Chapter 12
Brax
Pancakes are my favorite breakfast food. Anytime they're in front of me, I gobble them up so I can eat more. But today, I barely taste them.
Valentina's sitting in her red silk robe, legs crossed, and her hair pulled into a messy knot. Worse, every time I tell her a stupid joke, she laughs. Her face lights up, and the old her comes roaring back.
It's torture.
I should be dragging her back into bed, kissing and holding her until every trace of last night fades out of her muscles and her mind.
So here I am, forcing myself to keep the mood light while she takes dainty bites of pancakes like the world didn't try to break her hours ago.
She takes a bite and groans. "Who knew pancakes could taste so good?"
"Me," I boast, puffing my chest out.
Her lips twitch. She pokes the stack of leftovers on the serving plate. "You made too many."
I stab another forkful. "Nah. You can never have enough pancakes."
She smirks. "You've eaten six."
"Are you counting my cakes?"
"Yep."
"Watching every bite that goes into my mouth?" I pin a heated look on her.
She blushes. Her gaze drops to my lips, but she catches herself. She sits straighter and shoves another forkful into her mouth. "Mmm."
I wait until she swallows, then I tug on her chair, pulling her closer to me.
"Whoa!" she laughs.
I hold a fork to her mouth. "This has the proper amount of butter and syrup." I lean into her ear. "It's like you. Sweet and creamy."
She takes a deep breath, pinning a hazy gaze on me.
I wiggle the fork in front of her, softly ordering, "Try it."
She opens her mouth.
A sharp knock erupts.
Valentina jumps. Her eyes widen. "Who is it?"
I shake my head and rise. I go to the door and open it.
Zara pushes past me with sharp eyes and fierce energy. She rushes toward Valentina. "Are you okay?"
Shame pops back into her expression. "Word travels fast."
Zara pins her gaze on me and firmly announces, "Sean's waiting for you at the gym."
My jaw tightens. "Now?"
"Yes. Don't drag your feet. Get moving," she orders.
I hesitate. I don't want to leave Valentina. Not today. Not when invisible stitches hold her smile together.
She places her fork down. Her voice is too calm. "Go."
"Valentina—"
"Go," Zara reorders.
I keep my eyes on Valentina. "I'll come check on you later."
Zara's blues dart between us.
Valentina shifts in her chair. She puts on a fake smile. "Brax, I'm fine. Thanks for everything."
Thanks for everything?
I scowl.
Zara pushes my chest. "Go on. Sean's waiting."
I cave, take the stairs two at a time, appreciating the sting in my calves. I exit the stairwell into a gust of wind, find my footing, and break into a jog.
Fresh bread wafts from the bakery. The corner newsstand has a line of buyers, and a group of commuters clutches their coffees like life preservers. Chicago grinds awake around me like everything is normal.
It's not.
By the time the gym comes into view, my lungs burn, and my pulse is a heavy drumbeat in my ears. I lunge up the stairs and pop out into the gym.
The smell of sweat and metal slaps me in the face. Metal weight clunks on machines. Groans, chatter, and dense, meaty thuds vibrate from the boxing bags.
Killian and Finn are already arguing by the ring, their gestures dramatic enough to knock over a grown man.
Finn spots me first. "Well, well. Look who decided to join the land of the living."
Killian crosses his arms. "Thought you died. Or finally got yourself arrested. Or joined a fucking monastery."
I give them a flat look. "Nice to see you too."
Sean jumps toward the ropes, already taped and warmed up. His eyes give me one quick, assessing sweep. He doesn't waste a single second. "Get in the ring."
I duck between the ropes and climb next to him.
Sean peers closer. He mutters, "All good?"
"Yep." I slide my hand into my glove, internally wincing when it hits my skull.
Finn helps me lace my gloves. "Let's see if you remember how to fight."
"Hopefully he's not too out of shape," Killian adds.
"Shut up, you two," I mutter, not in the mood for their interrogation or side comments.
Killian leans over the ropes. "Sean, don't be nice. He's been MIA. Make him work for it." He dings the bell.
Sean's a controlled hurricane. He comes at me fast with a jab, a hook, then a body shot.
I block, dodge, and give it right back to him.
Finn shouts, "Move your feet, Brax! You're not a statue!"
Killian yells, "Sean, he's slow on his left! Crush him there!"
Sean catches my ribs.
I grunt and counter with a hit to his jaw.
He smirks like a bastard who enjoys the pain.
We fight hard. Sweat drips into my eyes. My lungs feel like fire. My fists sting. Sean presses harder. I swing faster. Finn and Killian argue like two coaches who hate each other.
"Break his stance!" Killian shouts.
