throat, my jaw tight with unspoken fears. Let’s not talk about my hair.

With a steadying breath, I push off the counter and step back into the room, where Axel waits in peaceful silence. Mamma quickly ducks out when I reappear, leaving me to another day of sitting here, holding his hand, and staring at him. I understand he needs time to heal, but if he could just open his hazel eyes or give me any hint that he’s going to be okay, that would be fantastic.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and I ignore it. My eyes are set solely on the man I nearly lost—the one I’ll never let come to harm ever again. I might not be much, but he can have whatever he deems worth saving. Just open your damn eyes, Axe.

“Garrett?” a soft feminine voice sounds from just inside the door. My hand on Axel’s instinctively clenches, anticipating the trick that my mind is about to play on me. “Garrett,” the voice calls again, more insistent this time, and there’s a shuffle of footsteps approaching the bed. She’s a ghost, dredged up by exhaustion and longing. I don’t dare look up; don’t dare let the hope sink its claws into me. My throat tightens as I grit my teeth, focusing all my energy on Axel’s steady but maddeningly silent form.

“Garrett, look at me.” Well, here goes nothing. I whip my head up so fast I feel the crack in my neck. And there she is, standing a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. Avery .

Her hair is slightly messy, like she’s been running her hands through it for hours, and her eyes are red-rimmed but alive with determination. She’s dressed in that vibrant orange hoodie she loves, the one that should look ridiculous swamping her black leggings, but instead she is the definition of adorable. And she’s here.

“Peach?” My voice cracks on her name, disbelief warring with the tidal wave of relief that crashes over me.

“I got here as soon as I could,” she says, her lips trembling as she steps closer. Her eyes scan over the state of me before they flick to Axel, and her breath catches, her expression crumbling. “Oh, Gare…”

Before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as it’s shoved backward. I cross the space between us in two strides and pull her into my arms.

She lets out a quiet gasp but doesn’t hesitate, throwing her arms around my neck and holding on like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in, grounding myself in the reality that she’s here, warm and alive and real.

“You came back,” I manage to choke out, my voice thick with emotion. I feel her shaking against me, her lithe frame pressed against the length of my body, and her face in the curve of my neck.

“I had to be with him,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Why does it have to be him?” I don’t think she meant to say it so bluntly, given how her body tenses. I tighten my arms around her, trying to anchor myself, trying to keep from falling apart completely.

“Trust me, Peach. I’d switch positions in an instant.” For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of her soft cries muffled against my chest and the steady beeping of Axel’s heart monitor. When she pulls back slightly, her hands cup my face, her thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t even realized were falling .

“You look like shit,” she says, her lips curving into a faint, watery smile. A strangled laugh escapes me, and I shake my head.

“I feel like it.”

Her smile falters, and she glances past me to Axel. The air shifts, the weight of the room pressing down on us again.

“How bad is it?” she asks softly as she steps closer to the bed.

I can’t speak, can’t find the words to explain how close we came to losing him, how his lungs were filling with blood by the time we got him here, and how helpless I’ve felt these past two days. So I don’t. I just reach out and take her hand, guiding her to sit in the chair I’d been occupying moments ago. She sits gingerly, her eyes glued to Axel’s face, and reaches out to brush her fingers over the short hair on his head.

“He’d hate that,” she echoes what I was thinking. I resolve then to do something about Axel’s hair before he wakes. “Hey, Axe,” she whispers, “it's me. I’m here. We’re together now.” Watching her cup Axel’s cheek, cradling him with such vulnerability, shatters something inside me. The boys can come and go, containing their emotions to visiting hours, but Avery understands. I’m not alone in this anymore. She’ll stay with me, talk to him with me, and feel this crushing, unbearable pain with me.

Dropping to my knees, as if my legs have been holding on just long enough for someone to take over, I kneel beside her, lowering my head onto her thighs, and for the first time in two days, I let myself cry.