Chapter Twenty Three
I walk into the kitchen, intent on locating some breakfast for Garrett and Axel, only to find the former sitting at the island with a huge stack of pancakes. Avery moves around the counters opposite, flour on her cheek and a splash of batter coating her apron. Hux is sitting beside him, a singular pancake on his plate that he’s struggling through.
“Well, this is cozy,” I raise a brow. All faces swing to me. “Any chance of some leftovers for our injured soldier upstairs?” Avery beams a smile that cuts straight through my morning haze, brightening my mood like a shot of espresso. I'm careful not to let it show on my face, though. If she knew the full effect she has on me, she’d be dangerous.
“I’m just starting Axel’s and Dax’s now. You want some?” she offers, pointing a spatula at me. I nod and move into the kitchen, feeling more at home than I have in months. It’s the quiet, simple moments like this that I would have missed if I’d kept being a coward, if I’d kept running. I’m making an effort to appreciate the small joys while we still can.
I pat Hux on the shoulder as I pass, doing what little I can to reassure him his efforts aren’t going unnoticed. I swear, after all this shit is over, I’m going to find him the best nutritionist and personal trainer, getting both his physical and mental states back to what they once were. Shuffling behind Garrett, I pause until Avery has turned back to her frying pan and lean into his side.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Garrett’s head tilts, putting our mouths closer than I’m comfortable with, but I don’t retract, letting him test the boundary I’m sure he would never cross. I hope.
“You shouldn’t whisper in my ear like that, Riot. People might start to talk.” It wasn’t a real answer, but the glint of humor has returned to his dark eyes. That’s more than was there yesterday.
I sit, instantly being handed a cup of coffee. Avery’s blue eyes are glistening too, a look I can’t quite understand etched into her beautiful face. She’s flawless, without the need for make-up or her hair perfectly styled. Even now, the blonde strands are thrown into a messy braid, hanging over her shoulder. The striped, satin pajamas she's wearing are far too big to be hers.
“Have I missed something? Are there drugs in the pancakes?” I raise a brow, casting a glance down the island. I’m not comforted by the low chuckles that sound in response.
“Sharon left first thing for a business trip her husband arranged. She’ll be gone until Friday.” Huxley fills me in. I feel the instant relief that the others have clearly been basking in. That’s one less problem to deal with for a couple of days.
Avery slides me a plate and returns to her frying pan, working on the next batch. Gare draws Hux into a conversation about weight training and how the pair will get back in the gym soon.
From the outside, I can see what’s really happening, as Garrett takes Hux’s fork and stabs it into a section of his singular pancake and then forces it into Huxley’s hand. Hux is in the middle of discussing which protein powder brand would be best for bulking up, not noticing when he pops the pancake into his mouth and chews.
It continues like that, and when Avery asks Hux to reach another bag of flour out of the cupboard for her, Gare slides a pancake from his own plate onto Hux’s now empty one.
Garrett giving up food is unheard of. I’m quickly drawn into the ease of it all. Like we’re just a group of friends hanging out, not a bunch of people caught in the middle of a nightmare.
Movement in the door halts the conversation, Doctor Marcus appearing to join us. He’s also been quick to make himself comfortable, moving across the space to refill the coffee machine with an air of confidence. Today, he’s wearing a mustard yellow sweater, the collar of a shirt poking out at the neckline. Comfortable navy slacks cover his tall, thick legs. The life of a private physician seems to allow for a lot of personal time, apparently.
“Since you’re all here, I’d be happy to provide an update on Axel, if you’d like.” Marcus turns with a steaming mug in one hand and a protein bar he’s located in the other. I lean on my forearms, nodding to continue. “He’s doing well, all things considered. I’m given him a round of antibiotics, although his pneumothorax has healed nicely?—”
“Speak English, Doc,” Garrett muffles around a mouthful of food. Marcus takes a sip of coffee first.
