Chapter 13
Nadia
I’m standingat the front door of the Manor, trying to figure out how to knock and also not drop the foil covered platter in my hands.
“I’ll get it!” A cheery voice calls from behind me. It’s followed by the sharp tap of heels on the wooden porch floor and a gust of perfume. I turn and see two girls, both blonde, that I’ve seen at games or at the Den. One carries a bottle of champagne. The other orange juice.
Puck Bunnies.
“Not sure what that is,” she raps on the door with her knuckles, “but it smells divine, and I wouldn’t want you to drop it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I think I’d cry if I dropped them. They took forever.”
“I’m Bridget,” she says and nods to the other girl, “and that’s Heather.”
“I’m–”
“Nadia,” Heather says, smoothing down her skirt. “We know.”
I could ask how, if Brent’s blacklisting has reached them, but I’d rather not. Thankfully, the door opens and Reid stands in front of us in a wild paisley print shirt and loose jeans. He grins down at us. “Ladies, welcome to Friendsgiving!”
“Hey, Reid,” Heather says, “love your shirt.”
“Thanks,” he says, obviously proud. “It’s vintage.”
Heather pushes the OJ into his chest. “Jefferson here?”
“Out back,” he says as she and Bridget both step in. “They’re frying the turkey.”
“Thanks,” Bridget gives him a smile and the bottle of champagne.
“I guess they’re Jefferson’s guests?” I ask, watching them cut through the house to the backdoor.
“I suppose.” He eyes the platter in my hands. “Twy’s upstairs changing. She just got here.”
“Already?” The basketball team had an away game over night and according to her text, the bus pulled in about thirty minutes ago. As part of the staff, her duties aren’t over the minute she walks off the bus. She has to stick around and help get all the medical supplies back in the training room or attend to any injuries before leaving. “She must have rushed.”
“Reese picked her up,” he says, closing the door behind me. Although the Manor is an older home like ours, it’s been upgraded over the years. The living room is set up with comfortable couches and a big TV and the kitchen is an open concept, with a well-equipped kitchen that has a large eat-in bar. At parties it becomes a real bar, loaded with bottles and cups, but today it’s filled with food. A girl I recognize as Reid’s on-again-off-again girlfriend, Darla, organizes the dishes.
Guess they’re back on.
Reid grabs a beer and heads outside, but not before stopping by Darla and giving her a kiss on the neck. “I’ll go make sure they’re not over-cooking the bird.”
Still clutching the platter in my hands, I ask Darla, “Where do you want me to put this?”
“What category does it fall in? Main, side, or dessert?”
“Um,” I stall, shifting from one foot to the other. This was dumb. I should have just brought rolls from the store or a green bean casserole. “I’m not exactly sure.”
Darla gives me a look like I’m an idiot, and takes the platter out of my hands.
As she rearranges the space for the tray, shifting a pan of mac n’ cheese to make room, the spicy scent of meat and peppers fills the room. On the staircase, Twyler walks down in jeans and a cropped sweater. For Twy, that’s dressing up.
“Holy shit,” Darla says. “Did you make these?”
With Twyler out of the house, the gym closed for the impending holiday, and too much time on my hands, I’d spent the day looking up recipes, buying ingredients and started baking. I’d made six batches overall, scrapping the first three, salvaging the fourth, and was pretty pleased with the last two.
Twyler says, staring down at the pastries, “What the hell, Nadia, since when did you go all Rachel Ray?”
“I, uh, saw it on ChattySnap. Apparently they’re popular in some regions for Thanksgiving and figured I’d give it a try.”
It’s a lie, of course. I’d made them for Axel. He’d looked so miserable talking about his family, only perking up when he spoke about the kolaches.
A loud shout echoes from the backyard and Darla and Twyler move over to look out the window. “Seriously? Would it kill him to wear a shirt?”
There’s only one person Twyler could be talking about and my pulse kicks into gear at the thought of him. Sure enough, when I look out the window I see Axel; shirtless with all those muscles and tattoos on display. He’s laughing at something Jefferson said while Kirby moves around in a dramatic reenactment of a hockey move.
The two puck bunnies, along with Kirby’s girlfriend, Claire, and a few other girls, stand to the side, watching the guys goof around. Are their eyes fixed on the way Axel’s jeans cling deliciously from his hips? On the trail of dark blond hair tapering under the waistband?
