Chapter 7
Miles
“Y ou have to really pack it,” Mom says, demonstrating with the snow on the front lawn as we work together on the head of our snowman. “Come on. A little tighter. There you go!”
In the back of my mind, there’s a realization that something’s not right, but I ignore it because all I want is to spend time with her.
She sneaks a peek at Dad, who’s working on the snowman’s body a few yards away.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea!” She scoops up some fresh snow and works it into a ball, a sneaky expression on her face. I already know what she’s planning, but Dad’s totally oblivious.
Once she has a decent-sized ball ready, she presses a finger to her lips and pushes to her feet, tucking the ball behind her back as she approaches him.
A snowball fight is about to ensue, so I’m already collecting snow for my own ball as she exclaims, “That’s coming along great! But you have a few twigs in the side here.”
“Where?” he asks, inspecting his work.
Oh, Dad.
He falls right for it, giving Mom her chance to nail him in the chest.
“Hey!” He scrambles to make his own snowball, fast enough to toss one against her back as she races toward me.
“Help me, Miles! Protect me, Miles!”
I spring into action, hopping to my feet and tossing my own, which lands on Dad’s forehead. It gives Mom time to make another, and soon it’s back and forth until Dad rushes us and picks Mom up, spinning her around.
“Miles, save me! Save me!”
I have another snowball in my hand, but her words stop me in my tracks, strike at something deep within me. Something that knows none of this is real. It was at one time, but not anymore.
Her words keep on in my head, “Save me! Save me!”
She rears her head back, howling with laughter, and I want to see that smile one last time, but it’s like my mind blocks it out.
I sit up quickly, my heart racing as I search around in the dark.
That might have seemed like a pleasant dream, but it’s in fact a recurring nightmare, a cruel trick my mind plays, giving me a beautiful moment where I can pretend she’s still alive and everything’s fine. But she’s gone, and nothing will ever be fine again.
I check the time on my phone—about four a.m., as usual, like my brain schedules these torture sessions. It’s one of the reasons why I work best in the morning, bright and early.
I slide out of bed, roll a joint, and take a much-needed hit, then head into my studio and rig my phone on the tripod Tatum set up.
Once we started working together, he realized he needed a solution for mornings when he wasn’t here to record.
He’ll have to edit it so my face isn’t in the frame, but that’s his business.
I don’t bother changing out of my pajama bottoms—though Tatum would prefer something sexier, like one of the jocks or briefs he got me.
Regardless, what matters most right now is exorcising this nightmare from my mind.
I already have a canvas set up, so I gather my paints and brushes and get to work.
I begin with what I saw that day—bright white and sky blue.
I draw the essence of her smile, since I can never get the damn thing right when I attempt to draw it from memory—and this is why I like abstract work; I find it’s more honest than the most realistic portrait.
Her smile is fluffy white clouds and budding pink roses with an indigo stream running through it all.
I agonize over the details for a while, then set the canvas on the tarp on the floor and add a darker blue to express how this image haunts me.
As I keep on, the streaks become broader, overpowering, and my body moves in a frenzy. I see it all so clearly, the shape and color of these emotions that terrorize me, and it feels as though if I could replicate them, then I could get them out of my damn body.
Save me! Save me! echoes in my mind as I think about the last day I saw her, when she was still wearing that smile, only that time it was a lie.
It’s hard to know when it wasn’t a lie.
My movements become erratic, and I grunt as I claw at the canvas to add that sense of trying to escape this horrifying image. I claw and claw so that it looks like someone battling this image, echoing my struggle. I’m sweating, breathing hard by the time I’m finished and look at what I’ve created.
Tears rush to my eyes as the screaming in my mind sets off again. I haven’t heard it like this since the other night when I saw Dax at the Alpha Theta Mu party. I press my hands to my temples as it intensifies, steadily becoming louder, until it’s as though I can actually hear it.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
My chest constricts in that way that makes me feel like I might be having a heart attack. I take a drag of my joint, hoping it’ll shut it the fuck up, but it’s still going on and on.
I snatch the canvas and bash it against the floor.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
I push to my feet and hurry into the kitchen, where I find a knife and get to work, tearing it the fuck apart. I swear the screaming is even louder, so I keep hacking away, calling out until the thing is shredded.
I think about how Dax triggered these screams again, but then when our lips crushed together, the bliss of silence.
Even just recalling it is enough to soothe me.
My mind races back through what it felt like when our tongues teased at one another’s.
The way it felt to have my body pressed against his. And there’s finally quiet again.
I look over the mess I’ve made. Guess it was a good thing Tatum wasn’t here this morning because he would’ve been pissed that I wasted a perfectly good piece.
It’s something I don’t have much time to consider because there’s something more concerning on my mind—that it was a huge-ass mistake to kiss Dax Armstrong.
