THIRTY-ONE
“You could have left it in the car you know?” Sylvie nods to the bag of lingerie whose handle I have double looped in my hand.
“A bag like this is robbery-bait.”
“No one would look twice at my little rust-bucket.”
She’s probably right but I’m not about to tell her the contents in this bag are almost as expensive as my college fees for an entire term. Leaving them in the car would be akin to leaving my wallet, passwords, pin numbers, and any other precious thing I might own.
Thankfully she doesn’t press matters when the elevator doors open onto the nineteenth floor. The guards who wait there are unfamiliar faces, but Sylvie appears to recognise them and vice versa. She rushes down the corridor to Tom’s room. They nod politely at her approach. I linger in the hallway. Blood bursts across my tongue. I release my gnawed lip and run my tongue over the bite.
I don’t want to see him, but I do. I don’t want to intrude, but I don’t want to be the outsider. Will he even remember me? Maybe or maybe not. I can’t go in. Not if everyone is there. Times like these are for families, not strangers.
I wait outside. Not daring to venture any closer than the window beside the door. The blinds are open, the slats of washed-out blue provide a glimpse of their reunion.
Dax leans against the wall on the far side of the room, one knee bent, and his arms folded casually across his chest. He wears an indulgent smile as he watches Sylvie fuss over Tom. She perches at the base of his bed, blocking him from my view.
I hear her clearly from the hallway. She alternates between shouting at him for getting shot and bemoaning how much she’s missed having him around the house to entertain her. “You scared me, Tom. I thought I’d lost you.” Her right hand comes up and swipes at her face. “Never do that to me again, okay?”
“I’m sorry, munchkin. It wasn’t planned, I swear.” He laughs and coughs, the sound bringing back my memories of that night, as though I’m experiencing it all over again. A chill washes over me and I force myself to remember that he is okay, he’s here, alive, and soon to be well.
Dax relaxes his arms and drops a hand into his pocket, removing his phone. The fact that I notice him, only cements that I’m low-key obsessed. Forget the fuss Sylvie makes or the heartfelt reunion, only Dax keeps me so riveted that no infinitesimal movement goes unnoticed.
The familiar buzz of my phone jolts me from my thoughts of him. Of the taste of his mouth, the skill of his tongue, of how close we came to knowing more of each other.
Are you coming in or do you plan to spend the evening in the corridor?
Not sure.
Why not?
This is family time, Dax.
You are family now. You saved him. He wouldn’t be here if not for you.
Maybe another time.
Get that tidy little butt in this room right now, or I will come out there and bring you in myself!
Oh boy,I’m tempted to make that option a reality, but I don’t get the chance.
“Where’s Jules?” Sylvie spins her head around so fast she lifts herself off the bed in one smooth motion and comes out to fetch me. She snatches the lingerie bag from my hands and pushes me into the room ahead of her.
Both Tom and Dax stare at me. I’m not sure what to say.
“Tom, this is—” Dax begins, but Tom cuts across him, making the introductions irrelevant.
“Jules.” He grins. “I would know that face anywhere. You still have a blush on your cheeks. I can’t have been asleep too long then?” he teases, smiling up at me with warmth and familiarity.
“You look better than when I saw you last. The whole blinking and talking thing looks good on you,” I respond, speaking without thought.
“Still funny too.” He pats a spot on the bed beside him. Sylvie’s fingers flex at my back, the movement is tiny, but I notice. I circle the bed and sit in the chair in front of Dax, allowing Sylvie to take up her bed-top position. I sense Tom’s eyes on me as I sit down, Sylvie’s and Dax’s too. They make me uncomfortable. I told him this was family time. Here I am, making it awkward.
Dax lays his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. Feeling him there instantly eases the tension in my bones. I relax into his touch and tilt my head back to smile.
“You two seem to have got to know one another?” Tom suggests. He watches us, his eyes riveted to our interaction. They settle on Dax’s hand holding me.
“Yes,” Dax responds, giving my shoulder another soft squeeze.
“And is she an angel like I thought, or something more mortal?” The question is pointed. Sharp. His choice of words seems off too, as though he’s baiting Dax. He keeps the smile on his face, but it lacks the warmth he welcomed me with.
I answer, “Mortal, I’m afraid. Flawed and nowhere near as holey as you.” I nod to the bandage over his chest and grin, but my smile is just as empty of sincerity as his. I’m not sure what is going on, but I’m leery of this new dynamic between us all. Tom laughs politely, but I can tell he’s disappointed his jibe missed its true mark. I’m just not sure why. The silence that follows my flat attempt at humour is awkward.
