Chapter Forty Nine
Sometime later, I rise to the smell of something rich, possibly spicy, and definitely filled with garlic. My stomach rumbles before I’m even fully awake. For a second, I don’t remember where I am. Only that I’m warm, wrapped in the steady rise and fall of Dax’s breathing in front of me, Huxley’s arm still draped securely around my waist.
But then, awareness trickles back. Rachel’s house. The safety of these walls. The way exhaustion had pulled me under so swiftly that I hadn’t even fought it.
Shifting carefully, I wiggle out from between them, my muscles stiff but no longer screaming with the sharp pain of overuse. Dax makes a rumbling noise but doesn’t wake, rolling onto his back and spreading out like a starfish, while Huxley only tugs the blankets tighter around him. I smile, shaking my head as I grab a hoodie and sweatpants from the wardrobe and slip them on before padding quietly downstairs.
The house is quiet in the way a home is after a long day. The lights are dimmed, and there's the faint hum of a radio playing in a distant room. When I step into the kitchen, I spot the plates left on the side, covered with foil to keep them warm.
Garrett is perched on the counter, swinging his feet, and finishing off what is probably his second helping. “About time you woke up, Peach. Thought we’d have to drag you down.” I roll my eyes but head straight for the plates, lifting the foil to reveal what looks like slow- cooked beef stew with thick slices of crusty bread on the side. My stomach clenches with hunger.
“This looks delicious, Rachel,” I compliment the woman standing at the sink, drying her hands. She waves me off.
“Wyatt cooked, actually.” I freeze, glancing at him where he leans against the fridge, arms crossed, watching me carefully.
“You cooked this?” A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Rachel is a good teacher. When I stayed here before, she taught me a few of her special recipes.”
Garrett snorts. “If we’d known you were so easy to domesticate, we’d have started making use of you years ago.” Rachel swats him on the arm with the dish towel, making Garrett yelp and leap off the counter.
“Enough out of you.” I can’t help my grin. Rachel has understood quickly how to deal with Gare, and I can tell already that she will be like a mother to everyone. Just before she sets her towel down, preparing to leave the room, her brown eyes flick over my outfit, and she grins at Wyatt knowingly. “You’re right. Orange really is her color.”
I look down at the clothes I dragged on in the dark, only now noticing the vibrant orange shade of the hoodie. Just like Wyatt’s one that I’ve been stealing since I arrived at Waversea. Gaping at him, Wyatt shrugs, feigning innocence.
“I don’t keep secrets from Rachel. It’s a new thing I’m trying.” Nodding, I take my plate and pause to take him in, appraising him with my eyes.
“I like that.”
I slide into the same dining chair as earlier, happy to find I have Axel for company. He’s working on something on his phone, brows pinched in concentration. I don’t bother him, but I nudge my foot forward to touch his. He briefly flashes those beautiful hazel eyes my way and smirks, meeting me halfway beneath the table.
Carefully lifting the spoon to my mouth, Wyatt steps forward to cast me in his shadow. “Once you’ve eaten, we have a surprise for you.” I glance between him and the others and lower the spoon, suddenly suspicious, but it’s not me who speaks first.
“A surprise?” Huxley asks, appearing in the doorway with a blurry-eyed Dax. The pair of them exchange a look with Garrett, who mimes zipping his lips and then eating the key. Axel avoids my gaze completely, clearly in on whatever this is.
“Eat,” Wyatt repeats, and the way he says it makes my stomach twist with anticipation. So, we do.
The stew is as delicious as it smells—rich and hearty, warming me from the inside out. The bread is perfect for sopping up the thick sauce, and despite how sluggish I’d felt moments ago, I finish nearly all of it, albeit rather ungracefully. The ache in my face forces me to chew excruciatingly slowly, since most of my meals up to now have been liquified. I manage it though, feeling sated and full at last.
For a beat, I glance around the table, taking in the faces of the people who have become my family. The exhaustion, the hunger, the bruises, the scrapes, and the shadows under their eyes are all still present. But for a rare moment, it no longer matters.
I let my mind drift back to the hospital. To the room that Meg is currently occupying in the psych ward. Upon arrival, she only spoke five words, and they were enough to convince the doctors that I was detrimental to her recovery.
K eep Avery away from me.
Those words continue to cut through me like a knife, slicing deeper every time they echo in my head. Five words, each more painful than the last, each twisting inside me like a blade I can’t pull out. No matter how much I want to. No matter how much I need to.