“His punctured lung is expanding the way it should, but Axel needs to take it slow. Ignoring the natural healing time of his broken ribs fixing back together, too much physical exertion can labor his breathing, risking another collapse. What we also don’t want is to rush him, causing a part of his lung wall to stick together when healing. It could leave him with lifetime breathing issues. At best, he develops asthma; at worst, he’s on an oxygen tank from the age of twenty-one.”
“It’s really that serious,” Avery gasps, her eyes racing across the island counter as her mind whirls. The fleeting happiness from before fades away, and the fear for Axel takes over. She switches off the gas, the next plate of pancakes forgotten. Huxley calls out to her, beckoning her to come curl up in his lap. In my peripheral, Hux strokes her hair and kisses her temple, while Garrett continues to stuff his face. The sound of him chewing is enough to put me off my food.
“No rushing, got it,” I huff. Rising from the stool, I scrape my pancakes onto Axel and Dax’s stack. Removing a carton from the fridge, I pour them a glass of orange juice each and balance them in the crook of my arms whilst lifting the plate in my hand. A soft snort sounds behind me as I leave, Garrett’s voice in my head, making a quip about being a domestic goddess.
I roll my eyes as I retrace my steps through the halls. It might not be real, and it won’t last long, but a semblance of the gang we used to be is seeping through. How it was in the beginning, with Garrett’s stupid jokes and everyone attending to a fragile Axel. Hux wasn’t quite the headstrong jock back then, and Dax spent his days reading, escaping reality any chance he could get. When things were so much simpler.
Knocking on Axel’s door, I open it and slip inside. Axel is fast asleep on a mound of cushions and seemingly alone. I look around, lowering the plate and glass onto his bedside table. Poking my head back into the hallway, I tilt my head this way and that until I pick up on it. Softly, a muffled voice can be heard if I strain my ears.
I follow the sound to a bedroom we don’t use, crammed with dusty boxes and mismatched furniture. A mausoleum of memories with faded family photos and crumpled papers spilling from open cartons. Any light streaming through the tall windows is blocked out. Through a crack in the door, the stale air leaks out, heavy with neglect and dust, which causes my nose to twitch.
“Yes, yes I understand,” Dax mutters. I catch a glimpse of his phone’s light as he paces past the door, the device pressed firmly to his ear. He sighs, his voice weighted in a way I’ve never heard. “I’m sorry too. Thanks for calling.” Hanging up his call, Dax swings the door open, his hand going direct to the back of his neck. He stops just short of barreling into my chest, a flash of guilt and then confusion passing through his tanned features.
“Were you snooping on me?”
“No,” I narrow my eyes, deciding to half bend the truth. “I was coming to tell you that Avery made breakfast. Who was on the phone?”
Dax stiffens, his shoulders rising defensively as he uses his bandaged hand to cover the phone outline in his pocket. “Nobody important,” he mutters, but his averted gaze and the faint tremor in his voice betray him. For Dax to be anything other than naively optimistic in every situation is enough to set my teeth on edge.
“Bullshit. Who was on the damn phone?” Dax shifts uncomfortably, his usually open and carefree demeanor replaced by a wall of quiet frustration.
“Leave it alone, Wyatt. You can’t fix everything.” He avoids my gaze like it burns. My nostrils flare.
“I can try.”
“Not this time.” His jaw works, and his good hand flexes at his side. Then he deflates, knowing I’m not going to back down and that I’ll get the answer out of him eventually. Leaning back against the doorframe with a defeated sigh, Dax tilts his head upward, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers he’s looking for. “Just don’t freak out, okay?” he starts, which does nothing to settle the unease creeping through my chest. “It was the Dean. I’ve lost my scholarship. ”
I clench my jaw, murder flashing in my green eyes.
“I’ll call the Dean back right now. Get him to change his mind.”
“It’s not just him. The entire board voted. My unauthorized absences and lack of focus aren't in keeping with the Waversea ethics. It’s a done deal, and you can’t just throw money around to get your own way this time.” Dax’s lips purse, his words striking the cord he was aiming for. I puff out my chest and square chin.