Or maybe that’s just me.
“First of all, it’s forty freaking degrees.” Twyler shakes her head. “And second, that’s hot oil! He could burn himself.”
Never one to let a potential injury happen on her watch, Twyler huffs out of the room and out the back door. I can hear her start up before she hits the grass. “Axel Rakestraw, step away from the turkey fryer.”
Darla and I stay glued to the window like we’re watching an episode of Springfield.
“Hey, TG.” His eyes sweep over her. “You’re looking good.”
“Shut the fuck up about my girl, man.” Reese’s fist slams into Axel’s bicep, then he looks at Twyler. “He’s right, Sunshine, you’re gorgeous.”
Twyler is unfazed by either man. “Do you know what emergency rooms look like on holidays like this? They’re packed. Primary reasons: knife accidents and burns.”
“I’m not going to get burned,” he says, watching Jefferson check on the bird. “Jeff on the other hand…”
“Jefferson is wearing a shirt.”
“Baby,” he drawls, clearly working to get a rise out of his roommate and mine, “I’m from Texas, barbecue is our thing. I’m not getting near that contraption. It’s sacrilege.” He smirks. “Although I appreciate your concern. Shows you care.”
“It’s not concern for you, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s concern for the rest of us who will have a ruined Friendsgiving and have to smell scorched skin for the rest of our lives.”
He gives her a grin, enjoying getting under her skin. “Fine, I’ll go put on a shirt, but only because it’s cold as fuck and I think my nipples may freeze off.”
I’m not sure why I make myself busy when he comes in. Maybe because of Darla. Or because Murphy and his date just showed up. I turn on the faucet, cleaning up the dishes left in the sink. Maybe because I made this man, a friend, my safe space, the giver of amazing kisses and orgasms, his favorite dish.
And that means something.
“Wait, do I smell peppers?” He moves around the island, checking out the food. “Are those kolaches?”
I shift, looking for his reaction.
“Nadia made them,” Darla says, outing me. “Have you had them before?”
His eyes search me out. “Yeah, I have. Can’t wait to try them.”
There’s a strained huskiness in his voice, and my body feels hot. I tell myself it’s because the oven is on and there’s food warming on the stove.
“I’ll be back,” he announces. “Apparently, there’s a dress code at this event.”
Out back, Jefferson announces that the turkey is finished, and Darla and the others head outside. I hold back, grabbing one of the kolaches and wrapping it in a napkin. Taking a deep breath I go upstairs and knock on his door.
After a beat it swings open and Axel stands before me, rolling up one of the sleeves of his black button-down, revealing a tattooed covered forearm.
“I brought you a–”
He grabs me, pulls me into his room, mouth on mine before I can finish my sentence.
“Wow,” I say, pulling back. “Is that how you greet all your guests at Friendsgiving?”
“Not even close.” He grins, looking down at the pastry in my hand. “That’s for me?”
“Oh, yes.” My brain is fuzzy from that kiss. I hand him the napkin covered pastry. “I wanted to make sure you got one before everyone else.”
He lifts it to his nose and sniffs, then licks his bottom lip before taking a bite. It’s not dainty. No, it’s the bite of a hungry man.
“Good?” I ask, aware that I’m buzzing with anxiety. Wanting a man’s validation isn’t new to me. But wanting it for something like this? It’s strangely nerve wracking.
His eyes close and he moans, “Fuck me.” He shoves the final bit in and grins around a mouthful. “Better than an orgasm.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling proud.
“Okay, maybe not better than, but as good. It’s fucking delicious, T.” He grabs my hip and pulls me close, leaning in for another kiss. He tastes like the kolache. Spicy and warm with a slight hint of sweetness from the bread. “Just like you.”
The way he’s looking at me feels like I’ve been lit on fire. Like the hole inside of me is filled, not with pain and regret, but something warm and nourishing.
A shriek comes from downstairs. “Don’t you dare drop it!”
“Guess the turkey is done,” he says, fingers still pressed into my hip.
“Yeah,” I nod. “We should go back down before Twyler notices we’re both missing.”
His fingers reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for making those for me.”
“Hey,” I let out a shaky laugh, “that’s what friends are for.”
