Breakdown (Hystoria #4)

15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Katie

“And you’re one hundred percent sure you’ll be fine on your own?” I ask Luke on the phone, nervously pacing the apartment, my fingers picking at the dry skin of my lips. He’s off to check out his university and apartment, after all, it’s not that much longer until he’s moving there. He went with the same friend who is going to join him on his Europe trip.

Like the diligent student he is, Luke has created a list of things he needs to do and check out at his new campus before the semester starts, like seeing where his lectures are going to happen, so he won’t get lost on his first day. I haven't seen the whole list and it's driving me mad. But I don't want to be the mother hen, or in this case sister hen, who won't let him make his own experiences and mistakes. So, even though it's challenging, I'm trying to hold myself back from micromanaging him.

"Yes, I'll be fine. Jamie has flown before, he'll show me the ropes at the airport,” Luke reminds me, chuckling at the worry in my voice.

It's not the first time we've had this discussion, and it probably won't be the last. I admire Luke for placating me, I would have probably lost my shit already.

"Okay. If anything happens, call me." I stop and start gnawing at the nail of my thumb.

"Of course, I will. Go to go now, bye!" he replies, and he hangs up before I can even say goodbye.

I sigh deeply and reach for the coffee, sitting down at the table with my freshly brewed pot, refilling my mug, and staring at the wall. I hear the needle of the analog kitchen clock move with each passing second, but I'm so far away, so deep in my thoughts, it takes me a while to realize that fingers drumming on the table have joined it.

"How are you holding up?" Pax tilts his head and looks at me, worried.

Ever since he found me amidst my emotional breakdown in the living room, he's become more attentive. I don't know why, and to be honest, I don't care about the reason, but I appreciate it. No more dirty dishes, no more trapping me in conversations about himself, no clanking about, and yesterday he even vacuumed the apartment while I was at work. It's sweet, and confusing.

I shouldn't want him. He's famous, tall, gorgeous, way out of my league. But I do. Goddamnit, I want him.

It's ridiculous how often I replay the morning when he stepped into the kitchen only wearing his towel in my head. How often I wanted to reach into my night table to get one of my silicone friends out and have some fun with those memories, until I remembered how thin the walls are, and that he'd absolutely hear the vibrations of my little pink friends and me. Because I'm not a quiet kind of girl when I’m having fun.

That morning, combined with how he held me through my tears, flicked a switch in my brain. When I see him, I don't see the broken guy who came here and begged me to let him stay with his broken voice. I'm not even starting to see the guy I fell in love with back then. I don’t see the asshole that makes me doubt his sincerity, making me believe that he’s manipulating his way back into my life. No, I see someone new. Someone just as easy to fall in love with. Someone who makes falling in love with him way too easy.

"I'm holding up somehow," I reply and take a sip of my hot coffee, cursing when I realize how hot it still is. "I can't believe you got him a trip to Europe!" I blow a strand of hair out of my face. For some reason it's stubborn today and won't stay in the bun I've contorted it into.

"Are you jealous?"

I narrow my eyes at him and raise my eyebrow before I concede. "Hell yes, I’m jealous." I sigh and rub my temples. "I'm happy that he gets that experience, though. College is going to kick his butt, it’s good he’s having some fun before it starts."

"Of course, you are," he chuckles and leans forward, lifting his hand to my face and gently sweeping the unruly strand behind my ear with his fingertips. I look at him like a deer in headlights, my heart racing. He’s gotten way too close, way too quickly for me to hide any kind of reaction.

God, it 's so quiet in here that he probably hears my heart beating against my rib cage. "I'm sure your time will come."

"Huh?" I need a moment to remember what he was saying. "Yeah. Maybe someday. I mean, hope dies last and such." I clear my throat and fight the urge to hide my red face behind my hands. "Speaking of presents, though. Your birthday is coming up, right? Do you have any plans?"

"Nope," he leans back, his amused eyes dancing over my face. "No plans." Suddenly he turns somber, amusement suddenly gone from his face. "None at all."

"No party? You’re not going to a club or meeting friends?" I tilt my head and furrow my brows. He hasn’t exactly met up with a lot of people since he moved in, at least not that I know of, but that surely doesn’t mean that he hasn’t any friends. Or does it?

"No," he answers quietly, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I drove all of them away. So, I will be spending my birthday with the greatest company possible, namely me, myself, and I."