Sylvie takes a turn at smoothing things over. “We bought clothes,” she said, more to Dax than Tom.
“And came back with only one bag? You’re losing your touch,” Tom teases, his tone softer for Sylvie, than it is for Dax.
“Nuh uh.” She shakes her head exaggeratedly, leaning into him so that her nose rubs his. He pulls away and clutches his hand to his wound. Sylvie darts backwards, deflated by his rejection and clearly concerned that she’s hurt him, then stares at his bandaged chest as she speaks.
“Cas took the rest. That’s just the final things we grabbed for Jules. We didn’t have time to drop it off. We came straight here.” Her tone is still flat, her exuberance tamed.
“And you made it in one piece, I see?” Tom lifts his arm with a wince to flick her nose. He gives her a cheeky wink and bolsters her once more. She smiles at him softly and draws out her response. He’s dented her confidence in him.
“Stop teasing. My driving is fine. Good even.”
“If Jules says it is, then I’ll believe you,” Tom jokes. The mention of my name shuts her down again.
I can see that my responses are crucial in whatever game Tom is playing with both Sylvie and Dax. I throw Sylvie a smile and defend her. “We’re here, aren’t we? I have to give her credit; she knows her way around town. We got here in a blink of an eye.”
“It doesn’t count as a blink if you kept your eyes shut tight, Jules.” Tom laughs earning himself a sharp slap from Sylvie. He rubs his upper arm where a red mark blooms.
“What was that for?”
“Maybe they should put you back to sleep. You’ve woke up as an arsehole.” Sylvie marches from the room, leaving Dax and me in stunned silence. I agree with her wholeheartedly. Since I’ve walked in the room, Tom has done nothing more than antagonise everyone worried about him.
“Perhaps we should leave you to rest?” Dax takes a step toward the door, releasing my arm. I rise to follow him out, but Tom shifts in his bed, pulling himself up with a strained groan.
“Wait!”
“You are clearly not in the mood for visitors. I’ll bring Sylvie back later,” Dax chides.
Tom leans forward, hunching his shoulders. Agony flashes across his face, but he squeezes his eyes shut against the pain to continue talking. “Then can I have a few words with Jules? Seeing as you clearly have no intention of letting her near me again.”
“That’s up to her.” Dax faces me, whether I’ll stay to hear Tom out or follow him is a question written in his eyes. I’m a rope they each tug at, hoping to win. They’ve forgotten I’m my own person.
“Two minutes,” I warn, “or I might lose my ride.”
“I’ll wait for you at the elevator,” Dax grunts as he exits, thankfully not catching the look of victory that dances in Tom’s eyes.
He holds out his hand, directing me to sit. I look over at the chair I just vacated and shake my head. “I’ll stand, thank you.”
“Okay. I guess I deserve that. I’m sorry for being an arse.”
At least he recognises it. “It’s not me you should be apologising to.”
“I know,” he groans, but he doesn’t look the least bit sorry. “I’ll talk to her. She’ll forgive me. She knows what I can be like.” My God, I saved an entitled man-child. I should have guessed as much. I mean, he’s from the Heights but I kind of hoped he’d be a little more like Dax and less like the stereotype rich boy.
“It sounds like you’re not sorry at all, if you already consider her forgiveness as given.”
“I’m not really an arsehole. I just sound like one,” he insists.
“Look, I am really glad you’re okay, more than I can even put into words, but—”
“Thank you,” he blurts, interrupting me. “I’d have died without you. I know that. I want you to know I plan on making it up to you.”
I shake my head again. “There’s no need.” And why is this sense of responsibility the thing that finally shows me some familial resemblance? For being at each other’s throats, they are a lot alike.
“But it’s the least I can do. For a girl who only had TV as her teacher, you did a great job of keeping me alive. I dreamed of your face. Even when things were at their darkest, I saw you there, leading me out. You can understand why I thought of you as an angel. You were my angel,” he speaks softly, and from the sweet sincerity he deliberately tries to convey, I can tell he thinks he means it, but his words are so…fanciful. He imagined something in his trauma-induced mind that I can never match up to. Nor would I want to.
Still, he’s just proven that he remembers that night. Hearing him tease me brings a smile to my lips, but I also can’t allow him to continue with the idea that he needs to repay me or reward me for what should be a natural human instinct.
“Tom. I—”
“No, Jules, I mean it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s also good to know you’re mortal. Maybe then I stand a chance.” His eyes twinkle as the side of his mouth kicks up into a teasing smirk.
“A chance?”
He opens his fist. Inside is the doe sticker I left for him. “A chance to hear you scream for me, Bambi.” A salacious grin blooms across his face. He probably means to be charming or flirtatious, but something about all those teeth on display makes me feel hunted instead. I’m prey for guys like Tom.
