TWENTY-FIVE
Iinhale the damn sandwich and then spend ten minutes eyeing Dax’s greedily. After fifteen more tick by on the oversized wall clock, I check out rest of the room. I could drop my entire apartment inside and still have space left over. I’m so bored, or more accurately, I’m out of my depth, so I decide to distract myself and prove I’m right.
Back home, I can travel from one side of the apartment to the other in forty-eight steps. The narrowest width of Dax’s apartment is that and so much more. I count each pigeon step in my head. Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight—
“What are you doing?”
“Sixty-nine,” I say aloud. The grin that lights Dax’s face is my only sign that I’ve said something wrong, but it’s his laughter that clicks it into place. My cheeks flush. I cross my arms and glare at him. “Well, fuck.”
“So, I hear but, sweetheart, you’re doing it wrong,” he teases.
“Steps! Sixty-nine steps, Dax.”
He stalks toward me, closing the gap between us. “Why are you counting steps?”
“No reason.” I back away, circling the furniture to keep a distance between us.
“Just for the fun of it?”
I shrug. “Sure.” Or maybe it’s so that I know how many steps it is to get out of this room in the dark. That was my reason for learning at home. How many steps to get to the kids? How many back to the front door? Where do I turn? At what angle? All of these things are muscle memory for me now, but in a new place, I’ll have to learn again. Not that escape is my intention…or not consciously, anyway.
I run my hand along the back of the sofa. The leather is soft and supple beneath my hand. I imagine how comfortable it must be to sit on. I’ve not truly rested since getting up this morning but, instead of flopping down and risking not getting up, I head back to the stool and suck down the last of my orange juice.
Dax follows, grabbing his plate. Halving his sandwich, he takes the stool beside mine and deposits half of his food on my plate. He bites into his half clearing most of it in one go. I watch him chew until his lips stretch over the mouthful in a closed-lipped grin.
Something about watching him eat, the complete lack of pretentiousness as he chomps like a man starved, both settles and excites me. My mouth waters, but not for the food he shares so readily. Dax is the source of my hunger, and his refusal to explain anything is the source of my current frustration.
I stuff as much of the sandwich into my mouth as I can before I say or do something stupid.
“Good?” he asks, licking a smudge of mayonnaise from his cheek.
“Mm hmm.”
“It’s a long story, you know, and probably not one for tonight.” I glance up at him questioningly. He shakes his head and wipes a crumb from my chin with a wink. I swipe the area with my sleeve and duck my head. “Sylvie, I mean,” he adds.
“It’s your business. None of mine,” I grumble through food, with the wisdom to lift my hand to cover my mouth. He watches me in silence for a moment, the attention making me shift uneasily on my seat.
“You can have the spare room. I’ve had it all made up for you and left something for you to wear to bed on the pillow.”
His kindness highlights the fact I really have no choice. I’m already here, in Dax’s home and relying on him to keep me safe. I haven’t really considered what that means until now. But I’ve lost everything. No money, no home, no family, I’m stranded at the mercy of a man who didn’t even know me three days ago.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt the words without thinking.
“What are you sorry for?”
“For everything. For becoming a burden.”
“None of this is your fault. You just got caught in the middle of something neither of us could have foreseen.” He’s talking sense, but he isn’t in my position. He has no idea of how it feels to hand control of my life and welfare to a stranger.
Not that I can tell him that. I sigh and respond with a general comment, not wanting to argue or continue a pointless conversation. It won’t change anything, anyway.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Look, I need you to take a few days away from the butchers and from college. You can forget about your shifts at the bar too, as I’ll be putting it under new management,” Dax begins.
“You can’t! Those jobs are my only way of getting money together and college…shit…I’ll lose my place if I don’t show. I already ditched twice this week!”
“Stop it. You’re panicking.”
“Of course, I’m panicking. This is my life!”
“Men showed up to kidnap you this morning. They planned to take you with Eric’s permission. They came to Carlo’s house for you and your family, and you barely blink an eye, but I mention taking a few days off and you scream at me? Your priorities are fucked, Jules.”
“My priorities are fine, Dax. They’re the same as they’ve always been; to get out of the shit and make my family safe. I can’t do that if I don’t work for it!” I snap at him. He leans on the counter and raises his brows. “Why am I even bothering to explain myself to you? You wouldn’t understand.”
“I understand better than you realise.”
“Then you know that course and my jobs are my way out of the Vale. You get why I can’t just stop attending.”
“What I get is that you’re being hunted. They came for you. For you, Jules, do you understand? They will find out your routine if they don’t already have it from Eric. They’ll keep coming.”
“So, what? I just hide here?” I push the stool back and stand up. He’s infuriating. This whole thing is a nightmare. How could one night ruin so much?
“For now, that is exactly what I you need to do.” He observes me cautiously; his eyes following me as I pace back and forth.
“What about my responsibility to Charlie? My course?”
