TWENTY-ONE
Idon’t pay attention to my feet or where they carry me. My only concern is escaping the bar. Air burns my lungs. My chest feels swollen, it stings and it no amount of air I suck in is enough. It’s the opposite of suffocating, but the pain is all the same; hollow, sharp, and scorching.
It isn’t dark out, but it will be soon, and I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide or rest. The thought hadn’t occurred to me until I looked up to find myself in the one place I never expected to end up.
The Tower looms above me. Back-lit by the sun, its vast shadow dominates this section of the Vale skyline. It’s home but isn’t at the same time. I know we lived with my grandmother when I was small, out in the ‘burbs where trees lined every street, and every house came with a garage and a front and back lawn. Mum and Eric started out there, with his mother supporting them before he moved us out to live in the Vale. He was the youngest Vice President of Feelan Shipping and Hauling; a good job, and great prospects within the family firm. He promised to raise the funds to buy a place out by his mother, only he squandered it all on gambling and liquor. Then, when the family company lost a few of its larger clients, they sold up leaving Dad… Eric…with nothing. He took a pittance job, rented the flat in Olive Tower, and let Mum take a couple of jobs to pay for the three of us.
This was my life. The Tower was my home. It had been for the whole of my living memory. Eric was my father. Maria Feelan was my grandmother and Mara, my mother, had loved my dad to such an extent that she had stood by him through thick and thin. Those were the lies I believed—that they let me believe—until today.
The part that breaks my heart the most, the part that really undoes me, is knowing everything we went through over the years, everything we accepted as our lot, was bullshit. None of it mattered. None of it was real. It was all for nothing. All that pain for no reason at all.
Why?
Why had she let that happen? Why not leave him sooner? Why allow him to go so far?
The days she used to spend in bed recovering from one of his tempers, the days where she didn’t have time to recover and went to work nursing bruises and breaks. The times he humiliated her in public, ruined every friendship she tried to hone, forced her to beg, borrow and even steal from his pocket for the spare pennies to buy groceries. She learned to recognise when he would be too drunk to remember how much he’d come home with, and only ever squirrelled away a tiny amount so he wouldn’t become suspicious.
All of these things, all of these memories, swim in my mind. They are knife slices to my soul. She suffered for nothing. We struggled for no reason. She wasted her life and forfeited mine because she’d married Eric instead of trying to go it alone.
And Carlo was just as much to blame.
Who leaves a pregnant woman he professes to love? What kind of man runs from his responsibilities? Even if he didn’t want me, he could have helped set her up. He could have supported her financially a little at least. That way, it would have just been me and her. No one to tell us what to do. No one to make us work to pay their bills. I could have had a proper education, been like all the other girls my age.
“Fuck! Fuck them!” I scream aloud, surprised to hear my voice tinny and flat in the confines of the elevator. I don’t even remember stepping inside the building. The light for twelve glows. I’m going home but why? Why would I want to be anywhere near his home?
The doors shudder open, and I step out. It’s quiet on our floor. I hear the televisions from the nearby apartments and even what sounds like the couple three doors down shouting at each other over the right way to cook chicken. It would make me laugh if they didn’t sound like they were pulling their kitchen apart in the process.
This Tower invites misery. It channels the negative energies of the Vale and releases all the vitriol in waves upon the inhabitants. But it isn’t all the Tower’s fault. The people drawn to the Vale have problems; financial, emotional, marital — all kinds of issues. It’s all just fuel for the fire.
I stride for our door and palm the keys buried in my pocket. I don’t want to go inside and yet I’ve got nowhere else to go. And if Dad has lawyers getting him out, I’ll need to grab our things before he gets back. This is my only chance.
I turn the key and edge the door open, listening for the TV, or the tell-tale sounds of him thumping around in a rage. I’m met with an eerie silence that confirms he’s not returned. I have minutes maybe? An hour if I’m lucky? I don’t plan to hang around and find out.
I close over the door quietly behind me, not clicking it shut properly in case Dad appears unexpectedly and I need to get out fast. Dashing to the kitchen, I grab the rubbish sacks. We don’t own suitcases. We never went anywhere interesting enough to need them.
