Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
Alexia
Consciousness comes back to me in layers, like someone's peeling me into awake, one sticky note at a time.
First, the bed. Soft and warm and cosy. I come to enough to think about asking Rhys how he made his bed so comfy.
Then the dull throb of my head, where a Guinness glass hit me after being thrown halfway across a bar.
But the memory of what caused that delicious soreness through the rest of my body makes me smile as I remember the way I was held and touched and worshipped and fucked by two of the utterly delicious men I'm living with.
Then come the voices.
Low. Male. Right outside the bedroom door.
I recognise all three of them but can't quite work out what they're arguing about. I push myself upright, wait for the room to decide which way it's going to spin, and once it does and I can handle it, I reach for the t-shirt at the end of the bed and pull it on over my head.
I shuffle closer to the door and the words start taking shape.
“—said leave her be, mate, she doesn't need this right now—” Marcus. Firm. Decisive. His “try me and see how you like it” voice. I like it very much, if I'm honest.
“I'm not saying let him in the house. But shouldn't she get to hear him out?” Zachary argues. Reasonable, considerate. I appreciate him advocating for me, even though I have no idea what they're talking about.
And then there's a third, quieter voice, that garners no argument. “It's not our call either way.”
I open the door and three heads turn at once. “What's going on?” I ask.
Nobody answers immediately. Finally Marcus elbows Zachary in the stomach, making him let out an “oof” before he speaks.
“Craig's outside,” Zachary says, rubbing his belly. “He asked to see you.”
Something cold drops through my stomach. “What does he want?”
“He won't talk to us. Says he'll only talk to you,” Marcus spits. “But I thi—”
Rhys slides him a look and he closes his mouth.
I should say no. I know I should say no, but I can't deny I'm curious how he's going to explain last night.
“It's fine,” I hear myself say. “I'll see him.”
The three of them exchange a quick look, and while I can almost hear them thinking, “is she crazy?” nobody physically blocks me from shuffling to the front door.
Before I throw open the door, Marcus stops me to wrap a blanket around me, muttering about Craig not being allowed to look at the goods if he can't even be fucked to protect them.
When I cock an eyebrow he just says, “Didn't want you to get cold, you're still recovering.”
I almost laugh.
Craig's standing on the front step when Rhys opens the door for me, hands shoved in his pockets, doing his best impression of a man who's spent the whole morning practising remorse in a mirror.
Decent performance. If I hadn't seen the real him fleeing without a single thought about me or Aria or even Jaxon.
“Hey.” He doesn't quite meet my eyes. “I wanted to check how you were doing.”
“I'm fine.” I keep my voice civil. “Bit of a headache. Nothing broken.”
“I heard it was—” He stops, swallows. “Look, I got freaked out when everything happened. There was just so much chaos and I got scared. And I ran.”
I fold my arms, ignoring the scream of my wrist but not wanting to give him any reaction at all. “I shouldn't have,” he adds. But that's all. No further explanation, no apology for running off, not even any genuine remorse.
“Okay,” I say. And nothing else.
He blinks, clearly having expected something more. Gratitude? Forgiveness, maybe. A hug? I mean, I could offer him a group hug, with the three men currently vibrating with fury that I can feel through the door. “That's it?” An edge creeps into his voice. “That's all you've got?”
“I'm not really sure what you want me to say, Craig.” I shrug. “Glad now I know?”
“I want you to—” He cuts himself off, jaw working, and for a second something flickers across his face I haven't seen before, something that makes the hair on my arms stand up before my brain's even caught up with why.
He takes a step forward, a little aggressively, and I find myself retreating. “Hey, look—”
The door opens behind me. I don't have to turn around to know all three of them are standing there now. The look on Craig's face when he sees them is almost worth having to endure this conversation.
“Are you done?” Zachary asks, his voice so uncharacteristically cold a shiver runs through me.
“Look, guys, I'm just here to apologise to he—”
“I wasn't talking to you,” Zachary interrupts, not even looking at him.
“The only reason you're still here is because she wanted to give you a chance to say what you want to say.
As far as we're concerned, you were done the minute we laid eyes on you.
Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to let her answer.” He softens his voice and touches my elbow.
“You okay, Lex?” I nod. “And are you done?”
