Chapter 10
brAXTON
AGE SIXTEEN
With a cup of tea warming my palms, I walk into Maddox’s room and softly shut the door behind me.
I stifle a laugh when I find him curled in the fetal position, just like he was when I left a few minutes ago.
Tucked beneath a thick black duvet, he’s nothing but a large blob on the bed.
A mess of chestnut-brown curls peeks out from beneath the blanket, though, splayed out on a matching black pillow.
The sixteen-year-old baby came down with a stomach bug last night and called me just after six this morning, begging me to bring him back to health.
With his family on a weekend trip to Toronto to see friends, he’s home alone.
There was supposed to be a hockey tournament starting tomorrow, but at this rate, he’s going to be spending the weekend in bed instead.
I don’t mind taking care of him. Actually, I kind of like it. But I’ve never minded doing anything when it comes to Maddox. Any time together is worth taking.
A slow, pained groan comes from beneath the blanket as I set the steaming mug on his bedside table and ease onto the bed beside him. I pinch the edge of the blanket and start to slowly peel it back, exposing a very, very shirtless and muscled Dox with his eyes shut and his lips parted on a breath.
He groans again, this time sounding more uncomfortable than in pain. The sudden exposure to the cool air is probably responsible for that.
“I brought you tea,” I murmur.
One tired green eye peeks open. “What kind?” he rumbles.
“Lemon with honey.”
“Thank you, Curly Fry.” He slips an arm out from beneath the blanket and pulls on one of my tight curls for good measure. The other eye opens as he grins, flashing me two rows of gleaming white teeth.
I swat at his hand. “Enough of that name.”
“I like it.”
“You like referring to me as a kind of deep-fried potato?”
He rolls his eyes before circling my wrist with his long fingers and pulling on me until I move closer.
A flash of self-consciousness has me adjusting my loose T-shirt back over my stomach when I feel it start to ride up.
My leggings are a size too small, and the band keeps rolling down when I sit, leaving me feeling too exposed.
I meant to throw these away the last time I did laundry, but I was in such a rush to get here that I must not have noticed the pinching of the material in my hips or the lack of stretch across my butt.
Maddox has seen my body change more than a handful of times over the course of our friendship.
I’ve gone from skinny to overweight and then back again more times than I can count, but this time, I seem to be stuck on the heavier side.
It’s just how I am—how my body is. I’ve always gained weight easily and had to work my ass off—literally—to get back to where I was.
I eat when I’m stressed, and when I eat, I gain weight that brings feelings of resentment toward myself, which in turn makes me eat more. It’s an evil cycle of mental torture that I can’t seem to put an end to.
Fingers intertwine with mine. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
My cheeks thump with embarrassment. “Nothing, sorry. I must have spaced out for a second.”
“Is that what we’re going with?”
I stare at our joined hands, and my heart flutters. Just like it always does. But I also ignore it—like always. “Do you think I’m pretty? Like, in a woman way, not a best friend type of way.”
His brows tug in, creating a crease between them that I want to smooth out. There’s almost an angry glow in his eyes, but that can’t be right. Why would he be angry with me?
“No. I don’t think you’re pretty,” he replies tightly.
My face burns with rejection. A bucket of ice water crashes over me, and I bite my tongue hard in an attempt to distract myself from the burning behind my eyes.
“Thank you for being honest,” I whisper while trying to pull my hand free.
He squeezes my fingers, refusing to let go. “You’re not simply pretty, Braxton. That would be a goddamn insult. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Cut that shit out right now,” he growls.
Before I have a chance to let his words fully sink in, he’s reaching behind him and grabbing something from the other side table. When he finds what he’s looking for, he drops it in my lap.
“Who’s in that picture frame?” he asks.
I slide my finger along the edge of the black frame and stare down at the photo inside. Tears blur my vision. How have I never noticed this there before?
“Me,” I answer.
“Yeah. You.”
“Why do you have this?”
He rakes his eyes over me, huffing a breath. “Why do I have a photo of you riding a horse, wearing a pair of boots that were probably covered in shit and a hideous helmet hiding your curls on my nightstand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“So that I can look at you before I go to bed every fucking night, Braxton. You’re not simply pretty. You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. Never think otherwise.”
The compliment is so honest. So raw. “You look at this every night?”
A rumble grows in his chest as he snatches the frame back and sets it back on the table.
In one lightning-quick move, he has my back pinned to the headboard and himself settled between my knees.
Our hands are still linked, and our close proximity screams trouble.
We don’t get this close to one another—not on purpose.
I fight to keep my expression casual, unbothered. His eyes flare. “It’s the picture, or I piss off your father and force you to live in this house with me so I can have the real thing instead.”
A shiver racks through me, and he must notice because he smirks, the sight of it way too damn attractive.
His voice drops, becoming a deep rasp. “I know which I would prefer, but I’m nothing if not respectful.”
Holding eye contact with Maddox is easy, but looking away is a mission I always fail. There’s something about the pure possession and control in his gaze that turns you spineless. I don’t fight the transfer of power. I hand myself over to him with my hands out and don’t regret a damn thing.
“You look like you’re feeling better,” I squeak.
He drops his chin and laughs deeply. Giving my hand a final squeeze, he slides his fingers free. “Let’s watch a movie.”
“A movie?”
“Yes, sweetheart. A movie.”
Another one of his damn pet names. Everyone knows I’m nowhere close to sweet.
“Get back under the covers, and I’ll get it ready,” I say.
“You got it, boss.” He flops over onto his back and shoves his legs under the blanket before pulling it up and over him.
I scurry off the bed and take my time grabbing the TV remote from his dresser.
Maddox is my best friend, but everyone seems to think he wants to be more than that.
I don’t even remember a time when he wasn’t flirting with me or scaring off any guy who showed even the slightest bit of interest in me.
But that’s just how Maddox is. He’s protective and flirty.
He wants the best for me, and I trust him completely when it comes to making sure I don’t wind up with someone who doesn’t treat me how I deserve.
Regardless of the feelings I have for him, I won’t risk our friendship on a silly crush. We wouldn’t work in a romantic setting, anyway. He’s Maddox Hutton, and I’m just me.
Whatever schoolgirl crush I have on him will eventually wash away as easily as a drawing in the sand on a seashore.
But our friendship? That’s going to last until the end of time.