I ignore Mum and Da…Eric’s room, partly because I’m being petty –why should I waste time fetching her things when she wouldn’t dream of fetching mine? —but mostly because I’m convinced he’s actually in there waiting for me. Instead, I zip into the kids’ room and toss all their clothes into the bin liner. On top of these, I throw any of their favourite toys that I can find. There aren’t many which is why I make a concerted effort to find them and secure them. Casey’s plushies and AJ’s truck. TJ’s plastic block men that he uses as if they’re his own personal army. When the bag is full to bursting, I tie a quick knot in the top and take it through to my room and start the process over with a new bag and my things. I have even less, which is probably for the best, as I’ll be hauling these to the bar by foot.
Almost done, and with burns stinging my palms from the chaotic way I’ve handled things, I tie up the bag with my clothes in it and stand it on the floor beside the other one. Just my money remaining.
On hands and knees, I reach under the mattress, my whole body extending beneath the weight toward the far wall where my envelope of savings is woven between the slats. It takes a bit of work to remove it with only one hand, but I get it. I pull back and let the mattress drop then turn to find a man hovering at my shoulder.
“Fuck!”
“Jules, it’s just me.” Dax raises his hands into the air, palms side out. He takes a couple of steps backward and keeps his unblinking eyes on my face. My heart pounds in my chest, hard enough to knock visibly.
“You can’t just…holy fuck…how did you even know where I…? No…you know what? Forget it. I can guess.” I stand up and tap the phone in my leg pocket and Dax nods contritely.
“We installed a tracker,” he confirms.
“Why are you here?”
“I could ask you the same thing! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be here right now?”
“This was my best chance to grab our things.”
“Don’t pretend that you ran out of the bar with a plan.”
“Look, I’m here now. This is what I’m doing and you’re right, this is stupid and dangerous and…”
Dax makes a dive toward me; I barely have time to flinch before one arm locks around my back and the hand of his other clamps over my mouth. He whispers a strained “sshhh,” into my ear. Listening to the house, I hear the unmistakable snick of the front door closing and voices flooding the living room.
Well, fuck. My time is up, and it sounds like Eric brought his new friends home with him. My bedroom is the closest to the living room, and the door is partly open. As a rule of thumb, if I can see out, they can see in, so we’re fucked if we stay here. I look around the room at our options as Dax releases me and edges nearer the door.
It’s either the closet or under the bed, and I somehow doubt we’ll get the two of us under the bed. I ease the closet door open, lifting it to avoid the squeaky hinge and whisper-hiss at Dax. He waves me over and pulls me into his side, moving just slightly so we can both see around the door.
“Have you ever seen him before?” he breathes into my ear.
As I stand there, anchored to the floor by the combined weight of my thoughts and my fears, a man backs up as he’s talking to Eric. His black suit is expensive but sits badly on his wide frame. The shiny bald patch on his crown and halo of dark curly hair reminds me of a bad clown wig. I’ve never seen him before, but I guess Eric could have been meeting anyone over the years while Mum and I were at work.
“You’d better get those kids to me,” I hear Eric demand, but there’s little to no fight in his tone.
“If you keep your end of the bargain. I will keep mine. I want that girl. You deliver her to me, and the boys are yours. Any suggestions as to what you’d like done with your wife and the youngest girl?” the stranger asks. His voice is slimy, his words ooze, and I shudder even to listen.
“Do what you like. They’re shit to me now. I just want my boys. They belong to me.”
Suddenly, being in this place feels like a bad idea. I need to vanish before Eric catches sight of me or the man turns around and sees me. I take a few steps back on the balls of my feet and reach once again for the closet door.
I hear a cruel chuckle and my dad’s loud, “that would serve the bitch right,” as the man, or men if the cacophony of footfalls is any sign, head toward my room.
Dax launches himself across the room with two silent steps and sweeps us both into the closet. I pull the door closed with that awkward lifting motion that keeps it silent and hold my breath. Slatted louvre doors provide strips of a view. Dax’s chin rests on my shoulder as he holds me tight, his front to my back. I’ve no doubt he’s pressed up against the wall, and yet he pulls me back further as if to hide us both from the slashes of light.
The stranger pushes the bedroom door wide. He scans the room with furrowed brows, then relaxes when he finds it empty. His gaze trails over the twin bags, but he dismisses them quickly.