"No! Break his face!" Finn orders.
The chaos is exactly what I need. Every punch I land sends a jolt through the skull branded on my hand. By the time they call the match, Sean and I are drenched and gasping. We retreat to our corners, grabbing water bottles.
Killian and Finn pounce toward me.
Finn wipes sweat off his forehead. "Where the hell have you been, Brax?"
Killian adds, "And don't give us some generic 'busy' crap. You vanished."
Sean snarls, "Jeez. You two act like Brax is a ten-year-old instead of a thirty-year-old man."
Killian snaps, "So you do know where he's been. Fill us in."
Sean grunts. "I don't know. But if I did, I'm not a rat."
Finn glares at Sean.
He holds his hands in the air. "I don't know anything, but let the guy have some privacy."
Killian tilts his head. He points between us. "You're both liars."
I take a long drink of water. "Look, you're worrying over—"
"What the fuck is that?" Finn growls.
I freeze, bottle midair. A muscle in my jaw ticks as I glance at my hand. I immediately lower it.
Tension crackles between us.
Finn explodes first. "I asked you what the fuck that is."
I sniff hard, lifting my chest. "You know what it is so don't ask stupid questions."
Killian's face turns beet red. "Not you, too!"
Sean's face hardens.
Killian roars at Sean, "What did you get him into?"
"He didn't get me into anything," I declare.
Finn jabs my chest. He snarls, "What have you done?"
I push away from them. I'm tired, sick of the entire fucked-up situation I'm in, and don't need this right now. I walk away, stating, "I'm done here."
Finn calls after me, "Brax! Get back here!"
For the first time since I was a homeless, skinny, thieving kid, I don't listen to him. I jog down the stairs, exit the gym, and run back toward home.
I knew this day was coming. I'd hidden the skull brand better than Sean did when he first got his. With everything going on with Valentina, I had forgotten about it.
I knew they'd lose their shit.
Horns blare as I cut across traffic. I work my lungs and legs hard, but it doesn't matter. I can't push away Finn's outrage, Killian's questions, Sean's stare, and the skull on my hand that's still pulsing like it owns me.
I run past an alley and the stench of rotting fried food flares. My stomach pitches. I turn the block, but it stays with me, suffocating me as mercilessly as the Underworld.
By the time I reach my building and drag myself up the stairs, sweat chills on my skin. I push my apartment door open, toss my keys on the table, and go into my living room. I freeze and bark, "What in God's name are you doing here?"
Blue Ivanov coos from my couch. "Oh, good! You're alive."
How the hell did she get inside again?
There have been at least three incidents in the last few months where I come home and she's in my house. I've changed my locks and spoken with security, but somehow she always finds a way inside.
Her turquoise miniskirt barely exists. It matches her bright hair and falls in a straight sheet to her jaw. A low-cut tank top fights for dominance with a denim cropped jacket, and bright orange, six-inch booties dangle off her toes as she stretches one leg across the cushions.
I shut the door hard. "I told you to stop sneaking into my house."
She lifts a shoulder. "You should be thanking me. I brighten up the place, don't you think?"
"Stop playing games. How did you get in this time?"
"Magic."
My jaw tightens. I go over to the couch and grab her arm, pulling her to her feet. "You can't keep doing this."
"Then you shouldn't ignore my texts." Her perfume wafts between us. She puts her hand on my arm.
I shrug out of it and wrinkle my nose. "I've been busy."
She arches a brow. "Too busy to answer me at all? Brax, it's been days. I texted last night. And this morning." She crosses her arms under her chest, pushing up cleavage like punctuation. "You can't pretend I don't exist."
I scrub a hand over my face. "Blue, we're not a thing. We're never going to be a thing. I'm not interested. I've told you that."
Hurt flickers in her eyes, fast, but she masks it. "You don't have to be an asshole."
"Apparently, I do because nothing else works."
She steps closer, so close her breath brushes my throat. "Maybe you're just scared to want me."
I step backward. "No. I've told you before this isn't happening."
Her mouth trembles before she forces a smirk. "Because I'm younger? Because my dad would rip your head off?"
I snap, "Yes! All the above! And because I'm telling you, I'm not interested. That should be enough."
She scans my face, searching for cracks. "I don't believe you."
"Not my problem," I deadpan.
Her tone sharpens. "You know, most guys would be honored I broke into their apartment."
"I'm not most guys."
"They'd be impressed at my skills," she adds.
I stare at her.
She bats her eyelashes and lowers her voice. "I have other skills."
I cross my arms over my chest and hold her gaze. "Blue, go home. Before someone sees you here and your father thinks I'm doing something I'm not."
Her eyes flare, wounded. Then she moves. Fast.