11 - Lane #2
"Well, if the Counselor is riding a high, maybe she wants the honor of finishing off the old regime," Dax said, gesturing with the crowbar toward the final, stubborn patch of historic green tile clinging to the mortar wall.
He picked up a heavy, short-handled sledgehammer from the tool chest and held it out to me, the rough wood handle sliding between my fingers.
"Swinging this will get rid of whatever residual tension you’ve got left over. "
I didn’t imagine the way his touch lingered on the word “tension”. He leaned in just an inch closer, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive rumble meant for my ears only. "Though I’m happy to help with any other tension that might need releasing."
The challenge was blatant. He was flaunting it right in front of the others and it seemed that I wasn’t the only one who’d done some reflecting.
Had I not had that conversation with Nance today, I probably would’ve been upset, drowning in my own shame because I found myself enjoying his provocation.
It gave me a rush and stirred up the residual desire and satisfaction I’d felt yesterday. Combined with the high of winning in court, my body felt like a livewire of energy.
God knew I needed an outlet.
"Step aside, Miller," I said, gripping the heavy handle.
"Hold on, you're going to break your wrist holding it like that," Dax muttered.
He stepped in directly behind me before I could protest, his massive body pressing flush against my back.
The sudden, claustrophobic heat of him sent an instant jolt of new adrenaline straight to my core.
His large hands wrapped completely over mine, adjusting my grip down the wooden shaft.
It was not unlike what Silas had done with me yesterday, yet completely different in how it made me feel.
"Keep your back straight. Drive from your hips, not your arms. Smooth, intentional leverage, like this."
He guided my arms back, his broad, hard-planed chest rising and falling hard against my shoulder blades, before driving the hammer forward in a short, controlled arc. The iron smashed into the green ceramic, shattering it into white dust.
"Got it," I breathed, my mouth suddenly dry as I pulled away from his personal space bubble.
Dax stepped back, his eyes alight with that competitive focus I’d learned to recognize. "All yours, Counselor."
I gripped the handle, fixed my body in the correct position, took a deep breath, and swung.
The iron hit the wall with a deafening, metallic crack.
A chunk of old mortar cratered outward, the vibration shuddering violently up my forearms. The feeling of it was raw and shocking and something in my brain just snapped.
The next swing wasn't for the wall. It was for the last five years of my life. I hit the studs again, hard enough to rattle my teeth, fracturing the masonry until my arms burned. I let rip on the wall, channeling years of isolation, the crushing weight of my mother’s cold expectations, the pain of losing Uncle Ricky and the looming threat of the old man who lived above me.
The next swing was for the terrifying vulnerability of Silas’s kindness that I still felt I didn’t deserve, then another for the unhinged chaos of Dax’s mouth, and another for Bear’s perceptive stare that saw down to my soul and left me without a defense.
All of it, especially the parts I couldn’t control, seemed to generate more and more force as I raised the sledgehammer over my head again and again.
I panted, my hair flying out of my restrictive ponytail, sweat slicking my neck as I completely demolished the remaining masonry structure.
Behind me, the basement went dead silent. Silas and Dax watched on, their expressions a mixture of genuine awe and unchecked, amusingly genuine fear.
Dax gave a low, sustained whistle. “Jesus, Whittaker. Remind me to stop getting on your bad side,” he said.
Silas nodded beside him and I nodded breathlessly, feeling a blissful emptiness inside, like I’d been cored out of every bit of baggage I was holding onto.
“I think I might just change career paths at this point,” I said. Dax and Sy both laughed but a sudden, booming voice cut that shit short very quickly.
"That's enough!" Bear’s impatient shout shattered the energy in the room like thin ice. He stepped forward, face still as unreadable as it had been during dinner last night as he took the sledgehammer from my hands. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his neck were corded.
“Playtime is over, kids. We’re falling behind schedule and we need to rotate the sandbags in the alley before the night rain hits. I’m not wasting another hour watching this circus, so pack it up,” he said.
Now that was completely unprovoked. Throughout the entire project, I’d grown used to Bear’s commanding tone and the sometimes curt but professional way he’d tidy up the schedule. But now he just sounded hostile and completely different to the Bear I’d gotten to know.
Even Sy and Dax seemed a bit shaken. Silas stepped forward, eyes wide in confusion as he looked between the foreman and the demolished wall. “Bear, what’s the rush, man? We still have an hour of daylight—"
"I said pack it up, Sy!" Bear snapped, dropping the sledgehammer into the heavy job-site chest with a metallic crash that bounced off the walls and made me flinch.
The silence that followed was even louder.
Dax didn’t push back or challenge Bear, but his formerly cocky demeanor had flattened into a cold indifference that saddened me.
“Fine by me, Boss. I’ve got somewhere to be tonight, anyway,” he said, sidestepping Bear without making eye contact. His boots were heavy on the stairs as he vanished out of the front door.
I turned helplessly to Sy.
Silas stood frozen for a fraction of a second, his face twisted in silent worry.
"I'll... I'll check on him," he murmured softly, his voice heavy with disappointment as he gathered his gear and followed Dax out. I didn’t blame either of them for just getting out of dodge, either purposefully or unintentionally forgetting the last command of the day to rotate the sandbags.
That left just me and Bear.
“Guess it’s gonna be a one-man job, then,” he said under his breath, retrieving a heavy, wet mud-shoveling spade from the tool chest. He turned toward the rear basement door, intending to head into the alley rain alone.
"Barrett," I demanded, stepping into the hallway.
He froze in place, picking up on my intentional use of his first name. But I was too furious to care.
"Stop right there. You don’t get to storm into my house, treat me and your crew like garbage, and then just walk out the door. What the hell is your problem?" I demanded, folding my arms across my chest.
He didn't turn around immediately. For a long, agonizing second, the only sound was the March rain starting to drum heavily against the basement window panes.
Slowly, he turned his head, his dark eyes fixing onto mine with a cold, devastating accusation.
"My problem," Bear whispered, his voice low and terrifyingly devoid of anger. “Is that I know enough about Dax to recognize that you’re not being careful enough with him. I know exactly what happened in that pantry yesterday, Lane.”
The world drained of sound except the pounding of blood in my ears.
I suspected that he might know but I hadn’t anticipated this reaction from him.
I would’ve preferred it if he’d smashed another wall with that sledgehammer or yelled at me again, or did literally anything else other than offer a cryptic warning.
My first instinct was to deny it but he didn’t even give me the chance to do that. He just turned on his heel, slamming the basement door behind him.