Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Thirty Three

“You really don’t have to do this,” Garrett tells me for the seventh time. I wince, pulling a white shirt over my shoulder and tugging the material across my chest.

“So you’ve said,” I grumble. When I struggle to both hold the shirt closed and fasten the buttons, Gare steps in and lightly smacks my hands away.

“Then why are you?” He huffs, buttoning my shirt to the bottom. Then, he bends to help me step into my slacks and pulls them up my legs, fastening the clasp a little too roughly. I slowly lower onto the bed, feeling the energy already draining out of me.

“Can I ask you a question first?” I hang my shaven head, working on getting my breath back. “Why have you never gone to visit your parents?” Gare’s dress shoes, which were pacing before me, come to a sudden halt. When he speaks, his voice holds no familiarity. Only pain and loathing.

“They don’t deserve any effort on my part. They failed me. It’s my job to survive them, not to console them.”

“And if they were right here, continuing their lives like you were just a minor inconvenience?” I query. It’s different for Garrett; his parents are serving time for neglect. They’re actually being punished. From my standpoint, Sharon is being encouraged. I lick my cracked lips, continuing to stare at the untied laces of his shoes .

“You wouldn’t want to look them in the eye and finally tell them how you felt? I’ve dreamt for years what I might say to Sharon if I got the chance, how I might be able to put the past behind me at long last.”

“And if it only brings everything back up, undoing all of our hard work. What then?”

“Garrett, the things I was subjected to in this house, in this room, they aren’t going away. No matter the distance. I’m not getting over it.” Gare exhales sharply through his nose, kneeling before me. His fingers curl into fists on my thighs, and I watch the way his jaw tightens, the way his lips press into a thin line like he’s fighting against something that can’t be put into words. I’ve rarely seen him so conflicted, a storm of fury swirling in his bottomless eyes.

“I don’t want to turn this around on me, Axe. I know this is your trauma to bear. But I’m the one that holds you sobbing at night, who lets you fuck me when you need something else to focus on. I’ve taken you to counseling, and there was that semester we tried art therapy together.” Garrett looks away to clear his throat.

Usually, he’d make a quip about us sneaking into the art cupboard when the therapist was distracted by others to paint a piece of art all over my face with his cum. Not today, though. Today, Garrett appears solemn, and my chest aches from the sight.

“On occasion, handling your pain has been so much, I’ve needed to step away and drink myself unconscious, sometimes to fall into bed with the nearest person just to get away from it. I’m not that selfish asshole anymore, and I’ll always be here for you, but it’s not… it’s not just you who feels the effects of your nightmares.”

“I didn’t realize I was affecting you so much,” I frown, leaning away from him. I get a direct shot of pain up my side, and Gare rocks forward, gripping my thighs tighter.

“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying. Can’t you see that I’ve always loved you? I’ve always cared, so much that it kills me to see you hurting. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I just want to make sure this is what you want.” There’s an edge to his voice. A plea disguised as frustration.

I let out a breath, tilting my head back. This room smells the same. Looks the same. Feels the same as when I was a boy. Spending every day here has started to soothe something in me. It’s the one place I never would have returned to willingly, but maybe it’s where I needed to be.

To remember the times I studied at my desk, made my paper mache solar system, and played my gaming console for hours. Those times when my dad would bring home a new Lego set and we’d spend all weekend building huge, complicated spaceships. I now recognize that he was avoiding Sharon too, so it made sense for us to avoid her together.

Being here has given me the time to rewrite the suffering.

Reaching out for Garrett, my fingers push through his messy hair, smoothing it away from his dark eyes. “Please see this through with me. Let me face the monster that haunts me. Since we’re here anyway, I feel like I need to at least try.”

Garrett watches me for a long moment, then scoffs under his breath. “If Richard so much as looks at you wrong, I’m putting his head through the table.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” I smirk. The ghost of a smile tugs at his lips too, but he doesn’t respond any further. He just reaches for my tie, looping the silk around my collar with ease, his fingers lingering against my nape for half a second longer than necessary. His eyes flicker to my lips, indecision warring between his brows. I know what he’s thinking. He could probably distract me by sucking my cock, just like he did in art therapy, but he doesn’t try it.