Meg is lying in a hospital bed, curled away from the world. She believes, with every ounce of what’s left of her shattered soul, that I’m the reason she’s there. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the images from surfacing. The dull, broken look in her eyes in the back of the car, the way she flinched from my touch as though I seared her.
I swallow hard, blinking back the sting behind my eyes. I should have been able to save her. I should have been able to do more . Instead, I made questionable choices, and ultimately, I was too late. Now when she looks at me, she sees nothing but the worst moments of her life.
My chair scrapes back against the floor, jarring me back to the present, and I realize that Wyatt is watching me. His sharp green eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening. Always so perceptive, always so aware of me.
He knows. Of course he knows .
Wyatt has spent years picking me apart, learning every flicker of my emotions and every small shift in my posture. He doesn’t have to ask what’s wrong. He already understands. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
“You’re in your head, Angel.” He leans down to speak into my ear. The others can hear, but it’s nice to pretend that it’s not so obvious when I check out and allow my mind to drift. “Come back to us.” They all know I can’t shake this feeling that it will creep up often. Axel reaches over, his fingers brushing over my knuckles. A silent reassurance. A quiet promise. The rest of the table picks up the conversation they were having, giving me the space to break in peace.
But breaking won’t fix this. Breaking won’t change the fact that Meg doesn’t want me near her. Breaking won’t bring her back to me, but hopefully, time will. I have to trust that she’s in the right place now, and Thiago has vowed to keep me updated. For whatever reason, Meg has listed him on her visitation list. Apparently all they do is sit, watch movies, and eat vending machine snacks in silence.
Prying the spoon from my hand, Wyatt deems me finished. He removes my plate and then guides me further into the manor. I’ve left to explore, and I wish I could say I was taking any of it in. Another time, maybe. Garrett comes up behind me, his hands on my waist urging me onward, and when he speaks into my ear, it’s a giddy sound that lifts everything that was sinking inside of me.
“You’re going to love this, Peach.” Excitement flashes in his dark eyes. That only makes me more suspicious, but I let them lead me through the house and down a hallway. Wyatt stops in front of a closed door, glancing at me instead of reaching for the handle. His throat bobs with a swallow before he finally clears it, his hands restless at his sides.
“Before we go in, there’s something I need to say.” His voice is quieter than usual, strained with something I can’t quite place. He drags a hand through his hair before meeting my gaze head-on. “I’m not going back to Waversea. I’m staying here.”
I search his face, reading between the lines, but all I see is determination, unwavering, and final. So, I lift a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Okay. Then we’ll stay here.” Wyatt shakes his head, his brown hair shifting with the harsh movement.
“No. I want you to go back with the Souls.” I blink several times, my heart tightening. Is he seriously going to push me away now? After the hurdles we’ve jumped together, the obstacles we’ve maneuvered. I thought we were over this shit.
Licking my lips, I try to keep myself calm. “Wyatt, I?—”
“Without Fredrick and me looming over you, you’ll thrive there,” he quickly says, rushing to speak over the thoughts tearing through my mind. What did I do wrong? Does he not feel the same way I do? Wyatt shifts closer, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t trust himself to. “Avery, I want you to dance and graduate. I want you to party and be happy, and just live .”
“I thought we weren’t going to separate anymore,” I murmur, struggling not to feel the sharp sting of rejection. “Not after everything.” Wyatt’s jaw tightens, and I know he’s fighting with himself, fighting the part of him that wants to be selfish. But he’s already made up his mind.
“If you still want to come back after, I’ll be right here. I’m not going anywhere. But I won’t have you resenting me, all of us in fact, later down the line.” I’m shaking my head, lips parted with an argument, but Wyatt holds up his hand. “You’ve spent so long cooped up inside, hoping that the world will forget about you. But you’re meant to be seen, Angel. I see you, and you’re fucking incredible. Now it’s time to spread your wings, and if you feel like coming back afterward, you know where to come.”
“I will come back,” I vow without needing to even think about it. I know what I want out of life, and Wyatt is part of that. Squaring my shoulders, the stubborn part of me decides I’ll show him. I’ll make a cute freaking vision board, and he’ll be pinned right in the middle of it. At least I’ll have the rest of my men with me, keeping me on the right path.