“This her room?”
“Both mutts shared it, but yeah,” Eric grunts, not bothering to hide his hatred of us.
“And you’re sure she didn’t spend any significant time in here.”
“She didn’t even go in there once, I don’t think. I made her fucking sleep outside,” he answers carefully.
“Why?”
“What does it matter? She pissed me off. What is it you need her for anyway?”
“She has something that belongs to me. Or had it…” He grimaces and leans towards Casey’s cot, running his stubby-fingered hand over her bedding. He lifts her blanket and brings it to his nose. I stiffen as he sucks in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and rolls his head back with a low satisfied groan.
“According to her records, she was tested and labelled gifted.” He speaks after a moment, his tone is one of disinterest but there’s a keen glint in his eye. “What does that mean? Is she smart? The type that would want to know all the answers?” he asks, discarding the blanket but snatching up Casey’s bunny hidden underneath. He shoves it into his pocket as he waits for Eric to answer.
I feel sick.
“She’s got a smart mouth and a smart brain. Not that she bothered to use the second one much. But yeah, she’s got one of them picture memories, and she damn well thinks she’s got all the answers. Doesn’t miss much. If she’d been mine, I might even be proud of her. She’s a lot like me.”
“Good. Good. Gareth…”
A third man approaches the door. “Yes, Sir?”
“Find this man his family. Bring the two girls to me.”
“Consider it done.” The faceless voice answers sharply. The man retreats, but not before casting another long look around the room. I hear the front door opening. A number of men leave before the clown in charge.
“And I get the money?” Dad calls from the front door. His voice echoes down the corridor and distorts. Dax eases the closet door open a touch to hear better.
“After we are finished with her, yes. You will get her share of the earnings from Hanson’s. After the obvious room, rates, and retention fees, of course.”
“I might just have to come and see that show for myself.” Eric laughs. Realising what they’re saying and that they’re talking about me, I shove my fingers in my mouth to keep from sobbing, but tears stream down my face like twin rivers. Though I’m not so much hurt as furious.
I doubt he ever actually loved me, but I never for an instant believed he would sell me out like this. He always threatened to get me a job at Hanson’s but selling me to them? I always believed they were empty threats. Bullshit from a world-class bullshitter.
How could he do this?
And the notion of Casey being anywhere near that creepy man makes my blood boil.
The elevator doors shut, the mechanics whir loudly in the acoustic corridor, presumably taking his guests down to the ground floor, then Eric shuts the door and silence reigns once more.
Dax closes the closet door again. The resulting squeak makes us both freeze and wince. When no one comes to drag us out of the room, Dax leans into my ear and lays out his plan.
“We’ll stay here until it’s clear to move. We can’t risk him calling them back here.” My skin ignites at the caress of his hot breath against my ear.
I’m too scared to speak and irrationally convinced that Eric is so attuned to my voice that he’d even recognise my breathing. So, I hold as many breaths as I can and nod my agreement.
“I won’t ask if you’re okay…nobody would be okay hearing that, but do you think you can hold it together until we get out of here, or do you want me to steamroller our way out right now?”
“Fine. I’m fine…I want our things.” Truth is, I don’t care about our things, but I don’t know what else to say to convince him I can maintain a grip on this fear. If he thinks I’m being stubborn, then he might also assume I can get through this without freaking out.
“Then we’ll just wait until he’s out of the way. Okay?”
“Okay.”
We stand still, silently listening to Eric moving around the apartment. He spends a long moment huffing and puffing in the living room, probably righting his recliner, which was on its side when I entered. Then he grumbles the entire way to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and pulls out a bottle of beer. It’s the only thing he insists on replacing in the fridge and the tell-tale clink of bottles lets me know he’s grabbed more than one.
“Two?” Dax asks, recognising the same thing.
“He’s saving himself a trip for the second. He’ll down the first in three swallows. The second he’ll enjoy for fifteen minutes or so. Then he usually calls one of us to fetch more or something a little harder.” I speak barely above a whisper and even that feels too loud. I take a silent breath and hold it while I wait for Eric to come storming in and fling open the closet door. But he doesn’t come. Instead, the same old creak of the chair rings out, followed by a grunt and huff as he gets comfortable.