Instead, Gare dresses me dutifully until Avery pokes her head around the door and announces the time. Ten minutes to seven, as preplanned to arrive just as the food is coming in and leave soon after. I leave the two of them to finish getting ready, waving off their concerns as I slowly make my way down the hallway.

The Souls mean well, but their help is becoming suffocating, and it's doing the opposite of what they intend. I need to build up my own strength instead of always relying on others, even if I stay close to the wall for extra support. My ribs throb, tugging with each step. I could handle my exterior aching, but the sharp burn of my chest anytime I move too much is debilitating. It’s as if my own lungs are trying to starve me of oxygen, no matter how steadily I breathe.

Evans, the butler who’s worked in this house since my father hired him decades ago, is waiting for us at the bottom of the staircase. Dax, Wyatt, and Huxley are already by his side, wearing the same suits they’re using to attend the auctions. A sad smile pulls at my lips, thankful that they are following through with yet another one of my requests without the same inquisition that Garrett gave me.

Each one has taken their own passive aggressive stance against the dress code, though. Hux has used his tie to fix his hair back in a scruffy ponytail, Wyatt’s shirt is only buttoned to above his navel, revealing the large dragon tattooed on his front, and Dax's sleeves are rolled up to the elbow, his jacket tucked through the crux of his elbow.

Wyatt meets me halfway up the stairs, carefully looping his arm around my waist. I lean into him, not realizing how hard I was gripping the banister. A few droplets of sweat have broken free across my forehead, but I make it to the bottom mostly unscathed.

“Come on, let’s get this shitshow over with.” I prompt, pushing forward to lead the way. Evans hurries to my side, unable to shake his role despite my lack of acknowledgment towards him. I haven’t spoken a word to him since my mother started using me for her personal gain, and he decided his loyalty to me or my father didn’t mean enough to do anything about it.

Dress shoes click loudly on the gleaming marble floor as we stroll to the left side of the mansion, every wall pristinely white with no homely additions in sight. No artwork, portraits, or photos. No evidence a complete family once lived here. Just a series of closed wooden doors that match the network of beams crisscrossing overhead and a cold emptiness that will always exist.

Evans rushes forward as we near a double doorway, rounded black iron doorknobs matching swirling decorations covering the timber. The dining room is usually reserved for clients and guests of high importance. He pushes the doors open one at a time, permitting us entry to a scene I’ve imagined a million times but never truly believed I’d see again.

Sharon sits at the end of the table, her posture perfect and a glass of red wine delicately cradled between her manicured fingers. Her painted lips are split into a wide smile, leering against her husband and laughing at some secret joke between the two. I welcome her distraction, allowing me to take in the scene without her immediate attention. A long mahogany table adorned with crystal glasses and silverware gleams under the chandelier’s glow. The air is thick with the scent of something rich and savory, but it does nothing to curb the nausea rolling through my stomach.

Finding support in the Soul’s steady eyes, I lower into a rigid dining chair with slow, careful movements. My ribs protest, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the weight pressing on my chest. I run a hand over my shirt, smoothing out imaginary creases. My palms are already damp.

Sharon laughs again, tilting her head in a telltale way that tells me she’s been drinking since mid-afternoon at least. Still, her brown hair is swept into an elegant twist, her face as poised as ever. For a brief, foolish second, I think she won’t address me at all. That she’ll pretend I don’t exist, the way she always has.

Then, her assessing gaze lifts and lands on me. There’s no shock. No softening. No guilt. Just a slow, knowing smile.

“Axel.” Her voice is as smooth as the silk napkins folded before each plate, concealing the hidden edge of sarcasm I know her to use. “I didn’t think I’d see the day you finally came home.” I notice Wyatt stiffening in the seat opposite me. Dax is by his side, offering his silent support with a hard, icy stare at Sharon. But she has yet to take her eyes off me.

“We both know I wouldn’t be here if there was any other choice, and this isn’t a home. It’s a hellhole,” I grit out. Sharon sighs dreamily and rolls her eyes.

