Chapter Forty Eight
We pull up the curved driveway and come to an easy stop, all six of us eager to escape the limo that picked us up from the airport hanger. During my short stay at the hospital, Axel was checked over and cleared to fly, to which Wyatt instantly started making plans. Removing the latest cold pack from my cheek, I nudge Garrett to wake him up, his head the weight of a bowling ball on my thighs. Despite the length of the vehicle, Gare stretching out and a muscled Huxley invading my space has easily made it feel small.
The Souls have not left my side for a single second in the past few days, including timing their showers with my need to use the toilet. There is no sanctuary from them now, and I can’t say I mind. It helps to have them close, like yesterday, for example. I’d been so careful to avoid thinking of Nixon until the grief hit me like a ton of bricks out of nowhere. With it, the pain of losing Cathy resurfaced, and I was unconsolable until I cried myself to sleep. There is no doubt that it will happen again, even if Wyatt refuses to acknowledge what we’ve both lost. He won't even say Nixon's name.
Harrison managed to get away. He was injured, his blood splattered across the road, but somehow he managed to slip into the night and avoid all of the police searching for him. His accomplice was shot dead on sight. I’ve been receiving regular updates from the chief investigator, but instinctively, I know Harrison is done with me. He got the bloodshed he wanted.
Wyatt pops the car door, exiting first, with Dax and Axel just after. Hux shifts, holding his hand out for me, and when Garrett tries to follow, Hux shoves his face back into the limo and slams the door shut. The whole dick-punching situation has yet to be forgiven, especially since Hux had to be examined by a handsy doctor when he was worried one of his testicles had rescinded into his body. They haven't.
Garrett pushes the door open again, not phased in the slightest, and whistles at the manor in the glory of the midday sun. The central doorway is rounded, carved into a gray brick building adorned with flowerpots on each windowsill. On either side of the central building, dark wood runs the length of the extensions, with a garage located at the far end. The limo pulls away, rounding a fountain undisturbed by the gentle wind as it trickles water from a three-tiered spout.
We merely stand there, taking in the warm glow spilling from the house and the faint scent of something delicious wafting through the open windows. The front door flies open, and a short, rounded brunette woman rushes out, moving with more energy than her small frame should allow.
“Wyatt!” she cries, whipping her arms around his middle. Her dress is patterned with tiny flowers and sways around her calves, her small black flats barely making a sound against the stone porch. An apron is tied neatly around her waist as if she left something simmering on the stove when she heard the car pull up. “You’ve finally come home.”
Wyatt’s smile is unguarded, the sight temporarily stealing my breath. He folds her into his arms, resting his cheek atop her head. “I promised I would.”
“And Riot is getting rather good at keeping his promises lately,” Garrett quips, casually stomping all over the moment without a hint of self-awareness. The woman releases Wyatt, and he turns her by the shoulders to face us.
“Rachel, this is my family. Dax, Garrett, Avery, Hux, and Axel. Guys, this is Rachel. She’s my mom.” The sheer pride that beams from Wyatt has my heart squeezing. I barely hear the following greetings because I’m too caught up in the sweet grin he’s sporting and the way Rachel gazes up with unabashed love, the kind that asks for nothing in return. It’s like catching a glimpse of the man Wyatt could have been if someone had always loved him as unapologetically as Rachel. It's evident in how her eyes gleam when she peers into his face.
Remembering herself, Rachel claps her hands together, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Well, don’t just stand there! Come in, come in! You must all be exhausted.” She shoos us into the house and directs us towards the kitchen, throwing questions along the way.
“Are you all hungry? I’ve been cooking since Wyatt called and said you were coming. You’ll find new clothes in the wardrobes upstairs. I hope you don’t mind that I allocated your rooms, but Wyatt tells me you all rarely sleep where you’re meant to, so feel free to just use the rooms as a base. This is Wyatt’s house, after all.”
“It’s your house,” Wyatt corrects, but his attempt at sternness is undercut when Rachel simply waves him off and continues moving. Entering the kitchen, two freshly baked pies are steaming on the side, and another set is in the oven. Garrett is a goner, helping himself while the rest of us remain polite. Rachel guides me to a dining chair and sits beside me, taking my hands in hers. They’re warm, slightly calloused, and so familiar in their motherly touch that my throat tightens unexpectedly.