“I’m staying too,” Axel announces, his voice quieter than Wyatt’s but just as resolute. My head whips toward him. The silence is so tense, it could be snapped clean in half. This time, it’s Garrett who starts to argue, seemingly caught off guard too.
“Axel,” he frowns, so serious that I could cry for him. For us, because I feel exactly the same. Axe strokes Garrett’s arm gently, but he struggles to meet his lover’s gaze.
“I’ve been through a lot, and I need time. I need to heal without a thousand eyes on me. Space to breathe and to go through therapy without feeling like I have to hold myself together for everyone else.” His gaze flickers away for a moment, his throat working as he swallows hard. “It won’t be pretty, but I want to heal. Please let me do this without…”
“Without me,” Garrett groans, realizing who and what exactly Axel needs space from. He loves Garrett; there’s no question about that. But some things can’t be solved with a sarcastic joke or a quick fuck. Distracting him from the issues isn't helping to confront them. Axel exhales sharply, forcing a weak smirk.
“Plus, I’ve been looking at switching my major to psychology. There’s an option to study remotely, and honestly, that’ll be better for me.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t all do that,” I mumble quietly. In fact, I do understand. I can see the opportunity that Wyatt is giving me. I just don’t know if when the time comes, that I'll actually be able to walk out of the door and leave them behind. But this isn’t just about me. Wyatt and Axel have demons they want to face and ideas of the men they want to become. I can’t hinder that, but I’m also going to be a whiny little bitch about it until I leave.
Garrett clearly isn’t happy, but for now, the subject is set aside. Hux and Dax are listening to the conversation from behind, keeping their opinions to themselves. Wyatt takes hold of the door handle, exhaling all of the tension from his shoulders.
“But before you go back, there’s a certain right we need to wrong. Something that you can remember us by.” Wyatt offers a small smile and his hand.
I tentatively take it and brace myself as the door swings open. Inside, the office has been shifted around to accommodate a tattoo artist who is already setting up, placing ink bottles in neat rows along the desk. A chair sits before her, empty and patiently waiting. I blink, my heart skipping a beat. Turning to Wyatt, I find him watching me closely, something unreadable in his gaze.
“You’re a Shadowed Soul, Angel. You need your ink.” A breath catches in my throat. Of all the things I expected, this wasn’t it. Tears prick at my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I just stare at him, at the man who has broken and bled for me, who would tear himself apart if it meant I could be whole.
Wyatt leads me into the well-lit room, his hand a firm weight against the small of my back. The scent of antiseptic and ink lingers in the air, punctuated by the snap of gloves being pulled onto the artist’s hands. A lamp casts a focused glow on the transformed workstation, illuminating the prepared equipment, the gleam of the machine, and the sketch laid out across the wood.
My breath catches.
Wisps of curling smoke rise from the base of a skull, its hollows deep and endless. A whisper of everything I’ve endured, every version of myself I’ve buried and let die. Resting atop the skull is a queen’s crown, tilted slightly as though it belongs to someone who has earned it. My throat tightens as I reach out, brushing my fingertips over the paper, imagining how it will look inked into my skin.
“You like it?” the artist asks, her face tilting up. She is covered in ink herself, the red hair on her neck pulled back by a bandana, and metal studs forming dimples in her cheeks. I swallow hard.
“It’s perfect.” She’s pleased, beaming as she asks me to choose where I want it and sit accordingly. I remove the hoodie, baring my inner forearm. I want it somewhere I can see it every day and wear it like a piece of armor. I never want to forget the trials I’ve been through and the woman I’ve become. One who is loved by five amazing men, who are all currently looking at me as if I’m their entire world too.
“Fitting, isn’t it?” Axel murmurs to no one in particular, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“She’s been our queen since day one.” Huxley agrees. With Dax and Gare close, I settle into the chair, shifting slightly as the artist preps my arm, cleaning the skin before pressing the stencil into place. The coolness of the transfer makes me shiver, but when she peels it away and I glance down at the purple outline, something fierce blooms in my chest.
This is theirs as much as it is mine. This is for every drop of blood, every night spent sleepless, every time we’ve fought, fallen, and risen again. This is their brand, a declaration that I am one of them and that I have always belonged.
The machine hums to life. Wyatt crouches in front of me, his hands bracing my knees, his thumbs tracing absentminded circles over my skin. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, searching my face for any lingering hesitation. I meet his gaze and smile.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” My response makes Wyatt grin wider, and my heart trips over itself. His grin is something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to, but every time I see it, I get butterflies all over again. Nodding, Wyatt shifts to the side, out of the artist’s way. “If at any point it starts to hurt too much, you can use Garrett’s balls as a stress reliever.”