I turn before he can respond, slipping downstairs to join the fray. Pete arrived with a girl he introduces as his sister, along with a few other guys on the team that I don’t know. I help Darla make room for the new food, and Jefferson makes a huge show of carving the turkey.
When Axel comes down the stairs, looking sexy and disheveled and not like he just kissed the crap out of me, I try not to bristle at Heather sidling up to him, loudly offering him a drink. He takes it, but I notice he doesn’t drink.
“You should have one, too,” Twyler says.
“Huh?” I ask, dragging my eyes away from the pair. “One what?”
“A drink. I know you’ve been holding off when we go out, but this is a safe space.”
If I’ve learned one thing over the past few weeks is that Axel Rakestraw is very dangerous, sober or not.
“I’m okay. I’ve gotten kind of used to it.”
“Used to what?” Reese asks, stepping next to Twyler and sliding his arm around her lower back. A pang strikes my heart, jealousy, there’s no doubt about it. I want that. The public affection. The casual touches. Belonging to someone else. Even now, Heather has no problem putting her hands on Axel.
“Not drinking,” I admit, holding up my sparkling water.
“Who would’ve thought Axel and Nadia would both be sober,” Jefferson says, obviously listening. He pours a glass of wine for the other girls.
“And celibate,” Reid adds cheerily. I cough and every eye lands on me. “I mean Axel,” Reid clarifies. “I don’t know, uh, anything about Nadia’s sex life.”
An awkward silence follows until Axel strokes his mustache and flashes the room a grin. “Hey, we’re undefeated, no one should question my methods.”
The result is drawing the heat away from me, which I have no doubt was his intention.
“I think all the food is ready,” Darla says, somehow the unofficial hostess of this dinner. “Grab a plate and dig in.”
“Wait,” Heather says. Reid groans, already dishing up a spoonful of mashed potatoes. Darla punches him in the gut and he drops the spoon. “Shouldn’t we say a blessing or something? List what we’re grateful for?”
“What about Axel,” Pete says. “Your dad’s a minister, right? You can kick off this dinner.”
“Oh right,” Bridget says, eyes widening. “Your dad is that guy on TV. From that huge church out in Texas, right? What’s it called?”
“Kingdom,” Pete supplies, earning a glare from Axel. “What? My aunt watches it on TV.”
“My mom watches sometimes,” Reid confesses. “Your sister is hot. How come she never visits?”
The look Axel gives his roommate is a death glare, but his girlfriend beats him to any kind of retribution by smacking him with a serving spoon. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, babe.”
Bridget, on the other hand, studies Axel closer. “You’re like a celebrity.”
“Not a celebrity.” Axel’s tone is clipped. “But we should totally do the whole thankful thing.” He saunters over to the food, grabs a plate, and piles my pastries on the top. “I’m thankful for undefeated seasons, kicking the Thunderbolt’s ass, and these delicious Texas delicacies that taste better than the ones my mother makes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Twyler’s gaze slide from Axel to me. Refusing to give an inch, I nudge Reid, “Go eat.”
The guys fall like dominoes, forgetting a blessing or being thankful, ready to dive in to the feast. I grab my own plate and fill up on a hodge-podge of Thanksgiving-ish dishes, many store bought. We spread out around the room. I look for a seat and there’s one next to Axel on the couch, Heather on the other side, her thigh glued to his. I don’t miss the pleading in his eyes–an SOS–wanting me to save him from the puck bunny, but Twyler calls out my name.
“Nad,” she pats the empty seat next to hers at the small dining table, “here.”
“Oh cool.” I give Axel an apologetic face.
Twyler takes a bite of her kolache. “Damn. These are good. How did you know to make them?”
Picking up my fork, I shrug. “Axel mentioned them being his favorite a few weeks ago. I got curious and looked them up.”
“I’m glad you did,” Reese says, shoving one in his mouth, “they’re fucking delicious.”
“What’s up with that about his dad?” Twyler asks.
“He’s a big-wig minister in Texas,” he says. “One of those mega churches. He doesn’t like talking about it.”
“Why?” She stabs green beans with her fork and teases, “Does it mess with his bad boy image?”
“I think his father’s expectations are part of why he’s not looking at the draft,” Reese licks gravy off his fingers. “Coach keeps trying to get him to reconsider, but so far he’s not interested. I get the feeling his dad has other plans for him lined up after graduation.”