“I don’t think you drove everyone away,” I point out and take a sip of my now drinkable coffee. “Remember how I told you about Cole asked me about you at Luke’s party? I still have no idea how he found out you’re staying here, but he sounded pretty worried.”

“Damned Cole,” he curses and rubs his eyes, dropping his head back and staring at the ceiling. My fingers itch with the need to reach out and squeeze his hand in reassurance, but I keep my grip firmly on my mug. “That meddling son of a bitch.”

“Don’t call Rachel a bitch,” I defend Cole’s mother and shoot him a glare. She’s a lovely woman who has nothing to do with Cole spying on him. “And don’t curse at Cole; he cares about you.” I scold him and he drops his head slowly, looking at me like a deer in headlights.

“You’re right,” he grumbles and rubs his eyes. “Sorry. It’s a sore topic.”

He plasters a smile on his face, but I can see how it bothers him. No wonder. Going from the life of the party to the one the bouncers won’t let in can’t be easy. I discreetly check the calendar hanging on the wall, before I break the heavy silence that’s fallen.

“I’m free that day,” I mumble, and his head shoots up. "Well, I usually hang out at Flour Power, but you know… I could… only if you want to… spend your birthday with you?"

"Yeah?" he asks, his face lighting up.

“Only if you want to,” I add quickly and finally, a spark of happiness returns to his expression, tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'd love to spend my birthday with you." My face breaks into a smile and I quickly hide it behind my coffee mug.

"Then it's a deal."

"Hey, Phoebe," I greet my friend on the phone as she answers my call. "I need your help.”

“Shoot,” she demands, amusement in her voice.

“Say, theoretically, if I were to make a chocolate cake and it turned out wonky, is there a way to save it?" I cock my head and look at the misshapen creation on my kitchen table .

It was hard to find a time when Pax wouldn't be home so I could bake it for him. So, I had to hide our remaining cartons from the cupboard in my room and sent Pax out to the grocery store to get some milk ‘so I could drink coffee.’ And while at it, I added some other stuff that will hopefully have him drive all over town to get it all. I felt bad about having him run errands on his birthday, but he seemed very eager to help.

"That depends on the reason it is wonky," Phoebe says pensively. "And the kind of cake you're baking. Are we just talking about the dough after you’ve taken it out of the oven? Then you can just cut the top off.”

“That would have been too easy. I mean with frosting. Wait.” I take the phone away from my ear and take a picture, sending it to her in our chat.

“Huh, I see what you mean. I’m sorry, Katie, but I don’t think that’s fixable. Your icing is melting right off. Was it maybe still too hot when you assembled?" I curse and throw the spatula I’m still holding in my hand into the sink. That must be what I did wrong. "I'll take that as a yes," Phoebe chuckles. "In that case, you would have to scrape off all the icing and start over."

"Fuck," I curse and look at the chaos on the table. "I only had enough for one go."

"Do you want me to come over and help?"

"No, it's fine," I tell her, way too quickly. I took enough of a risk calling her at all, considering today is Pax’s birthday and if she had any inkling, she’d make the connection it’s for him. No way I’ll let her come over and risk her running into him .

"It's just for... a coworker,” I lie. “It would have been a lovely gesture, but it’s okay. Maybe I can make something else out of it."

"You could try to make it into cake pops. Do you have some cream cheese left?" I check the fridge and sigh relieved when my eyes land on the tiny carton.

"Yes, I do. Only a bit, though."

"That's fine, you don't need much. And some chocolate you can melt?"

"Please, Phoebe. You know me. Of course, I have chocolate." I roll my eyes when I hear her giggle.

"Good,” she says once she’s stopped laughing. “Then go ahead and destroy the cake and knead it together with the cream cheese and some butter until you can form balls out of it."

I try. I really try. But I can't stop the giggle that escapes me when she says 'balls'.

"Grow up, Katie!" she exclaims but starts laughing herself.

"Never!" I chuckle and throw the whole leftover cream cheese into a bowl, then scoop a bit of butter in there. "And then?"

"So, you destroy the cake and knead all of it together. Then, you heat chocolate until it’s completely molten and put your spheres in there," she teases, but I can hear the suppressed giggle and urge to say ‘balls’ in her voice. "God, I hate you. Anyways, then you fish them out of the chocolate. Ideally, you'd have them on skewers and leave them to dry, so they remain round. But if you don't mind a pool of chocolate on the bottom of them you can just throw them in the chocolate, coat them from all sides, and set them on parchment paper to harden."

"Ha ha, hard-"

"I'm hanging up. See you." And off she is. But I'm still giggling at that joke.