“Gresh! Fucking stop talking and listen to me,” he snaps into the empty room. “Where the fuck are they now? What do you mean they’re at the bar? My boys too? Good. Good…yeah, you were right. They want Juliet, said she has something of theirs. Too fucking right, I sold her! Do you think I’d pass up that kind of money because of a lousy promise to you? I gave you every chance to do whatever the hell you wanted to her, and you fucked it. Don’t go blaming me because you were too damn sentimental over the cunt to act on your feelings…” Eric bellows a cruel hacking laugh. “What fucking dream world are you living in, Gresh? D’you think she’s just gonna come around one day? Fall in love with a decrepit loser like you? Have you looked in the mirror? She might be a mutt, but she’s not fucking stupid. And neither am I. She’ll be earning me money on her back at Hanson’s by the end of the week. I might even make a bonus on the brat too. Mr Franz took an interest in her for himself, fucking sicko, but he’s got to find them first. You sure they’re at the bar? Fine. I’ll make the call.”
There’s a long huffing noise before Eric mutters, “Stupid fucking arsewipe!” Then an extended silence before we hear the tring of a ringtone on loud speaker.
A sharp tenor voice rings out as soon as the tone cuts off. “You have news?”
Eric snorts. “Too fucking right, I do. Carlito’s. It’s a bar on Main. They’ll be in the office if they’re not in the bar itself.”
I turn to Dax, panic etched clear across my face, but Dax is one step ahead. He types furiously on his phone, the screen illuminating us both in a soft blue glow. He holds the phone low and flat between us.
GET THEM OUT NOW. PLAN FLIT.
A sharp hitching sound fills my ears, rhythmic as the ticks of a second hand on a clockface. I stare wide eyed at Dax, needing to move and simultaneously terrified of being found. The blue light across his face dims, leaving only the golden slashes that creep through the door slats.
I open my mouth to speak, but what the hell do I say? We’ll never get to them in time. Can Aiden get them out? If they even argue with him, Franz’s men will be on them and if Gresh is watching…fuck.
Those hitches are too loud. We’ll get caught. I hold my breath to hear better and the hitches stop. Me? My breathing? Fuck…I’m so close to freaking out again.
“Hey. Hey…We’ve got this, Jules. They’ll be fine. I swear to you, I won’t let anything happen to your family.”
I hear him, but how can I believe it? Nobody in the Vale does anything for nothing. Why would Dax help? I need to get to them. I need to protect those kids. My head’s pounding. Dax blurs out of vision.
“Jules,” he whispers urgently in my ear. I feel his hands on my cheeks, holding my face as he pulls back to look into my eyes. He’s being sincere, but sincerity doesn’t stop people getting hurt. “Little gem! I’ve got you. Please breathe. We’ll protect them. You’re mine…you’re under my care. I protect what’s mine. I swear. I swear to you on my life they’ll be okay.”
I let out the air I’m hoarding in my lungs and shake my head. “He sold us. They’ll keep coming.”
“They’ll not find your family and they’ll never get near you. They’ll come for Eric to take back what’s theirs. The buck stops with him.”
“And the envelope?”
“I’ve got a plan in place for that. I just need you to trust me for a little while longer. Can you do that?”
Could I? I don’t see how I have much choice. I nod. “Okay.”
“Good. That’s my girl.” He draws me in closer and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, pulling back with a huge relieved smile upon his lips. “Right. Is he likely to come in here?”
“No. He only does that when he plans to drag me out.”
Dax’s mouth thins for a second. “Then we’re getting out of here.” He reaches for the handle and opens the closet door, so I slam my hand over his with a wince and lift as he pushes to avoid the creak. Dax moves to the doorway, popping his head around the frame for a fraction of a second to get a look at Eric. I hold my breath again, expecting the worst but Dax turns back to me and hand gestures that Eric is facing the front door. Well shit, that’s a major issue!
“How long before he drinks himself to sleep?”
“Too long.”
“Takes a piss?”
“Balloon bladder.”
“Do you have your phone?” he asks, changing direction. There’s a glint of a plan in his eyes.
I nod.
“Good.” He steps around me and nods at the bags. “Everything in there?”
I wave my hand, they will give us away and in the grand scheme of things, the items inside can be replaced. “We can forget them.”