“He did always have a flair for dramatics,” she leans into her husband’s side, grinning once again.

“Did someone say dramatics?” Garrett chooses that moment to enter the room, Avery on his arm. They separate to float towards the two seats either side of me as if they were attending any other casual dinner party. Garrett plants a kiss on my cheek, a playful gleam in his dark eyes. I see then that he’s wearing his entire suit backwards. Avery has buttoned his shirt up his spine and knotted his tie high into the collar at his nape. I snort a laugh, which quickly becomes a hiss, knowing that reverse stitching of his pants can’t be comfortable. But he’s doing it anyway.

Avery looks like the Queen of Minxes this evening. Her dress is basically a slip of negligée. Black lace cups her rounded breasts perfectly, the flowing skirt reaching the top of her thighs. Paired with towering heels, she’s twisted her long, golden hair up and secured it with a large claw clip. All eyes at the table feast on her hungrily, Sharon no doubt seeing dollar signs, whereas her husband is openly leering. For that reason only, I move the conversation along swiftly.

“Richard, is it?” I raise a brow. The man in question snaps his jaw shut and straightens, tugging on the cuffs at his wrists.

“Indeed. Thank you for attending this evening, Axel. I’ve heard so much about you.” I purse my lips together, but it's Garrett who leans his elbows on the table and tilts his head dreamily.

“So this is a bonding session rather than a dinner? I do hope there will still be food.” Richard ignores him, his beady eyes trained on me.

“I merely wanted to meet you, since the opportunity has presented itself. Although it’s apparent you don’t go anywhere without your entourage.” Richard gives the other guests a sweeping glance around the table. “But that’s understandable. It is best we all become acquainted properly, given that we’ll be living together for a while.”

“Not if I can help it,” Wyatt growls low. Noticing Richard’s confused glance, Wyatt straightens and clasps his hands before him. “I will ensure Axel is out of here as soon as he is able to return home.”

“You mean that little academy of yours?” Sharon’s lip curls, clutching her wine glass and swaying drunkenly. “A waste of time if you ask me.”

“Luckily, no one asked you.” Huxley’s nostrils flare.

Avery flicks out a napkin and covers her thighs with it. “And you don’t need to know the whereabouts. Axel’s home is wherever we are.” I bite back a smile at everyone’s readiness to defend me. Even Dax, who is known for sitting back and assessing, is watching me closely, searching for any sign that I might crumble before the starters are served.

The waiters enter right on cue, half of which place the plates, and the others carry trays with flutes of champagne bubbling gently. It isn’t lost on me how there are no females amongst them, whether for Sharon’s or Richard’s benefit; I can’t be sure. Garrett immediately reaches over to remove the champagne glass that’s placed in front of me, catching the retreating waiter to request an orange juice since I can’t drink on my meds.

After giving him a quiet thanks, Gare’s hand slides onto my thigh as I push the scallops around the plate, not interested in enjoying any part of this evening. Even if the scallops and roasted celeriac smell and taste divine, they are bitter like ash on my tongue, and my stomach is twisted tightly. Sharon waits for me to take a tentative bit before deciding to speak to me directly.

“Since you are here, it would be a good time to tell you that Richard has a niece who is very?—”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I interrupt around my food, staring her dead in the eye. It’s comically predictable that she would try to set me up with someone right in front of the others. All strategy and no class. Sharon pouts her red lips as if that would change my demeanor.

“Her name is Sasha. She’s studying aerospace engineering and already has an apprenticeship waiting at NASA when she completes her degree.” Although that does sound pretty cool for this Sasha , she is associated with the devil incarnate, and I’m a taken man. “Maybe you should accompany her to the annual Caudwell Gala next month?”

“Even if I was going to attend some stupid gala, where I’m sure you’ll be in attendance, my preferred date would have a little more packaging between his legs.” I reach over to slip my hand into the backward collar around Garrett’s neck and pull him close to rub noses with me. Cocking his eyebrow, he stares at me expectantly until I’ve realized my mistake, and a laugh escapes my lips. “Sorry, a lot more packaging.”