“As a minister?” Twyler blurts, eyes wide. “Holy shit, can you imagine?”
I can’t. Not in the slightest, but some of what Reese says tracks with what Axel has said himself. I can’t imagine him not wanting to pursue a career in the NHL. Not every player gets that opportunity. Not even every player in this room.
“I wasn’t sure if he had what it takes to go pro,” Reese admits, “but after the last few weeks, seeing him take his probation seriously, I’m pretty sure if he wanted it, he could.”
There’s a million questions I want to ask about Axel, or maybe I just want to have his name on my tongue. Our relationship–even a friendship–isn’t something I feel like I can openly talk about without Twyler getting suspicious. Or worse, passing judgment. So I sit back as the conversation changes, trying not to dwell on the feeling in the pit of my stomach when, across the room, Heather feeds Axel a bite of her mashed potatoes.
“Freaking puck bunnies,” Darla says. She and Reid took the last two seats at the table. “They’re like vultures.”
“Sharks,” I blurt, regretting it as everyone looks at me. “That’s what I’ve heard before.”
Reid snorts. “Sounds about right. All teeth.”
Darla shoots him a glare, while picking up a roll from his plate and buttering it for him. Twyler and I exchange a look, before Reese brings up the New Kings concert they went to a few weeks ago. I don’t look at Axel again until we’ve finished eating. To his credit, he seems like he’s trying to create distance between him and Heather, moving over at one point to watch the hockey game Kirby pulled up on the TV.
To her credit, she’s undeterred and follows.
The rest of the guys all wander over, ready to settle in when Darla bangs her fist on the countertop and shouts, “No one leaves until this kitchen is spotless.”
“Is this why they’re always on the rocks?” I ask Twyler as we take over sink duty. “Because she’s bossy as hell?”
“I can’t figure them out. Reid’s a good guy, but he just never seems fully invested in the relationship.” She runs a handful of silverware under the faucet. “My mom always says it’s important for the man to be more into the girl than the other way around. I think Darla likes Reid too much, and he knows it. It makes him lazy.”
I glance over at my friend. Two months ago she would have been at home, curled up on the couch in her grungy old hoodie, watching true crime. Now she’s got a boyfriend, a group of friends, and is a relationship Yoda.
“Look at you being all relationship savvy.”
“Yeah, being in a functional one helps.”
I’d have no insight on that. Heather is still glued to Axel’s side when Heather hands me a to-go container of leftovers and Reese kisses Twyler goodnight. She’s headed back to the Teal house with me since they’re leaving for Tennessee in the morning. Yep. A month in and they’re spending Thanksgiving together. I mean, sure, his dad will be traveling with his junior hockey team for a tournament, but this is still relationship big.
If Axel notices me leave, I miss it. The whole night has left me feeling raw and conflicted. He was appreciative of the food I made for him. But maybe it was a step too far for two people not in a relationship. Girls make food for their boyfriends, not for the guy that gives them an orgasm occasionally. The further away we get from the Manor, the more I realize I fucked up. Big time. Like every other man I’ve made myself available to, I read more into it than was there, and when it came time to acknowledge it, I was nothing but a dirty little secret.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I broken like this?
Back home, I’m in the middle of packing when my phone buzzes.
Mom: Excited to see you tomorrow!
Nadia: Me too!
Mom: Your dad will pick you up at the airport. Bring a raincoat!
I shake my head at the raincoat comment, and send a heart emoji in response. My mother is obsessed with the weather.
I don’t mind going home. Getting some warmer weather will be nice as will seeing my family; my parents, older brother, and his fiancée. I feel like I navigate two worlds. One here and one there. Back home, I’m still their sweet, little, innocent Nadia. They were oblivious to my life then as they are now. They’ve always seen what I’ve curated for them. Completely PG. They have no idea about the situation with Brent or CJ. It’s one reason I refused to report it. My parents would be crushed.
I’m trying to decide if I can fit my raincoat into my carry-on bag when I hear a tap. There’s no one in the bedroom door, and there’s a second tap, this one coming from the window. Axel’s shadowy figure is visible behind the glass.
I shut and lock the door before opening the window.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“Coming to see you,” he says, climbing in without an invitation. “I missed you all night.”
“Did you?” I ask, not hiding the sarcasm. “You seemed pretty well entertained.”