“We can make calls. Leave it with me.”
I hate giving in. None of this is fair, but he isn’t wrong either. He isn’t being unreasonable. I am.
“I think I’d better call Charlie now. She might need time to call in a replacement.”
“Do you know the number?”
“Yeah.” I know it by heart.
“Then use your cell. It’s safe enough. Your outgoing number is automatically blocked.”
“Can’t. Eric has it, remember?”
“Do you still have the second phone we gave you?”
The second…oh! I pat my thigh. It’s there, a rectangular weight in the leg pocket. “Okay. I forgot about that phone. Yeah, I have it. Do I pay you for the calls?”
“No. Your bill is taken care of.” He stands and lifts his empty plate before reaching for mine. “Are you done?”
“Huh?” He holds out my plate; a crusty corner resting on top.
“Are you full?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“Then I’ll show you upstairs. You need to rest.” He clears both plates away and drains his own juice before leading me to the stairs.
“There are four rooms,” he explains, turning right at the top of the stairs and leading me to the end of the corridor. On one side, there is a single door and on the other a double. He points to the single, white-painted door, taller than two of me put together and surrounded by an elaborately carved frame. “This one is yours, and I’m opposite.”
I wonder if Sylvie is already tucked in and waiting for him? The thought brings me more pain than I like to admit, so I force it away. What right do I have to this man, anyway? I’ve known him for less than a week. I’m being petty and ridiculous.
“If you need anything, just knock,” he offers kindly. I can’t foresee me needing anything from him. Wanting, however, is a different matter.
“Thank you. For everything, I mean.”
“I am sorry for everything. I never would have wished this on anyone, but I’m grateful that it was you who stopped to help.” He hovers, staring back and forth between my eyes and my lips, each transition like a whisper of touch. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. Help yourself to anything. This is your home for the foreseeable.”
His generosity and trust are astounding. When I really think about it, he’s taken in a stranger from the Vale and is trusting them not to rob him blind while he sleeps. He either reads my nature really well or has full faith in his guards. Which brings to mind the conversation I heard earlier. I scan the ceiling and sure enough, a spatter of black dots line the corridor. Cameras. I’m betting they are all over the ceiling downstairs, too.
“Cameras,” Dax confirms, following my eyeline. “They are in the communal areas only. Your bedroom is clear, but your windows have an infrared alarm fitted on the outside so you can open them, but I wouldn’t lean out too far or you might end up with a dozen men barging in through your door.” He smiles, but the warning is legitimate.
“Okay. I’ll call Charlie and then I guess I’ll see you in the morning?” I open the door and step into the room. The thick carpet beneath my feet almost lifts me an inch higher. It’s like walking on clouds. The room is too beautiful. I almost ask if it’s really okay for me to sleep in here. I’m unclean and unworthy, but the look on Dax’s face, the way he watches my reaction, encourages me to hold my tongue. I don’t want to seem ungrateful or remind him of the social chasm between us.
“Yeah, the morning,” he mumbles, as though declaring the words to himself. Dax turns and takes a step towards his own door. He rests his hand on the handle and presses the lever down. It opens an inch or two before he stops. “Jules?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
He doesn’t hang around long enough for me to tell him what I think about that. I guess he already suspects that I’ll argue that I’m not his responsibility—I probably would have if he’d hung around, but he takes his leave, closing his door behind him without even looking my way.
“Thank you,” I whisper into the empty corridor before closing my door.
The bed in his spare room is so huge it dwarfs my parents’ double. Piled high with blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes, it appears higher than it probably is. Like the rest of the lower floors, this room has a neutral palette, but the designer has thrown in flourishes of delicate duck-egg blues and greens. The effect is of a subtle hint of colour in the most elaborate places; the upholstery of a pair of antique chairs stationed between double windows, the thick silk-woven tiebacks holding brocade curtains back to create a beautifully framed view of the city in the distance, the fabric of the cushions and blankets layered upon the bed.
The room smells of lavender. The aroma is so rich that I follow the wafting scent into the small adjoining bathroom and find a tub filled to overflowing with rustling and bursting bubbles. Did Dax run this for me? I dip my hand beneath the iridescent puffs and find the water pleasantly warm. He didn’t mention it.
I strip and climb in. If the room had a fire, I would burn my clothes. Caked in dirt and sweat, they peel from my skin like an icky layer of filth.
The water welcomes me. I sink deep into the tub and swish the bubbles just like Casey always does whenever I get the chance to treat her and the boys with a bubble bath.
God. How long will it be before I’m able to do that again? And with their new family dynamic, will I even be welcome? Where are they now? Are they safe?
Aiden will make sure of it, but having faith in Aiden isn’t the same as knowing for myself. Not being able to call them or hear their voices is going to kill me. I’m as much a mother to them as Mum is. This feels like I’m abandoning them, but the alternative—risking them—is unthinkable.