“No, you came here for them, we’ll finish the mission.” He winks and flashes me a smile, but I’m too nervous to smile back. “Right. Give me your phone.”
I hand him the device and watch as he opens an app called ‘Clean’ and presses the large red ‘Full Clean’ button. When he checks my data, contacts, call history and finds absolutely nothing, I realise he’s reset the phone back to factory settings. Even the original ‘Clean’ app has gone.
“I need you to put this in whichever bedroom is furthest from us.”
“He’ll see me.”
“He won’t. He’s intent on that front door. Go slow and steady. Stick to the walls. Put the phone on the windowsill of the room and then get back here. Can you do that?”
“And if he sees?”
“Then I’m going to have to kick his arse instead. I’d rather not give him or Franz the heads up that we were here or that we know what they’re doing. We need time to put everything in place. If Franz gets an inkling that we know about his deal or where we are, he’ll come at us head on.”
“Okay.”
He holds out the phone and I take it with a little lurch of sadness. It was never really mine, but it feels like I’m surrendering yet another part of myself to Eric Feelan.
Just like Dax said, Eric is facing the door, his eyes glued to the flecking white paint as if he expects us to walk back in at any moment. I edge around the frame and hold still to see if he picked up on the movement. He doesn’t budge. I’d think the TV was on, except the entire place is thick with tension. It’s so quiet inside that you can clearly hear the yelling neighbours and baby screaming three doors down. The steady rattle of the elevator rolling up and down the shaft is also discernible. We’ll have to use the stairs if we manage to get out.
I edge down the hall toward Mum and Eric’s room. It’s the furthest away and the door opens left to right, which makes it less likely to be seen.
Inside, the room is a mess. The bedsheets are splayed across the floor, the mattress is old and musty and makes the room smell of sweat and dirt. I don’t know how Mum slept in here. I wonder if sleeping with Carlo made it easier to bear?
The phone goes on the sill, and I get the hell out of there before I let either the room or the fear choke me. Outside, I risk another glance at Eric. Only his arm has moved, probably from lifting the bottle to his mouth as he waits for his boys to be delivered. His eyes are closed now. He won’t be asleep. He’ll be thinking. Most likely of the shit he’s thrown us into. Bastard will revel in his cruelty.
Dax pulls me back into my bedroom.
“Can you manage the bags until we get outside the apartment?” he mouths more than whispers. I nod in response. I planned on doing this myself, anyway, burned hands or not. He points for me to stand beside them and get ready, then pulls out his phone with one hand and gently closes over my bedroom door with the other.
A harsh buzzing erupts down the hall, followed by an obnoxiously loud digital ringtone. We’re both silent as Eric storms past us and into the bedroom.
“Go!” Dax swings open my door. I grab the bags and haul them in a straight run to the front door. I swing both into one hand and twist the handle, brace the door with my foot until Dax grabs it off me and we both lurch into the hall, Dax closing the door silently behind us.
I can hear Eric shouting obscenities in stereo. He’s loud enough to be heard in the corridor, but his tinny voice also clamours out of the phone Dax holds in his hand. He disconnects rather than listen to the man who promised to be a dad curse out my mother. Instead of saying a word, he reaches down and takes the sacks from me. “Lead the way, little gem.”
I take us to the emergency stairs, down two flights and then back into the tenth-floor corridor to call for the elevator.
“Why?” he asks concisely once he deems it safe to talk. Hearing his regular voice is strange. I’d grown oddly comforted by his whispers and the intimacy that formed between us.
“We heard the elevator doors ping open earlier. I didn’t want to risk Eric hearing or seeing us.”
He nods but more to himself than to me. “You’re sharp. Your reasoning is logical and forward thinking.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“Definite compliments.” He grins, nudging his head toward the open elevator doors so that I can get in first.
“He’ll have your number.” I warn, leaning back against the wall. Dax takes a second to pick up on my meaning. “Eric,” I clarify.
“No, he won’t.” His grin flashes again as he winks. “The Clean app takes care of that for us. Any call that goes to that device will only flash up as an incoming call. No number, no name. No recall data. It’s all encoded. The phone will remain traceable too. So, if he keeps it with him, we’ll always know where he is. It’s a fail-safe for our team members in case they’re in tricky situations.”
