THIRTY-FIVE
Dax stands up the second I enter the office. “Where have you been? You’re almost twenty minutes late.” Thankfully, there’s no anger in his outburst, only concern. Normally I’d be rushing to explain, fearing offence, rejection, a beating…but I think about Ben’s warning and choose not to thoughtlessly react.
My gaze wanders around the room. Dax’s office is the embodiment of the business version of the man. Dark wood panelling, parquet wooden floor, a double-fronted captain’s desk with a brown leather chair. Bookshelves line the walls, each packed from edge to edge with leather-bound tomes. I peruse it all at my leisure, circling around to a pair of armchairs which brace the window and face away from Dax’s desk.
“How much time did you set aside for me?” I ask, instead of apologising.
His brows furrow at my question. His answer stutters out as if he’s asking rather than telling. “An hour…more?”
“Then twenty minutes isn’t a big deal. I’ll only need ten.” I sit myself in the right armchair and nod my head at the other. I refuse to sit near his desk. I’m balancing out the power in this conversation and removing all temptation of what we’ve likely both imagined happening on top of his desk.
“I want to discuss my college course,” I tell him, matter-of-fact.
He sighs as he sits. “We’ve talked about this.”
“No. You told me what you wanted to do and then expected me to go along with it. I’m two modules away from completing my degree. I’ve studied three years for this, and I’ve done it on a part-time schedule, forcing myself to use catch-up sessions and sit in on lectures and seminars I wasn’t even signed up for. I studied during breaks and holidays. I left those kids with Eric to ensure I got assignments in on time. I won’t let that effort come to nothing.” I had no intention of getting riled up, but the more I try to convince him of why this is important to me, the more I realise just how essential it is that I don’t give up on it.
“I’m not asking you to give it up.” he grunts, somehow plucking the thoughts from my head.
But we both know better. “Delaying is giving up. I’ll have no choice.”
“And if I fail and Franz’s men take you next week, or the week after—will your degree be worth anything when you’re used up, drugged up, or dead?”
The fact that he can say it so callously tells me he doesn’t believe it will happen, but the words make me feel sick to my stomach anyway. It’s a reasonable argument too. He’s asking me to be sensible and weigh my safety against my ambition. Normally, if I was in the Vale, on my own, I’d take his advice. But I’m here. I’m safe, according to Dax, and I’m growing bored without a good reason to get up in the morning. I need a focus, or a mission. Staying safe doesn’t mean I can’t keep up with my studies.
“No. It’ll be worthless,” I admit. He leans back, satisfied that he’s driven his point home. “But, according to you, I’m safe. I’ve paid my fees to the college for this last semester, and I can do the work. There has to be some kind of solution or compromise that—”
“There’s no compromise when it comes to your safety,” he snaps.
I swallow down a sharp reply, staring out at the front lawn and the way the sun glistens off the paler green leaves at the top of the trees. I fight to remain calm and reasonable.
“What if I negotiated with the head of the course? I could hand in a dissertation that touches on the outstanding modules? No more in-class lectures…more like home study?”
He stands up and paces in front of his desk. “You think I haven’t tried to arrange exactly that? I asked for a tutor to come out to the compound, for online support, streaming lectures, one-on-one tutelage, all at my expense. They’ve got neither the resources nor the inclination to help.”
I didn’t know he’d gone to the effort. “You already tried?”
“You think I want to put your life on hold? We’ve already fucked everything else up. You need some kind of hope for your future—a path. I want that for you, but the only recourse they would accept is for you try again next year. I’ll pay for it, and I’ll reimburse you the lost fees…”
Why does it always come back to money?“I don’t want your money, Dax. I’m not a gold digger.” The words are out before I can take them back. They give my eavesdropping away and yet this is probably a topic I should address, even if only for myself.
His expression hardens. “I never once said—”
“No, but it’s what others will think, right?”
His eyes narrow as he stares at me. Likely suspecting the truth—that I overheard him and Frank.
“Fuck other people’s opinions! The people who worry that you’re after money are the ones who are after it themselves.”
Huh. That makes a weird kind of sense. It fits what Ben said about Frank too. He’s always looking for the next big deal. But then, wouldn’t that mean Sylvie was genuinely threatened too? If it’s her money and inheritance, why would she fear losing it to someone else? It should be a legal impossibility. For that matter, how can Dax spend it so recklessly on me and my family? I save the questions for another time and another conversation, and I let the subject drop.