“If it wasn’t for my money, you’d have all been gone years ago.”
Dax’s mouth drops open. “I can’t believe you just said that,” he murmurs, but I don’t take it back. There’s very little in this world I can’t use either my trust fund or Nixon’s credit card to fix. But Dax sees that as cheating, and his moral compass won’t permit it.
I’ve offered to pay for his entire degree multiple times, but he wouldn’t let me. He wanted to earn it, hating to feel indebted to people. Even when we first met and he was wearing handouts from the donation bank, he would only let me buy him some new clothes if he could work off the balance. He mowed the lawn. Trimmed the hedges. Repainted the front porch. Pretty much renovated the entire frat house. I didn’t even ask for half of it.
An image of Dax flares to life in my mind, sweating in the summer sun, covered in paint streaks and grime.Wyatt’s smirk is fleeting, his nostrils flaring. He’s worked so damn hard. He deserves his place at that school.
A few tense seconds pass between us, my stubbornness grating on his newfound resolve. Previously, Dax would have backed down and told me to do whatever I saw fit. Now, he’s staring at me like a stranger who hasn’t had his back for years.
Like I haven’t taken them all on summer vacations to the Caribbean or flown Garrett to Paris just so he could eat an authentic baguette. Like I didn’t pay for Axel to have the best trauma counseling for two years after coming to us or bought Dax’s mom a stone memorial when I found out they weren’t able to afford to give her a real funeral. That’s who I am, and that’s the only way I know how to love. Paying my way through life, keeping everyone housed, fed, and happy. It’s all I have at my disposal.
Dax shakes his head, shoving against my shoulder to leave. I whip around, locking my hand around his arm .
“We’re not done here.”
“Why does it even matter to you so much?!” Dax twists his arm free and pushes my shoulder to force me to step back. I only move through the shock of Dax raising a hand to me at seeing him hold so much animosity toward me. “You’ve been holding me to this certain standard for years, like everything depends on me graduating, and I’m not going to lie, Wyatt, sometimes that pressure is crushing. Sometimes I just want to… be.”
I grit my teeth, the words hitting harder than I expected. Dax has never told me this before, always going along with the rules I set, agreeing that it’s what’s best for him. Now he tells me I’ve been causing him stress. I swallow, pocketing my hands and rooting my gaze on the marble flooring beside his feet.
“Were you even going to tell me if I hadn't been in the right place at the right time?”
Dax shifts his weight, his voice tight. “What difference would it make? Our priorities lie elsewhere right now.”
And that’s the truth. We’ve all dropped everything to look after Avery. In truth, and through no fault of her own, once she entered the frat house, nothing except her seemed to matter anymore. We’ve let our studies slide, left our home without a second thought, and become versions of ourselves that we don’t recognize, and I can’t say I regret it. So as much as it pains me to watch Dax let all of his hard work go, as difficult as it is for me to just let it all slide, I do understand. He will figure it out, like he always does. I just hate that he has to.
“I’d best go eat. Avery will probably kill us both if we let those pancakes get cold.” Dax hesitates, glancing back down the empty hallway.
“You go ahead. I just… need a minute.” I nod, agreeing to give him the space to process. In a fashion, perhaps he needs the space to mourn his lost work and wasted time, to console himself that his future is no longer set out in an organized timeline, despite what he might have gained. Patting him on the shoulder, I pause at his side.
“Don’t take too long. If Garrett finds a plate of pancakes by Axel’s bedside, chances are there’ll be none left.” Dax huffs a laugh.
As I head back toward the kitchen, my mind churns, already calculating what needs to be done to keep him from falling through the cracks. Dax asked me why it even matters that he graduates, and the truth is, I respect Dax far too much to let him fall. He’s smart and dedicated. He refuses to take handouts, earning his way through life, and when heartache arises, he doesn’t run from it. He stays, embracing the pain and dealing with his issues before they consume him.
In short, Dax is the man I wish I could be.