“And here I thought you were a legitimate businessman dealing in property, or urban rejuvenation, or something.”
“Ah. You know of Trevainne?”
“Everyone knows about the Art District and that you pulled off the entire transformation without the city having to pay a thing. Harrison’s heroes.” I scoff and then remember that this man has literally become my lifeline in the last couple of days. The term hero isn’t so much hyperbole as fact.
“Trevainne is many things to many people. For me, it’s a means to an end. I’m nothing more than a caretaker.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between a man who sweeps floors and the man who cleans up an entire district.”
“Is there though?”
At first, I’m tempted to argue my point but there’s something about the amused way he pitches his question that makes me think he knows what he’s talking about—or at least he’ll throw an argument that I won’t be able to defend against.
Is he right? Is it the same? Does it matter right now?
I change the course of our conversation. “The man who came into my room…”
“What about him?”
“Who was he?”
“What was your impression of him?” he asks instead of answering.
“He looked like a clown playing a businessman.” But even that was an understatement. He might appear to be a clown on the surface, but he carried a malevolence about him that left me certain he was a terrible man. The kind of evil that surpasses even Eric. Eric even called him a sicko—if that doesn’t say it all then nothing does.
“Never was a truer statement said. That was Barry Franz.”
“He came personally? What the hell was he doing talking to Eric and why would he offer to help him get the boys back? This doesn’t make sense.” As far as I knew, Eric didn’t have those kinds of connections. Logically, Gresh might though. He’s a dog to more than one master in the Vale, running errands between them all for scraps. And Eric mentioned Gresh earlier when Hanson’s guys were waiting for me. Huh. I wonder if he appreciates he only has his new friends because of me?
“Not to you, but it does to me. That letter you gave me was addressed to Barry Franz. It had information about my operations that he wants, and it seems he’s been told that you know what was written on there.”
“But I don’t. I never read it. I swear.”
Dax reaches across and cups my face. “I know that, little gem, but someone has told him otherwise. Eric has just tapped into a powerful ally.”
The doors chime as they open, breaking the bubble between us. He drops his hand and sweeps us out of the elevator, through the foyer and around the side of the building to a sleek, black car. He fishes keys from a trouser pocket and presses the door unlock button. The car click-clunk’s it’s acquiescence.
There’s something so off about all this, though. Eric has nothing—nothing that Franz couldn’t discover for himself.
We climb into the car and shut out the world before I share my concerns.
“I don’t understand why Franz even made a deal with Eric. He’s got no real ownership over us. Franz and Hanson could just as easily sweep us off the street for nothing. Why pay a man like my father for information they could get for free?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
“Unless he’s sold them more than just our location at the bar?”
“What are you thinking?”
I shrug my shoulders. I’m not sure what I’m thinking, but I list out a few possibilities. “My college. Charlie and Koko’s place. My schedule?” What else? I couldn’t think of anything else he’d know. But if Gresh has been watching me all this time, there wouldn’t be a safe place for me in the Vale from here on. The weight of that—of my entire life in shreds—is just too damn much. I need to prioritise. “Is Aiden with my family?”
“Yes. We’ve planned for every eventuality. There was always a chance something like this might happen and Franz would go after your mum or the kids. We’ll be relocating them for a while…until we can clear this problem up.”
“Like witness protection?”
He stares out toward the bridge. His lips pinching slightly before he answers. “Pretty much, yes.”
“Are you taking me to them?”
He nods. “We’ll meet them at Carlo’s place.”
“Mum will be furious. I’ve taken everything from her now…and Carlo…what will Carlo do about the bar? Is it even safe there?” God, if they didn’t truly hate me before they will now. What’s worse is I’m not too concerned about Mum. She had nothing to begin with, at least now she’ll be safe. It’s Carlo who concerns me. The man built himself a business, a reputation. He has a home, belongings, a whole life that he’ll have to walk away from.
“That’s not for you to worry about. Carlo will arrange something, or I will,” Dax says matter of fact.