He frowns. “You mean Heather?”
I shrug, turning to my closet for the coat. It’s petty, but I’m not feeling generous right now. I’m tired. Hurt. Confused.
“I left Heather in a threesome with Jefferson and Bridget.” He catches my hip and spins me to face him. “It was fucking killing me not to be around you.”
The urge to fall into him is intense. To be held by those strong arms and forget all my insecurities. But that’s what keeps me in this same place, right? Cycling through the same emotions over and over again. For once I resist.
“Hey,” he tries to catch my eye, “are you really upset about it? Because I was just trying to play things cool in front of everyone.”
Fair. It’s all fair. I’m not in the position to ask for more but maybe that’s the problem? I never do.
“I’m just…” I search for the word. The best one I can come up with at the moment is, “tired. It’s been a long semester.”
“It’s almost over. My probation. Football season. All this petty shit driving us mad.” He sits on the edge of the bed, but not before grabbing me by the waist and pulling me on his lap. “I’m sorry things have been so hard. You’re such a tough, incredible, chick.” He kisses my neck. “With impressive as fuck baking skills.”
I laugh. This guy.
He looks over at the bag I’m packing. “Leaving in the morning?”
“My flight’s at nine.”
“You need a ride to the airport? Mine doesn’t leave until later, but I don’t mind going early.”
“I’m hitching one with Twyler and Reese, they leave around the same time.” I push the hair on his forehead back. “Are you worried about going home? You didn’t really seem happy about your dad being brought up today.”
He tenses, almost imperceptibly. “I just don’t like to have my identity tied up in his.”
“I can see that. It seems like he’s pretty well known.” I run my nail down the denim on his knee. “Reese says you may not go into the draft because of him.”
This time his irritation is less hidden. The muscle in his jaw throbs and his eyes narrow. “You tracking my career now, T?”
“What? No. It just came up at dinner.”
“I thought this was a safe space.” He shifts, sliding me off his lap and onto the bed, before standing. “I should go.”
“This is a safe space,” I say, making sure to keep my voice low. “Since when is asking you about your family or hockey off limits?”
“When it’s shit I don’t want to talk about.” He strides over to the window. “Or there’s an ulterior motive.”
“Ulterior motive?” I set my hands on my hips. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know darlin’,” I don’t miss the wary expression of distrust on his face, “but when a notorious jersey chaser starts asking me about my aspirations with the draft, I get a little suspicious.”
I’m shocked, but not enough to not say, “That’s rich coming from a guy who promised me a safe space, but is just like every other athlete I’ve ever known.” Lifting my chin. “You’re using me as much as Brent did. Sneaking around, late night calls, pretending you’re different, while keeping me a secret.”
His chiseled jaw drops, and eyes darken, heated emotions flickering in their depths. Something sharp is on his tongue, and I brace myself for it, but whatever it is, he thinks better of it and snaps his mouth shut.
“I’m done with this,” he mutters, turning to open the window.
“Same.”
He moves quickly, out the window faster than conceivable for a man his size. In a blink, he’s gone vanishing into the night, leaving no evidence he was ever here other than my broken heart.
How could I allow myself to do this again?
Theme parksor big cities like Miami are usually what comes to mind when people think of Florida. Flashy lights, loud music and lots of tourists. Not everywhere is like that, there are areas that are more like small towns. Tight knit communities with nice neighbors and beautiful beaches.
I grew up in one of these places, a community called Kenwood. The streets are lined with historic cottages and thick shady trees. My parents were drawn here due to their affinity for older homes and renovations. Before my brother, Jason, and I were born, they lived in and renovated three homes, making enough of a profit to finally purchase the one they wanted to stay in long term. Jason is five years older than me. He and his fiancée, Kendall, are high school sweethearts and are both mechanical engineers. They’re disgustingly perfect.
My goal is to decompress and try to forget about Axel Rakestraw.
Easier said than done.
Mom’s energy level is on a ten when I wake up the first morning home. I barely get in a cup of coffee before she has us going in an endless cycle of cleaning the house, prepping for Thursday’s dinner, and whatever other task she can come up with.
At least I’m busy.
“Mashed potatoes or sweet potato pie?” my mom asks, looking over an ancient, crumbling cookbook. I’m standing over the kitchen counter, rubbing off the tarnish on the good silverware.