“So, what do I do? Just hang around growing bored? Stare at the walls? Perhaps I could work? You could put me to use. Let me earn my keep and maybe shut some of those rumours up.”
“I’ve considered that too. It’s something Aiden and I want to talk to you about when he returns.”
Wait…what? Is he serious? “Really?”
“Yes, really.” He smiles softly. It’s the first time he’s smiled since I came in. “In the meantime, have you considered just stopping for a while?”
“What?” My laughter trills. Stop? Stop what? Living? How does anyone just stop? The suggestion is absurd. Only, Dax isn’t laughing.
“You’ve been running for years, little gem. Between your parents, your siblings, from job to job, school, college; your life has been responsibilities and dodging punches for so long. You must be exhausted.”
As if his voicing it aloud makes it a reality; my body sinks into the chair. My bones are leaden weights. I am exhausted. I’m heavy and tired and broken. Like pottery held together by Krazy Glue, anger, and a twisted determination. But if I stop, what happens then? If I take the time to think, the anger will turn to pain, my determination will become desperation, and without those kids as my glue, I’ll fall apart.
“I can’t stop.” I stare at the floor. I can’t look at Dax. I know he’ll see the truth anyway, but I can’t watch his expression when he realises how much I’m struggling..
And to think I came in here so sure of myself and what I wanted.
“I have people you can talk to,” he presses gently.
I shake my head. “I need to keep my shit together to survive this.”
“They can help you do that.”
My heart flutters. My vision darkens at the edges. The idea of professional help frightens me, and I need him to stop pressing. “No. I’m fine as I am.”
“You’ve been having panic attacks, Jules,” he reminds me, driving his point into my already twisted gut.
“Do you and Aiden talk about everything?” I mumble, but I know he’ll hear me. I want him to hear me.
“When it comes to you, yes.” His admission doesn’t surprise me, but the way he’s so unapologetic does. Is this what intention looks like? Dax lives and breathes intention. He is control bundled up in a handsome face, a tight arse, and overwhelming kindness. It looks a lot like arrogance. Though (if I think objectively and not through the prism of my jealousy), it might also be confidence.
Still. Why are they both interested in me?
“Is this a game? Am I just a game to you both?” A faceless, untouchable image of Celeste Trevainne pops into my head along with Dax’s argument with Frank, ’You’re assuming that Jules means the same to me as Celeste did.’ I’m not even a game. I’m nothing. “Actually, don’t answer that. I already know the truth.”
He sees through me easily. “You’re avoiding the conversation. Stop trying to change the subject.”
“That’s right, and you’re avoiding giving me any real answers.”
He ignores my deliberate attempt at an argument and hits me where it hurts.
“You’d want this for AJ, wouldn’t you? You’d want him to talk to someone and work through whatever’s hurting him.”
I rocket to my feet. Fury carrying me forward. “You manipulative piece of shit! —” My fists clench, his arrogant face might has well have a big red target for how badly I want to hit him, and then I see Eric’s face and the leery grin he’d pull right before he’d punch me. I’m not him. I don’t have to hit out to express myself. By the time my vision clears, I can see that Dax isn’t the arrogant arsehole I think he is. Hurt, frustration, fear all flash across his face.
“I’m not trying to be manipulative, Jules. I’m trying to explain how I feel. Watching you push yourself when you have nothing left, no reserves, it cuts me up. I want you to heal. Please, just talk to someone.”
My fight has gone. “No. I can’t risk it…not yet.”
“But, Jules…”
My voice is too small, but I say the words anyway. “Please don’t push this. I’m not saying no…just not yet. I can’t. Not yet.”
“Okay.” Dax gives in. “Okay. Can you at least promise me you’ll rest? Try eating three meals a day?”
I don’t promise. “I need to keep my head occupied,” I say instead.
“This college thing is really that important? You really can’t consider waiting?”
I’ll wait if I have to, but I need something to hold onto— something of myself, something of my own doing. He’s right. I need hope and a path. “Yes, it’s important. No, I don’t want to wait.” It’s the truth. I can wait, but I don’t want to.
“Then I’ll see what I can do,” he concedes, looking as exhausted as I feel.
“Thank you.”