“This is my fault. I’m uprooting everything. I never meant to screw everything up so badly.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong! None of this was your fault. There were grown ass adults around you making decisions that led to these fucked up situations. You’ve been dancing in the middle of the storm, trying to keep everyone safe by taking all the blows yourself. It was never your responsibility. Not Eric, your mum, those kids, me, Tom…none of it should ever have come to rest on your shoulders.”
“But it did.”
They keep telling me that these supposed grown adults can manage their own shit, but if that were true, why have I been managing it for them for years? I’m as much of a fucking adult as they are, if not more. While they’ve been selfishly cheating and planning fantasy lives together, I’ve been playing mother, breadwinner, beating post…UGH! Why do I despise them and worry for them all at the same time? How is that possible?
“It did. You’ve done everything you could and more to keep everyone safe and alive. It’s my turn to take that responsibility now. Let me take it for you.”
“I can’t…I can’t let you…anyone…They’re my family, Dax. I’m the one who loves them enough to withstand it all, so they don’t have to. You can’t offer them that. No one can.”
“Then let me at least share it, and if you don’t trust me…then trust Aiden.” I turn to stare at Dax. The vulnerability in his voice as he offers Aiden has me hurting, though I’m not sure why. “You like him. Aiden, I mean.”
I nod. “I do. Aiden’s been amazing. He totally kept me from losing my shit at the zoo and the kids love him. Plus…with my dad...with Eric…” The words die in my throat. I can’t bring myself to say anything more about it.
“He told me about that.” Dax’s hand reaches up and traces the outline of the bruise on my cheek. His touch is feather soft but sends heat through me right down into my chest. I feel the rouge of my blush creep up. “He said you stood your ground and were brave every damn time you faced him.” I almost nod, but fear the movement will break the connection between Dax’s skin and mine, so I answer him instead.
“But it was more mouthing off than anything brave or smart.”
“Mouthing off to a man like that is brave or dumb. You knew what would happen, and you did it anyway. Aiden said you barely flinched when your dad slapped you and you glared right at him as he rolled his fist to punch you.”
I want to look away in embarrassment, but I can’t tear my eyes from Dax’s.
“He said he let you stand up for yourself but that he stepped in when he’d seen enough. Want to know what I said?”
I do. I want to know what Dax said, what he felt, why he continues to caress my cheek with his gentle fingers, why he’s staring at my lips as he speaks, why I’ve parted mine in invitation as I breathe in every word he silkily whispers.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I told him he waited too long.” He lowers his face to within an inch of mine. “That the fucker should never have touched you once, no matter three times.” His sweet, minty breath buffets against my face as he sways his head to the side and touches his cheek to mine. His lips brush my ear as he whispers, “That if anyone ever touched you again, I would tear them apart.”
My heart hammers. I clutch a hand to my chest to keep it inside. I want Dax to kiss me. I want him to wrap me up and bury me in the safety of his chest. I want it with every inch of my soul and despite standing in the eye of a shitstorm, this feels right. Because, yes, I want Aiden, but I want Dax too.
So, when he pulls back, pushing himself away from me, I can’t stop the little choking sob of surprise that bursts from my mouth.
“I owe you that much for what you did for Thomas. Keeping you from harm is the least I can offer you. You and your family.” His withdrawal is a one-eighty; so abrupt that I’m left to wonder if I made it all up in my head. Did I read him wrong?
He follows the contours of the car with his gaze, staring out at the road ahead rather than at me. He folds his arms across his chest and pulls his lips into a tight frown, and yet his cheeks are flushed. He breathes raggedly. His chest rises and falls at the same pace as my own. He isn’t totally unaffected by what just happened and yet he rejected it...rejected me.
“Then maybe we should get out of here. The longer we wait, the less that promise means,” I say coldly. He flinches, but nods. Presses the engine start button and gets us away from Olive Tower.
I’m hurt. There’s no denying it. Confused too. Is he playing me? Is he distracting me?
Am I that malleable, easy to manipulate, easy to please? I have no positive male role model in my life aside from Koko. Praise from my father involved him ignoring me for a night. Did I just get swept up in the moment because I’m emotionally starved, or is it because Dax is the one issuing the praise and sympathy?
I don’t have the energy or emotional capacity to argue or even question it.
What I need more than anything is stability. Normalcy. My home, my bed, my mum, but none of that is the same anymore. Nothing is real.
My life is purgatory…it always has been.