Fuck Eric Feelan!
I hate him. I’ve hated him for the longest time and knowing that he isn’t my real dad brings with it a mixed sense of relief and regret. He’s the only father I’ve known. Sure, he’s displayed nothing more than contempt for me, but he took me in, and his family welcomed me as one of them. My grandmother never treated us differently. She never favoured the boys over me or Casey. I’m grateful for that. I’m glad to have at least one worthwhile relationship from my childhood. Still, a question nibbles at the edges of all my reasoning. A question that will probably never get an answer: What was the point?
My maudlin thoughts keep me in the tub until my skin crinkles and the water becomes chilly. Only then do I pull myself out and wrap two of the softest towels I’ve ever held around my hair and body. My grubby belongings, I fold carefully; they might need disinfected, but they are all I have, so I take care of them like they were mine to begin with.
The weight in my trousers reminds me about the phone. I pull it out and put it on the nightstand. The call to Charlie can wait until I’ve dried my hair and climbed into bed.
An oversized T-shirt waits for me on the pillow. My tummy flips knowing who it belongs to. I pull it to my face like a crazy fool and suck in the sandalwood scent of Dax. He’s worn this at some point. I’ll be pulling on this T-shirt knowing that Dax has been in it too.
Jesus.I feel like a schoolgirl. An idiot with a crush, but that’s what I am, isn’t it? I dress, trying not to think of the way the cotton feels as it dances across my bare skin. Soft and warm, it’s the closest I’ll get to Dax and I know it.
Leaping under the covers, and bouncing upon the mattress, I reach for my phone. As soon as I figure out which icon brings up the dial-pad, I tap in Charlie’s number and listen to the outgoing pulses.
“Hello? Who is this?”
The familiarity of Charlie’s voice, even as confused as it is, does something unexpected; I unwind. The pain, the fear, the loss, the nerves—all of it—embeds itself in my words and floats down the phone to my friend. Someone who has always had my back.
“Charlie? It’s Jules.”
Her relief at hearing my voice is instantaneous and bears out in the shift of her mood.
“Hey darling! Why are you calling so late?”
“I’m sorry, Charlie, but I wanted to let you know I won’t be able to come into work for a few days.” My guilt, the part of myself I rarely show others, slips into the driving seat. I feel like a piece of shit. I’m letting her down.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“No. Not really,” I admit. “Some strange things have happened and well…I got myself into a situation…” Downplaying the circumstances makes me sound like a liar, but I don’t even know how to form the words to tell Charlie everything that has happened.
“Something to do with those new friends of yours?” she asks, way too observantly.
“Actually, yes, but it’s not their fault.”
“Do you need me to send Daddy-bear to come get you? I promise he will obliterate anyone. Just point them out and consider it done.”
“I know he’d do it too, but no thank you.” Not yet anyway. “I can’t go into details, but my dad has kind of sold me and the family out. Mum’s gone away with the kids, and I’m looking out for myself for a while. I’m safe, but there might be people who come looking for me and…well…I don’t want to be there when they do, for everyone’s sake. Can you put it out that you sacked me? I mean, you might have to fire me for real. I can’t really say how long it will be before we sort all this out.”
“No one is sacking you!” she insists. “I’ll call my sister to come down and help for a while. It will be nice to catch up. And if anyone asks, I ditched you for back talking me, and I know nothing else. Sound okay?”
Thank you, God, for this woman. She’s one of the few reasons I still have faith in people at all. “Sounds perfect. Thank you, Charlie.”
“Listen, you call me to check in, okay? That rescue offer will stay open. We will come get you no matter when or where, you hear?”
I nod; throat choked and eyes burning with gratitude. “I hear. Thank you”
“Okay. Stay safe, darling.”
“I will. Bye, Charlie.” I hang up without waiting for her response and wipe the tears from under my eyes. As soon as I remember I’m wearing Dax’s T-shirt, I dart out of bed and grab a roll of toilet paper for the snot running from my nose.
Charlie is amazing, and she means every word she says. I knew she would offer to help, but hearing it said out loud completely cripples me. I’m blessed and cursed to have such loving friends. My heart glows to have them, and is crushed because I will never feel good enough for them. I could never ask her to do the things she offers. I don’t know if it’s pride, stubbornness, or a sense that I don’t deserve her kindness, but I can’t rely on her. It wouldn’t be right. I owe her more than that.
I slide back into bed. As comfortable as I am, sinking into a mattress stuffed with angel feathers or unicorn hair given how out-of-this-world it feels, I can’t sleep. Closing my eyes invites an action-replay of everything I’ve seen and heard today.
A series of betrayals and discoveries.
Without the responsibility of work, I have nothing to focus on, and no need to sleep in order to keep up with the day ahead. Sleeping means waking. Waking means facing a new temporary future that I’m not in control of and, despite the craziness of everything that’s happened, I am genuinely scared to see the new day.