“Come now, Axel. Stop being ridiculous. I want grandkids while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.” Releasing his collar, my eyes remain glued to Garrett’s face, the strength passing through his hand on my thigh the only reason I’m still in my seat.

“Valuable goods, you mean?” Garret scoffs, rolling his eyes. Avery sucks in a breath, and the men opposite are all sitting stiffly, their food mostly untouched.

“There’s no need for that, Gary,” Richard chimes in. Garrett’s eyes shift to a spot beyond my head, his expression turning murderous, and I fight to hide my smirk. This should be interesting.

“Call me Gary again,” Garrett shoves a scallop into his mouth and then points the fork across the table, “and I will yank your small intestine out of your mouth, rip your large intestine out of your ass, and use you as a human skipping rope.”

A full-bellied laugh leaves my throat, the first one in forever, which quickly creates a stitch in my side. But I don’t care. The scallop between Garrett’s teeth bursts, juice seeping down his chin while he continues to glare with unbridled fury. Richard flicks his mortified eyes to Sharon, who tells him to pretend Garrett is not in the room. That’s fine by me; pretend he’s not here while I lean over and drag the pad of my tongue over the salty juice from his chin to his lips. Garrett swallows loudly, his tongue sticking out to tangle with mine.

“Oh, for all of our sakes, Axel, stop that!” Sharon shrieks. “I’m fully aware of what you’re doing and that it is all for my benefit. Well, it won’t work!” Cutlery clashing loudly against her bowl mixes with her exasperated sigh. I keep my eyes on Garrett’s dark ones, our breaths mingling as I reply.

“What am I trying to do?”

“The same as always. Acting out, showing off. Whatever it takes to anger me.” I turn my head to see her shoot out of her seat, and Richard places a hand on her arm, trying to calm her with quiet words. Moron. Opening my mouth, Avery throws her napkin down on her plate of untouched food.

“Why on earth would he give a shit what you think? You broke him in so many unfixable ways, used him for your personal gain, no matter the cost to his sanity. Axel is rebuilding his life. You’re just pissed your cash mule has left you far behind.”

I remain frozen, despite the pride swelling in my chest. The air goes taut, their eyes remaining locked in a stare-down until Richard somehow manages to coax Sharon back into her seat. Avery sits also, reaching out for my hand on instinct. Everyone is watching, trying to anticipate Sharon’s next move, which is impossible. She reaches for her wine glass, downs the remaining, and starts to laugh bitterly.

“You always were such a spoiled little shit, Axel.”

“Spoilt?!” I nearly choke on my own breath. “How do you figure that one in that fucked-up head of yours?” Richard gives me a warning glare, but it is obvious he has no real power here, not when Sharon is on the warpath for blood.

“You got all of your father’s money,” she hisses.

And there it is. The real crux of our fractured relationship. The reason why Sharon felt justified pimping me out when she discovered my father’s money was all tied up into my trust fund, prepaid college fees, and a yearly allowance that is handled by an external account she wasn’t aware of. I mean, what did she expect?

“Hmmm, I suppose you’re right. And guess what? I gave it all away.” Sharon’s face turns to a shade of beetroot, the same crazed look in her eyes as the night she’d found me freshly shaven and finally free. If I had thought writing those checks to abused children’s charities had helped to alleviate some of my grief, it’s nothing compared to how watching my self-proclaimed mother’s internal seizure is healing old wounds in my battered soul.

The waiters return at that moment with our main courses balanced on the palms of their right hands. Minuscule versions of duck confit are placed in front of each of us, but Sharon is too busy twitching and seething to notice. Spearing a teeny tiny carrot on my fork, I notice Garrett glaring at his food as if it will magically transform into a pizza. Across the table, Huxley fails to suppress a yawn behind his hand, and Dax follows suit. Wyatt looks like he’s on the verge of snapping, the veins pulled tight in his neck.

Guilt swamps me that my brothers and Avery have been dragged to my childhood home alongside me, but at the same time, I wouldn’t survive staying here on my own. If boredom doesn’t kill me first, my nightmares sure will.