“Oh, Avery. It’s so lovely to have you here, especially.” Her eyes search mine with quiet affection. She doesn't stare at or comment on the bruising spreading across my cheek and seeping into my left eye socket. The throbbing is constant, but luckily, the X-rays didn’t show extensive damage. I should heal within the next few weeks with just ice packs and painkillers. I just need to avoid all mirrors until then.
“Wyatt has told me so much about you.” Rachel smiles kindly.
“He has?” I ask, blinking. A blush starts creeping up my neck, but my embarrassment is nothing compared to Wyatt’s. His entire face flushes red, and suddenly, I don’t even care what she says next. Just seeing him like this is worth it.
“We really don’t need to talk about that,” Wyatt mutters, shifting his weight like he’s contemplating making a run for it. Garrett, of course, is instantly riveted. He joins us, stuffing a forkful of hot apple pie into his mouth and puffing his cheeks around it after the fact.
“Tell us everything .”
Rachel’s eyes brighten, and she is delighted to oblige. “Well, for a start, he wasn’t lying about how beautiful you are,” she says, touching my hair and rubbing it through her fingers.
“Rachel,” Wyatt groans in warning, scrubbing a hand down his face like he might physically wipe this conversation from existence.
“He adores you, you know,” she continues, undeterred. “He told me that when you dance, the entire world stops. I’d love to see it sometime.” My eyebrows shoot up, my mouth parting slightly. Wyatt actively avoids my gaze.
I try to process the fact that Wyatt said those words and when and in what context, but all I can manage is a quiet, “Anytime.” Then, my smile falters. “I haven’t danced in forever.” Rationally, I know it’s only been a few months. But at this moment, it feels like a lifetime. Clearing my throat, I force the tilted slant of my mouth to return. Rachel gently squeezes my hand, her joy wrapping around me like a comfort blanket.
“Well, that’s a shame,” she says, light but meaningful. “I hope you’ll find your way back to it soon. Something tells me it’s a magical sight to behold.”
My throat tightens again, but before I can find the right words to respond, Garrett groans dramatically, rolling his eyes back into his head. “Fuck, this is a good pie. I don’t want to make it weird, but I’d do things to this pie.” He lifts his fork pointedly at his plate, only for Huxley to swipe it straight out from under him. Axel comes up behind and smacks the back of Garrett’s head, warning him to watch his manners in front of Wyatt’s mom.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” Rachel chuckles, watching Garrett protest loudly and lunge for his stolen pie. “It’s nice to have people to bake for again.”
Wyatt lightly grips her shoulders, still recovering from his attempted public humiliation. He finally meets my gaze again; his green eyes are stormy, but his lips twitch into a smirk. Dax suddenly appears, a glass of water and my next set of antibiotics in his hands. I thank him, leaning into his side after I’ve swallowed them down.
Rachel watches all this with something knowing in her gaze, but instead of commenting, she rises from the table, smoothing her apron. “Eat as much as you like, and when you’re ready, go get some rest. There are clean towels in the upstairs bathrooms, and I put extra blankets in the rooms, just in case. ”
“Thank you, Rachel,” I say earnestly, meaning it more than I can possibly express. She just smiles, patting my hand before she leaves.
“Oh, honey. You don’t have to thank me. You’re safe here.” I frown at Wyatt, wondering just how much he really has told her. On cue, a yawn escapes me, and my eyes feel heavy. Dax gives me a slight nudge, offering to find me somewhere to rest. Huxley accompanies us, and just before we leave the room, Garrett shouts around a mouthful of food.
“No naughty business without me,” he muffles. I give him a narrowed glare over my shoulder.
“We can’t make such promises. You’ll have to choose between sex or the pie.”
I wish I could capture the stunned yet pained look that claims Garrett’s features as he looks from me to the pie and then back again. I walk away laughing, climbing the staircase flanked on either side.
I’m not sure whose bedroom we enter, but it’s the closest one with a king-size bed. Dax helps me peel off my sweatshirt and tank top, carefully lifting the fabric over my head without catching my cheek. Shimmying out of my leggings, the men strip off, and a twinge of longing filters through me at the sign of them both comfortably and gloriously naked.
Turning to face me, Hux catches the glint in my eyes and shakes his head, leading me to the bed, still in my underwear. We curl up beneath the covers, me lying on my right side to spoon Dax while Hux spoons me. The three of us are asleep within minutes.