But Craig either was injured in the attack and we didn't know about it, or he's really just that stupid. Because he doesn't stop. “Hey, I just panicked. It's totally normal. Lost my head. Surely you can unde—”
“Understand what?” Marcus says, stepping out onto the landing and gently easing me behind him. “Fleeing a dangerous situation like a coward and leaving the woman you brought there to get hurt?” Marcus turns to the other two. “Nope, can't say I do understand that. What about you guys?”
“I mean, you managed to make it out of the bar and jump in the car and drive off all in one piece,” Zachary adds. “Hard to do without your head, I'd think.”
Marcus snickers. “I bet the police said the same when they came knocking on your door.
In case you're wondering, yes, we're the ones who sent them.
Everyone else in the bar hung around and gave the cops a statement to help them get to the bottom of what happened.
They were very interested in following up with anyone who fled the scene.
Turns out, you were the only one! Too bad you didn't hang around.”
Zachary nods. “Right, I mean once everything was sorted, we had a little clean-up party with a bunch of patrons who stayed and offered to help. The bar was open and free and we ordered pizzas and tacos and had ourselves a little post-attack party.” He gives Craig a wide grin that is frankly terrifying. “Good night, wasn't it, Marcus?”
Marcus makes a sound of agreement, then snaps his fingers. “Well, except for the part where Alexia was left bruised and bloody on the bar floor because the person she was with was too chicken shit to make sure she was okay before he ran out shitting his pants.”
Craig's mouth flattens into something weak and ugly. He looks past me at the three of them, and something vicious settles into his expression before he smooths it back into place.
It's almost terrifying.
“Well, glad it all worked out. And I must say, very cosy arrangement you've got here,” he says to me, eyes flicking deliberately to the house behind me, “having three big blokes to keep the princess safe.”
My eyes narrow but I bite back the urge to take the bait. “Is anything they said untrue?”
“Hey, I'm just glad you get three strong men to...
what were the words you used last night?
to 'take care of her?'” He holds his hands up, already backing off down the path.
“Well, I said what I came here to say. I'll see you at work, I guess.
Take care of her, boys. I'm sure her brother really appreciates it.”
I watch him go, and don't move until his car's out of the driveway, and it's only then I realise I'm shaking, just slightly, the aftershock of holding myself together in front of him.
Nobody says anything for a second, then I push past them gently to go inside. “Thanks guys, I think I'm just going to lie down for a few minutes, my head is pounding again.”
They let me through, whispering comforting words.
Before I close the bedroom door though, I hear Rhys, for the first time, speak up. “Leave it with me. I'll take care of him.”
“I can wash my own hair,” I'm arguing like a child two hours later.
“Nobody's arguing that you can't wash your own hair.” Marcus is sitting on the closed toilet lid, arms folded. “We're arguing about whether you should be doing it alone, given that you fainted a day and a half ago.”
“I didn't faint. I got conked with the pint glass and had a very normal physiological reaction to it: lying on the ground for a quick nap to recover.”
Zachary rubs his forehead. “That's called fainting, Lex.”
I point to the door. “Get out of my bathroom.”
“It's not your bathroom,” Marcus points out. “Technically it's Rhys's bathroom. Want us to get him in here so he can watch you shower as well?”
I close my mouth, not sure how I feel about that, and if they know Rhys already saw me have a bath. We haven't really had a chance to talk about things.
“We're not watching you shower, geez, Marcus,” Zachary says. “We're just going to be here in the bathroom while you shower.”
“That's what I meant! I'm not a pervert!” Marcus says, wounded. “We're supervising from a respectful, fully-clothed distance, just in case you go down again and need us to catch you.”
“There's a curtain, Alexia,” Zachary adds. “We're not animals. Though if you want to leave the curtain open, by all means...”
I glower at him. “You're both animals. Get out.”
Neither of them does. What actually happens is a ten-minute negotiation that somehow ends with Zachary standing directly on the other side of the shower curtain reciting increasingly unnecessary safety instructions — “arms out if you feel dizzy, don't lock your knees, sing out if the room starts spinning” — while Marcus walks around the bathroom, intermittently yelling out random song lyrics to prove he's close but not too close.
By the time I turn the water off, the two of them have moved from bickering about my safety to bickering about who's going to hand me the towel, and I stand there dripping, holding my hand out, thinking my life has become genuinely unhinged.