I look at the wonky cake. Then at the bowl. Then back at the cake. I don’t want to destroy the whole thing. I want to give Pax a cake, not some balls I’m going to spend the whole day giggling over.

Maybe I can salvage a part of it and manipulate it to be relatively upright.

I fish a round glass out of the cupboard and use it to cut out a small, round portion of the cake. Then I scrape the icing off the remaining poor excuse for a cake and put it into another bowl. Some crumbs make their way in there, but it's the thought that counts, right? With conviction, I get the spatula from the sink and rinse it off quickly, then I try my luck again. The icing is a slippery mess, but somehow, I make it work. It seems that sometimes, luck is with the dumb people after all.

I step back and admire my work with a proud smile splitting my face in half. It turned out cute. Super tiny, barely larger than my fist, but cute. A few of the birthday candles will fit on there and that's what counts.

Then I do as Phoebe said and throw the rest of the cake into the bowl and mash it all up with my hands. She didn't specify but my friend, the internet, says once I've formed the balls, they need to cool for at least an hour before I throw them into the chocolate.

So, while they do just that, I put the birthday candles on the cake, and then start pacing the apartment. Those cake balls definitely won't be finished until he's back.

I start doing the dishes, almost falling asleep during the monotonous task, but the roar of his bike out front wakes me up quickly. Startled, I almost knock down all of the dishes, but I catch the one supporting all the others at the last second and nudge it back into its safe position.

"Fuck," I mumble and hastily clean up the table, but Pax is quick. No wonder with those damned long legs of his.

Before I can wipe off all the flour I knocked over when I made the dough, he's standing in the doorframe, looking at the scene with amusement.

"What happened to you?" He starts laughing and steps into the kitchen, putting down the two bags he's carrying in his hand.

"Shush." I grin at him and point at the sorry excuse of a cake. I mean, it looks adorable, but it’s still tiny. "Happy Birthday, Pax!" His wide eyes jump between the small cake and me. "I'd give you a hug, but I'm covered in flour, eggs, and other questionable states of dough." I grimace when he doesn’t answer. Did I do something wrong? Shit, does he not like cake? I can’t look him in the eyes anymore. Nervousness bubbles up in my stomach and I continue to ramble. "I'm sorry, it turned out kind of small. It was supposed to be regular-sized, but then it was too warm and-"

"I don't give a fuck," he presses out, his voice thick with emotion. I tilt my head and lift my gaze, but before I can ask him what he means he steps closer. And closer. And then our bodies collide, and his arms are around me and he pulls me to his chest in a tight hug, his hand on the back of my head pressing my face into his shirt.

It's cathartic. Safe. I really like it in his arms.

I take a deep breath of him, making a mental note of his scent. It’s earthy and soapy and the best thing I’ve inhaled. My arms close around him, my fingers entangling with the fabric of his shirt, and I hold on tightly, returning the hug just as tightly as he gives it. I feel his breath in my hair, his heartbeat right under my cheek, and his chest vibrating with each breath.

"Thank you," he mumbles against my hair, giving me a tight squeeze and I nod against his chest.

"You're welcome, Pax," I mumble into his shirt, not opening my eyes. We stay like this for what feels like an eternity, the clock announcing the seconds ticking by, but I don’t give a fuck. Time ceases to exist, all that matters are his heartbeat and my heartbeat and the tight hug we’re sharing.

He lets me go after a while, yet way too soon, quickly wiping his face before I get to take a look at him. Then he redirects his attention to the cake. Muffin. Whatever it can be called.

"Wait!" I rush to the living room to get a lighter and light the birthday candles to make his birthday cake complete. "I'll spare you the singing but go on! Blow them and make a wish!"

He looks at the candles, then at me, and then back at the candles before he leans down and blows them out with ease, keeping his eyes closed for a few moments as he makes his wish. I take the opportunity to study his face. His eyes are a bit red. Did he always have eyelashes this long? How unfair, why do I need to douse mine in mascara so they’re visible at all, and he just has them?

Finally, he opens his eyes again and gingerly picks the candles off the cake, before he takes it in his hand and takes a bite out of it as if it's a burger. The thing looks hilariously small in his giant hands. Like it’s made for a doll instead of an adult human. I giggle at how ridiculous it looks.

"This is so good," Pax says with a full mouth .

"Really?" I ask excitedly and he nods. Of course, I've tried all the components because, as my Mum used to teach me, quality control is important when you’re cooking and baking, but I haven't tried them all together yet.