Does this mean he heard every word I told him during my visits? They say that coma patients can hear you but to recall it so clearly, to repeat my words back at me—is that possible? Or was he awake?
I don’t like the suspicions his words raise or the implication of them, so I do what I do best. I bluff and distract. “You should sleep. They’ll have you home soon and then there will be no escaping Sylvie’s fussing.”
Tom chuckles. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“I am sure you are. I’ll let her know. She’s been worried.” We both know I’m reprimanding him. But I’m also trying to drive home the point that Sylvie is besotted. After seeing how she reacted to him, it’s as clear as day.
“So worried that she took you shopping?” he bites.
Is he sulking? How does he have the gall to lie there and huff when he isn’t the only one affected by his stupidity?
True to form, I let him have it. “Because of that night, I lost my family, my home and everything I own. The shopping trip was for me because I only own one set of ripped clothing thanks to your appearance in my building. Sylvie was trying to help me and distract herself from obsessing about your condition.” I glare at him, not surprised to see him frown at my sharpness. “Think about how you speak to her. A forgiving girl is a rare thing. One day, they just stop.”
“Forgiving?”
“Caring.”
Picking up the lingerie bag that Sylvie left behind, I leave Tom to think over his attitude. The corridor guards are back in position. They don’t blink as I pass them. Dax hovers at the elevator, his phone pressed to his ear. His volume increases and pitch deepens as he argues into the receiver.
“Get him back and find out why he ran. I want to get to the bottom of this shit as soon as possible.” He looks up, watching me as I approach. He searches my face, but whatever he finds there upsets him some more. His brows furrow and eyes harden. “I’ve got to go. Get it done, Frank.”
He’s talking to Frank? Then he must be talking about Ben. Why am I not surprised to find he’s gone missing?
“What’s happened?” he asks, gripping me by the chin and tilting my face up to look at it better. He sweeps the thumb of his other hand over the crinkle at my brow, smoothing it out. “What did he say to you?” I want to ask him the same thing about Frank.
“Nothing much. He thinks he has to repay me for saving him,” I deflect.
Dax makes a huffing sound in the back of his throat, the air from his nose buffets my cheek.
“He is a lot like you actually,” I continue.
He releases a little incredulous huff. “In what way?”
“Runs hot and cold and thinks he’s God’s gift to women,” I snip.
Dax’s response is louder and angrier than I expect. “Did he make a pass at you?”
God only knows what Tom was thinking. A pass at me? Yes. For real though or for kicks? Who knows?
“To be honest, I don’t know what that was about,” I admit, avoiding a definitive yes or no response. “He got himself into a mood.”
“I’ll have words with him.”
My laugh is mocking, but more at myself than Dax. “Don’t bother, I did it for you. He’s got as much chance with me as you have.” I want to grin as Dax’s expression crunches into a frown, but I hide my amusement, rolling my eyes at him instead.
“Definitely having words with him then,” Dax grumbles, releasing my chin and calling the elevator.
“Okay. As much chance as Frank,” I amend.
Dax stares at the side of my face while I watch the elevator doors. A considering hum rumbles through his throat. “That makes me feel a little better, I suppose.”
“So happy to have restored peace to your delicate sensibilities.” I see his sideways smile from the corner of my eye and struggle to bury my own.
“Are we still arguing, Jules?”
I shrug. Truth is Dax isn’t entirely forgiven, but that isn’t what he’s asking.
He pulls out his phone again and taps furiously. My phone buzzes only a second after he hits the send button. I stare at him and roll my eyes. Thrusting my bag into his hands, I pull the phone from my pocket.
Do we have to do it this way?
I’m not sure. I can still see your stupid face.
I could bury it somewhere warm where you couldn’t see it.
Not sure about that either. If I remember correctly, you left me unsatisfied last time.
Exactly why we need to try again.
I’ll think about it…someday.
What’s in the bag?
Clothes.
Can I see?
Someday.
He raises his eyebrow. A delicious smirk creeps across his face at the hint. His eyes are alight again, filled with intensity only tempered by his curiosity and humour. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the top tissue-wrapped package. I watch as he flips it over and peels the gold, brand-stamped sticker away. But, before he can open the parcel, the elevator stops and passengers climb in. He replaces the bundle into the bag and scowls.
“Bad luck,” I whisper as he hands the bag and contents back to me.
The ground floor rises to meet us, the elevator car clearing as soon as the doors open. I follow Dax out to the parking lot where three cars wait; Dax’s, Sylvie’s, and our black sedan tail.
“What took you so long?” Sylvie grumbles.