To his credit, Richard clears his throat and tries to diffuse the tension cracking around the table, although he only makes it worse. “Look, I know there is some… history here, but while staying at this house, you will treat and talk to your mother respectfully.”

Garrett’s grip tightens on my thigh, more likely to restrain himself from flying into a rage., but I pat him gently in a silent command to stand down. I’ve got this one.

“She is no mother of mine. I feel more bonded to the surrogate who carried me, and I don’t even know her name.” Richard isn’t satisfied with my response and takes it upon himself to act like a father figure I don’t need.

“Now listen here, your mother has been through a lot in her previous marriages. She’s had to work hard to support herself and keep this house afloat after you left. Her methods may be unsavory at times,” he winces at her sharp glare, “but she is an incredibly resilient woman. And I’ll have you know?— ”

By now, I’ve tuned out completely. My hand on Garrett’s turns into a tight fist, which he returns. My pulse kicks up a notch at the sheer audacity of some stranger sitting in my dad’s house and telling me how incredible the woman who whored me out for it is. My blood, sweat, and tears quite literally went into keeping her here. My stomach rolls again, and I shove the plate away sharply.

Since the Shadowed Souls welcomed me into their group, I’ve tried to leave my desire for physical aggression behind. There was a short period of time where anyone who looked at me too long would meet the end of my fist, my actions driven by misplaced anger. I haven’t felt the need to lash out like that in a long time, until tonight.

Tonight, I’d happily bust my stitches to launch myself across this table and choke out the conceited son-of-a-bitch still lecturing me about Sharon’s resilience. Visions of each and every way I could hurt Richard are soothing my twisted soul. I could pummel him with my fists, smash a vase over his head, and strangle him with the curtain tie. The list goes on.

Sure, he would be taking the brunt of my anger on Sharon’s behalf, because I don’t hit women, even if they are psychotic bitches. It would serve a fleeting purpose. To prove I’m not the vulnerable kid I used to be, but I can’t even bring myself to do that. Instead, I remember the wasted tears and the nights spent screaming. The panic attacks and the voices in my head that tell me I’ll never be enough.

Sharon has tried to break me down, and for the past few years, I believe she has succeeded. But instead of lashing out, I exhale through my parted lips and release Garrett’s clenched fist. I roll my shoulders, feeling lighter than I have in years. I decide right here and now to cut the ties, severing her manipulation once and for all. She can’t affect me anymore.

Our untouched plates are cleared, and I use the table to push myself upright. I’ve done what I needed to do, quickly getting the clarity I wanted. Sharon won’t be phased by harsh words or insults. Nothing I say or do will penetrate her sense of entitlement. The only way to get under Sharon’s skin is by taking away what she really cares about. Her money and popularity.

That’s why she hates me. I ruined her precious reputation when I refused to be her pretty, angelic boy and transformed myself into a menacing skinhead that bites back. I was no longer marketable , and I intend to stay that way.

“You can’t leave yet. Dinner has only just begun,” Sharon instantly chastises me. I’m sure there’s plenty more she’d like to say, plenty more slander she’s ready to fire at me like bullets to my psyche, but my meds are beginning to wear off, and my abdomen is starting to ache. I’ve found closure in the place I knew it always was, with those sitting around the table who represent my true family.

The tightness of her lips and twitch in her left eye all betray just how annoyed she is, and I bathe in that small victory for one more moment. Her outer shell is tougher than ice, but once it cracks, it shatters.

“It’s my house. I can do what I like.” My reply sends a further flare of anger through her brown eyes, her mouth opening and closing a few times like a fish out of water. Another fun clause of my father’s will; the mansion becomes mine when I turn twenty-one later this year, and I won’t waste a second putting it up for sale. There are too many memories in these walls that need to be forgotten. “Besides, I’ve got an entire feast right here.”

I stroke the length of Garrett’s throat with my finger, tipping his chin up to be captivated by his smile. Finishing his drink, he rises and links his fingers through mine. Turning towards the door, a sea of blue catches my attention. Offering my free hand out to Avery, she blinks a few times before accepting, a knowing smile lifting her lips as I gently tug her to her feet.

“You too, Swan. You’re my dessert.”