"Here, try." He holds the remaining half of the cake out for me. I’m surprised there’s even something left. I’m sure if he’d wanted to, he could have fit the whole thing into his mouth at once. I step closer and open my mouth. Just as I'm about to take a bite, he pushes the cake into my face, smearing icing all over my cheeks as I chew.

"Hey!" I protest, but it only makes him chuckle. I shoot him a glare, which I’m sure looks ridiculous, and shake my head at him, scooping up a bit of icing on my cheek with my finger, and flick it at him.

He’s right, though. The cake is good. If I have more time the next time around I might manage to make a non-wonky one.

The next time? I freeze. At some point, I started taking it for granted that there would be a next time. What if next year we hate each other? What if he returns to being an asshole once Hystoria gets back together? Or what if we just… disappear from each other’s lives again? I shake the ‘what ifs’ off. I can worry about them any other day.

"So, what are we doing? Are we going to Temptation? On a ride? Staying in?" I ask him to distract me from my dooming thoughts.

"Staying in sounds lovely," Pax admits with a sheepish smile. "How about a movie marathon?"

"Best idea you've had in a while.” I nod eagerly. It’s been forever since I last had the time to just sit down and watch a movie.

"I knew you'd say that, so I also brought microwave popcorn and snacks from my little shopping trip. "

He grabs one of the bags and empties its contents on the kitchen table. There's chocolate and popcorn and chips and he even brought drinks. One could think it's my birthday because I'm super excited about this.

I look at him excitedly, the balls in the fridge completely forgotten. Who needs them when there’s popcorn?

I reach for the popcorn and throw it into the microwave, then retrieve two glasses for us from the cupboard and set them on the counter to bring to the living room later. When I turn around he looks at me with an unreadable expression.

"Wait a second, you still have-" he comes closer and cups my face with his warm, big hand. With the other one, he scoops some icing off the top of my nose and licks it off his fingers. My eyes follow his movements curiously, as I stand perfectly still, like a deer in headlights paralyzed, but not from fear. No, I’m unable to move because my heart is beating like it’s trying to set a record and my brain has suddenly turned to mush.

And Pax doesn't step back.

In fact, he doesn't even remove his hand from my face.

No. Instead, he lifts my chin with his finger until I lift my gaze, the air in the room turning heavy with tension as our eyes meet.

"The cake is the most thoughtful thing anyone's done for me in the past ten years," he whispers, his eyes jumping between mine. "Tell me it wasn't pity."

I gulp, my heart racing like it wants to jump out of my chest.

"It wasn't pity," I finally whisper back, raising my own hand to cup his face, the other one finding his hip, fingers nervously playing with the fabric of his shirt. Immediately, he melts into my touch, and I gulp. "I wanted to make you happy."

"Why?" He sounds surprised. Like he’s not used to people caring about him. Like he doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

"Because I like you," I admit softly, forcing myself to not avert my eyes as I feel blood rush into my cheeks.

"Why?" The question almost brings tears to my eyes. It’s only one word, but so loaded, so full of his story that I don’t know about.

"Because," I whisper and begin to stroke his cheek with my thumb, "despite your inner demons telling you otherwise, you're a likable guy.” He shakes his head ever so softly and I sigh. “Do you want to know a not-so-secret secret?"

He hums in response, the vibrations in his chest sending a shiver through me.

"I was so fucking in love with you when we were younger. Whenever we laughed together, I'd write in my diary that I had the best day ever." I smile, remembering evenings of scribbling our names together and decorating them with hearts, but he doesn’t need to know that.

"Those were my best days ever, too." His breath feathers over my hair and forehead. "They still are." I see his Adam's apple move as he gulps. "I'm not imagining this, right?" Pain flashes across his eyes and I quickly shake my head.

"You're not." My hand wanders to the back of his head, gently running my finger through the hair just above his neck. He closes his eyes for a split second and hums, the sound vibrating against me.

"I want you," he admits, his voice barely audible. "But are you okay with... me?" He must sense my confusion. "There will always be the fear that I'll stop caring again."

"And there'll always be a fear that I'll be hit by a car when I go outside." I shrug. "Doesn't mean it makes sense to stop doing it."

His eyes dance over my face, his head shaking ever so slightly and slowly. "Only you'd compare being with me with a car crash," he says, his lips stretching into a wide grin.

"That's right." I grin right back. "Now, how about you finally kiss me?"