“Tom says he’s sorry. He wants to tell you himself. He admitted being an arse.”
The surprise on her face only lasts a second before it’s overcome by a small smile. “He did, huh? What else did he say?”
“That he hopes you’ll forgive him.” It isn’t exactly the truth, but it’s close enough to not hurt her feelings.
“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles, but she’s already forgiven him, she’s just planning on milking it for a little attention. Good for her. “Come on, get in.” She pops open the passenger door. Dax closes it again.
“She’s riding with me,” he tells her, tapping the roof of the car twice.
“She is?” He nods as though the matter is decided.
If no one is going to bother asking my opinion, I figure I’ll have to give them it.
“No. I’m finishing my day with Sylvie. Besides, she can probably beat you back to the house.”
“Yep!” Sylvie agrees, slapping her horn and almost deafening us all.
But Dax isn’t so easily deterred. “We need to finish that conversation from the elevator.”
“Fine.” I wave my phone in the air. “You know how to find me.”
“Infuriating—”
“You can take the bag back with you, though.” I hand over the bag, loving how Dax’s eyes darken roguishly. “I might need both hands for typing, or holding the door as we go around corners.” My grin matches Dax’s. He walks to his car and opens the door, placing the bag on the passenger seat.
“I might as well take the others, too. My security team are not your personal entourage,” he grumbles. The men transfer all the bags to Dax’s trunk. His eyes widen with each pile of bags emerge.
Dax shakes his head. “Is that all of it? Are you sure you didn’t leave anything on the shelves?” Sylvie leans out of the driver’s side and sticks her tongue out at him. He laughs and flicks his head at Cas to close the trunk. “Fine. Drive safe. I expect you both home in under an hour. No detours.”
“You got it!” Sylvie calls out. “A movie night is called for, I think. Now that I know Tom’s safe, I might be able to relax.”
“Then I’ll order pizza,” Dax offers.
“Wait…not health food? Not that calorie-controlled bullshit you pay Margaret to make me eat? Real pizza?”
“Don’t make me change my mind.”
Sylvie mimes zipping her lips and locking them before throwing away the key. Dax chuckles and circles around to his car while I buckle in.
Dax climbs into the driver’s seat, but waits for us to leave along with our sedan-shaped shadow. I marvel at the casual normalcy of that interaction. For the first time, they seemed like a real family.
Sylvie speeds out of the parking garage, zipping through the Heights as though the roads are made only for her. I don’t have a chance to grab the handle, I’m too busy bracing myself against the dashboard. “Holy crap, are you trying to kill me?”
“I just want to get back before Dax does. We used to do this a lot. He always wins. One day, I’m going to follow him to see which roads he takes.”
“Well, my money is on you.” I don’t mention that I don’t have any. There’s no need. We both know it. Damn, I have to get back to work.
“His car is fast and, in case you haven’t noticed, Celeste’s old bust up tin-can hasn’t got much going on under the hood,” Sylvie admits.
“Celeste?” Am I supposed to know who that is?
“My older sister. Dax hasn’t mentioned her?”
The sister she mentioned earlier? “No. She not around?” Wait, didn’t she say her sister…shit!
“She’s dead.” She says it bluntly, staring straight ahead at the empty road. I can tell the words hurt to say, but she carries on as though it were old news. “She got caught up in an argument and took a bullet meant for someone else.”
Fuck. I thought maybe an illness or…well…something less violent. How do you respond to that? And why does trouble seem to be synonymous with the name Trevainne? Dax and Franz, Tom getting shot, Ben being shady as hell. Now Sylvie’s sister too?
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t mention her. Dax is kind of cold. He keeps himself to himself. He has his reasons, but for a long time now he hasn’t bothered to even talk to any of us, no matter argue, or laugh, or order pizza.” She smiles ruefully. “You saw how dismissive he was with Tom. He barely said a word until you entered the room. I know you have a love-hate thing going, but don’t give up on him. Even if you just spend all day arguing, I’d rather see him like that than shut off,” she admits.
We drive in silence. Sylvie shared more than she probably intended, and I’ve been given more to think about than I expected. So, when my phone buzzes twice in quick succession, we both jump.
The first message shows a sexy red lace ensemble laid out on top of a deep blue bedspread. The angle of the shot picks out the details of the pattern in the lace. Thousands of miniature couples wrapped in forbidden embraces. I suck in a breath. It’s beautiful but thrillingly obscene.
I close the image as soon as my brain kicks into gear, but from the closed-lipped smirk on Sylvie’s face, she’s already seen the photo. I open the text message with trembling fingers.
Tell Sylvie to drive faster.