“Sweet potatoes.”
“Good idea.” She scribbles something on her grocery list. “Oh, I saw Lucy Johnson’s mother the other day. She says Lucy already has a job lined up for after graduation.”
“Good for Lucy.” I use my nail to get the polishing cloth into the decorative grooves on a serving spoon.
“Your brother had a job lined up by this point,” she adds in a light tone, “but, of course, he had an internship the summer before and that helped a lot.”
My mother had pushed me into getting an internship before my senior year. I didn’t want to go too far from Wittmore–too far from Brent–so I’d stayed up there and waited tables.
“But…” she continues, “if you can’t find anything you can always move back home. We’re happy to help you out until you find something solid and get on your feet.”
Thatsounds like a nightmare.
“I’ve been to the job fairs on campus,” I tell her, “and I’ve started my applications. Don’t worry, I’ll find something.”
She flips through the cookbook. “I guess if you’re dating someone, it’s possible you’ll want to find a job where they are.”
I’d been waiting for it, the questions about if, and who, I’m dating.
“There’s no boyfriend, Mom.”
“I thought maybe Twyler would set you up with one of her handsome boyfriend’s friends.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands. “You never tell me what’s going on. You can’t blame me for asking.”
She always says this, pretending like she wants to know, but does she really? There were a lot of things in my past that she ignored. All those nights sneaking in and out of the house. The condoms she found that I claimed belonged to a friend.
My mother has spent her entire life taking broken things, houses in particular, and doing her best to shine them up and make them perfect. Sometimes I feel like one of those old houses. Everything can seem perfect on the surface, but change a light fixture or touch the plumbing and you realize that underneath, everything is falling apart. A simple project reveals a shit-ton of issues.
I feel like one of those old houses. Start peeling away the wallpaper and you’ll find a rotting wall.
“I’m not keeping anything from you, Mom. There’s just nothing going on. No job prospects. No boyfriends. Especially one of Reese’s hockey friends.” I feel the creep of anxiety climbing up my spine. I drop the spoon with the other clean pieces and say, “I think I’m going to go work on the hedges while it’s nice outside.”
She nods, unaware of the turmoil bubbling under the surface. “I’m going to finish this list so I can get to the market before traffic gets too crazy.”
I step outside and into the sun. Fall is the nicest time in Florida. Not too hot, but not cold enough to bundle up like I would at Wittmore. I wonder if it’s warm in Texas.
Nope.
I’m done with him, remember? We’re done with each other.
Grabbing the hedge clippers I walk over to the fence line and start hacking. The manual labor feels good on my arms. I’ve missed going to the gym–getting out that stress release. When I finish the sides, I head over to the pool deck and snag a chair. Placing it under the hedge, I climb up and push up on my tip toes. The chair wobbles on the uneven surface and I grab the fence for balance, but drop the clippers into the neighbor’s yard. “Son of a bitch.”
“Still have a dirty mouth, I see.”
Will Holt sits by the pool deck in his parent’s backyard, legs sprawled in front of him, smoking a cigarette.
“Will,” I say, heart hammering from almost falling, but I know that’s not all.
His eyebrows raise. “It’s been a long time, Nadia.”
Up on that chair, I’m struck by a flash of memories. How he’d been my brother’s friend. The cute guy next door. Cocky and smug. A jock. He picked on me a lot–throwing me in the pool, dunking me under water. The classic trope about the guy pulling a girl’s braids to get her attention.
Will had definitely had mine.
“You home visiting your parents?” I ask, speaking around the lump in my throat.
“Nah, moved back home a few months ago.” He waves to the pool house in the back. I don’t look, a dark feeling burning in my gut. “They let me have my old digs. How’s college?”
“It’s good,” I manage, wiping sweaty my palms on my leggings. “Almost over.”
He nods, taking a drag on his cigarette. Exhaling he says, “Maybe we can hang out while you’re home.”
Panic crashes over me like a wave, a cold, clammy sweat on my neck. “M-my mom needs me to help her with a few things.”
Jumping off the chair, it tips over and clatters on the pool deck. Rushing inside, I head straight to the toilet off the main hall, barely making it before dropping to my knees and heaving inside.
My first instinct is to call Axel. To hear his voice and have him distract me.
But Axel isn’t my safe space.
I’m starting to think that nowhere is.