*
This morning in class, I’m unsettled.
Dax is posing on the platform, leaning back on his elbows, his abs rippling, one leg bent and the other stretched out. He angles his head away from me, and I can just see the outline of his lips. I lick my own as I think about that kiss…and the quiet it allowed me to have even for just a few hours.
It’s no secret how sexy the guy is, and it doesn’t help sitting around for an hour twice a week, obsessing over every inch of his flesh. But despite the distraction, I manage to keep focused on his body throughout the class, even as he glances my way occasionally when he’s switching positions.
I’ve made plenty of mistakes, I’m aware, yet a shitty idea’s been brewing since this morning, and I can’t shake it. I don’t know why I’m even considering it when it’s unlikely Dax will ever speak to me again after how fucking weird I’ve been around him.
But at the end of class, as I’m packing up, he approaches me.
“Hey,” he says.
I avoid looking at him, and he chuckles.
“You’ve basically been staring at me for the past hour, so I don’t think it’ll kill you to look me in the eyes.”
He’s not wrong, so I force myself to make eye contact, and…he’s smiling. What he’s smiling about, given my behavior, is a mystery. And it seems sincere, but I’ve been wrong before.
I zip up my bag and push to my feet. “How was your weekend?” I ask, and the way he flinches, you’d think I said something wildly inappropriate.
“It was…good. I moved into Alpha Theta Mu with my buddies. And I talked to my brother.”
“He was Alpha Theta Mu too, right?”
“Yeah. He’s why I transferred here.”
I study his expression, my gaze settling on his lips for longer than it should, but Dax lets me. Maybe because he’s getting used to my weird.
“What are you doing after class?” I ask, my tone more intense than intended.
“I usually grab lunch now. I have another class in about an hour.”
“Don’t get lunch. Not today. Once you get dressed, meet me at the library.”
His gaze wavers. “Okay… Is this a fourth-floor thing?” That part of the library is infamous for student hookups because of its boring tomes collection—at least, boring for anyone not studying law.
“Yes.” I wait for him to tell me to fuck off, which is probably what he should do, but he shrugs.
“Cool. See you there.”
“What?” I’m taken aback. Why the fuck is he going along with this?
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Um, okay.”
Everything in me tells me now’s the time to go, but we’re still standing there in silence, looking at each other, until Dax’s lips purse and he smiles.
“It’s okay, Miles. You can do your running-off thing now.”
I nod before bolting, hurrying out the door, toward the library.
This is such a shitty idea. Maybe the worst you’ve ever had.
But that doesn’t keep me from winding up on the fourth floor of the library, near the bathrooms, checking my phone. I’m maybe a little too annoyed when it’s only been nine minutes.
What am I even thinking? He’s not gonna come up here to do anything with me after what an ass I’ve been to him. This is probably his way of getting back at me.
Fair enough. Nice play, Dax.
Accepting that doesn’t seem to do anything because I’m still pissed at him. I start for the double doors to the stairs when I hear the handle on the other side, and there’s Dax. I stop in place as that familiar smirk plays across his lips, and he does that adorable wave thing.
I just need to get this over with, so I push through the bathroom door, and he follows.
We’ve come at a good time because no one else is here. I hurry into one of the stalls, and he steps in with me, closing it behind us.
This shouldn’t be strange. I’ve messed around with plenty of people in here. I’m sure he has too, but this isn’t like that…because no one else ever had this effect on me.
I cup my hand against his throat, and Dax moves with me as I guide him to the stall door. He’s so willing to go along with all this, even without having a clue what we’re in here for. Well, I guess he has his own ideas about that.
I study his mouth, wondering if what happened at the house was a one-off, something we’ll never be able to replicate. Maybe, but I have to know.
He searches my face, as if looking for clues about what I’ll do next, so I just go for it, no build-up and with such force that our jaws clash.
We share open-mouthed kisses, and I’m surprised by how quickly we’ve picked up each other’s rhythm, something that’s probably a big credit to Dax’s talents.
I tease my tongue against his, and he eagerly reciprocates. Fuck, he feels good.
And there it is again—that quiet in the back of my mind.
Our kisses become more feral, and Dax cups my face, pulling me closer, then pushing with his chest until I’m against the stall. His hand slides up my crotch, feeling how hard he’s gotten me.
“You feel fucking amazing,” I confess into his mouth as I revel in the sensations he’s sparking through me.
“If you think my mouth is good at this, wait until you see what else it can do.”
I stop kissing him, and as I assess his face, he runs his bottom lip against mine.
“Fucking tease.” I’m surprised I blurted that, but there’s no backing out now. My chest, which was all tight and knotted up this morning, swells with excitement. Adrenaline surges through my veins.
Yes, this is a really shitty idea…