He circles around to his desk and slumps down into his chair. I hear the thump of his arse hitting the seat. After a long pause, he chuckles dryly. “Well, fuck. This wasn’t at all how I saw this meeting going.”
I have to admit, I never thought it’d be such a serious conversation either, but flirting flew off the table the second Frank put Celeste Trevainne’s ghost between us. I might want a release. I might deserve some fun, with or without feelings involved, but I wouldn’t demean myself to be with someone who could never appreciate me and what I offer because he’s too hung up on his past to care. I’ve been disrespected, abused, and abandoned by too many people already to allow anyone to do it again—even myself.
I need to draw a line between us. One that I’ll think twice before crossing again. Dax and Aiden are a temptation that I fear I can’t deny, even though I know how badly they’ll hurt me, whether or not they mean to. I need to pull away now. Make it impossible.
“About that,” I begin. Dax straightens in his chair. “I’m sorry I led you to believe…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words out loud. Standing here in his office is entirely different from having him crawling up my body in my bedroom. It wasn’t difficult to tell him what I wanted back then, but it certainly is right now.
And with Ben listening.
“That you were going to bend over my desk and let me finish what we started? Or that we’d negotiate your position while you straddled my lap? Yeah, me too. This whole conversation kind of blindsided me.”
Well, there we go. I guess all three of us know now.
“I never said either of those things,” I insist, but it’s probably a waste of time. I’m not even sure I care what Ben thinks, and if he’s going to judge me, then he can take a flying jump.
Dax shoves himself into the leather and rolls his head back with his eyes closed. “No, you’re right, you didn’t.”
“But I might have deliberately let you think them. I shouldn’t have.” It’s as close to an apology as I can give.
“Why not?” His head lolls to the side. He opens his eyes and stares hard at my face. I can feel the tension radiating from him. The expectation. “Are you saying sorry for teasing me or are you saying sorry for leading me on when you’re not—”
This time he can’t finish the sentence. I can hear what he doesn’t say though. When you’re not interested in me. When you’re not going to pursue this.
God, I don’t want to do this. But I will, for all our sakes.
“You’re right,” I admit, trying to soften the lie.
“About what, exactly?”
“That I’m exhausted and I’m looking for the next big thing to help me escape…” I wave my arm through the air gesturing to the room, the compound, the situation. “...all of this.”
“And I’m the escape?” he nods like it makes sense.
“It’s unhealthy of me…” I explain, but he cuts across me.
“You’re saying the other night was a mistake?”
I have to laugh at that. The sound is bitter, much like the taint his actions left on what should have been a sweet memory for us both. “Wasn’t it? You even apologised before running away. People only apologise for mistakes.”
His eyes flare wide in panic. “You know that wasn’t…I thought we were good now?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Like I said, escape.” The words taste like acid on my tongue. “I’m beginning to see I can be self-destructive,” I offer, trying to take the blame upon myself.
“Self-destructive…” Dax nods solemnly. “I fucked up. I knew it, but I thought you’d forgiven me…the lace gave me hope…” he mumbles then shakes his head. “But I screwed up. I always screw up. I get it. I appreciate you trying to carry the weight of it, but you don’t have to be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He swallows thickly.
I feel sick.
He straightens his shoulder and looks me in the eye. The Dax I know is gone and, in his place, sits the businessman. Like this office, it is all a front. A shield Dax uses to protect himself.
“I’ll figure something out for you, Jules. I’ll find a way to give you your hope back.”
He sounds so sad. What have I done?
“I…” I don’t even have words to change this. I’m not sure if I should, but Dax doesn’t want to hear me out, regardless.
“It’s okay. You can head out now. I’ll be out this evening, so I’d appreciate it if you stayed within the safety of the apartment for the rest of the day. You have free run of it. Sylvie’s staying at the hospital with Tom tonight.”
“Dax…” He doesn’t look up from his desk. His gaze has unfocussed and he’s zoned out of the conversation, whether he’s thinking too hard or deliberately encouraging me to leave, I don’t know.
I exit through the back door into the boardroom and try to avoid searching the darkness for Ben as I rush back to the apartment. The guards slip me in through their monitor-lined station and around to the door that opens into the apartment on the other side of the stairs. I can only assume Dax gave them permission. As soon as I’m inside, I dash to my room and lock myself in the bathroom.
Why does it feel like I really fucked up?
And why does the burn in my chest feel a thousand times worse than the bleach on my hands?