I snort a laugh as the first press of the needle stings—a sharp, buzzing pain that quickly dulls into something rhythmic and grounding. I breathe through it, letting my eyes flutter shut, letting the sound and sensation of it settle into me, etching their trademark into my skin. The Souls don’t speak much, but I feel their steady presence at my side. Dax leans across the table to hold my hand, and Huxley soothingly holds my shoulder. Garrett is leaning lazily against the wall but watching with rapt attention. Wyatt stays in front of me the whole time, his hands never leaving my knees.
Minutes bleed into an hour. The pain never fades, but it transforms, shifting from discomfort into something else entirely. A mark of endurance. A testament to survival. When the artist finally leans back, wiping my arm clean with a damp cloth, I inhale sharply, blinking against the sting of antiseptic. She angles a mirror toward me, and I take in the sight of it. The deep blacks, the shading that makes the skull look hauntingly real, the delicate but powerful linework of the crown. It looks meant to be there, as though it has always belonged on my skin. I exhale slowly, the pride in my chest swelling so large it nearly chokes me.
“Holy shit,” Garrett and Dax mutter in unison.
“It’s perfect for you,” Axel nods.
“You wear it well, Swan.” Hux’s gaze darkens with approval.
Wyatt doesn’t say anything, but his fingers tighten slightly on my knees, his jaw working as though he’s swallowing down words he would rather give me in private. I trace a careful finger around the fresh ink, already imagining the way it’ll heal, the way it’ll sit beneath my skin for the rest of my life. I belong to them. And now, I carry it for the world to see.
A short while later, I’m in the living area, stretched across Dax and Wyatt on the sofa. I can’t take my eyes off my new ink, wanting to admire every millimeter of it. Wyatt is running his thumb just beside the raw ink as if testing its longevity. Hux and Axel are discussing various universities that offer home learning, sitting on armchairs across a coffee table, which Rachel insists on keeping littered with soda and snacks.
We’re in our own, peaceful ravine, content to simply be in each other’s company when the tattoo artist reemerges, carrying a case with all of her equipment. Garrett is trailing just behind.
The Souls barely react at first, happily relaxing when Garrett clears his throat dramatically. Standing in a place we call all see, he hesitates for only a moment before reaching for the hem of his T-shirt and dragging the material over his head, exposing the ridges of muscle I’ve come to know, but the others haven’t.
No one knows how to react at first, so shocked by Garrett’s reveal that we don’t know what to say. Then he points a finger to a fresh piece of ink sitting just over his heart. A singular peach in vibrant color. My mouth drops open.
“Garrett,” I breathe, drawing myself to sit up and peer closer. The fruit has been purposely made to resemble the shape of a heart. His first tattoo that has a meaning. My pulse skips a beat as warmth blooms in my chest.
“I know, I know,” he interrupts, grinning. “It’s incredibly romantic, and you’re absolutely obsessed with me now. I get it.” I let out a short, breathless laugh, shaking my head.
“I was going to say, you finally don’t have a shit tattoo!” A roar of laughter sounds, and Garrett being Garrett, he doesn’t give a shit about being openly mocked. Climbing to my feet, I approach him for a better look. I press my palm lightly over the ink on his chest, just as he reaches for my arm, fingers ghosting over the crown-topped skull. My brand for his brand. Lowering my voice, I bat my lashes sweetly. “I love it, thank you.”
Garrett steps closer, his teasing smirk softening into something real. “You’re my Peach. You always have been.” Dragging me into his arms, he pulls me in for a deep kiss, uncaring of who’s watching. A few cheers and whistles follow, laughter filling the room. I’ve never felt so light, so filled with love, and simply at peace with myself.
As I look around at them—my Souls, my family, the ones who have carried me when I could no longer do it myself—I realize just how deep their claim runs. No matter where we go next, no matter who returns to Waversea and who doesn’t, none of us are ever walking away from this . I love them all with everything that I am.
Turning back to Garrett, I step back, making a show of looking over his torso in finer detail. “Wait, where’s your tattoo for Axel?” Garrett grins, and I know instantly, I shouldn’t have asked as he starts to whip his pants down.
“Oh, Peach. You haven’t seen my cock yet.”