Page 3 of Forged By Shadows

“Please Nixon,” I breathe, layering on the sweet and innocent appeal he usually caves for. “That’s really not necessary. I’m happy here on my own. Even if I wasn’t about to turn twenty-one, I have everything I need to look after myself. Let me stay,” I flutter my lashes for good measure. Nixon’s blue eyes soften. Hook, line and sinker. Nixon may be ruthless with everyone else, his son included, but he has always been softer with me. Reaching over, he takes my hand over the desk, stroking the back with his thumb. Wyatt growls once again.

“Seems I’m not needed, as usual. I’ll see myself out. Thanks for the party.” Wyatt rises from his chair and walks towards the door too damn casually. As if the entire world owes him a favor. Immediately, Nixon drops my hand, his posture strengthening. The emotions so recently swimming in his eyes disappear.

“Don’t take another step!” I flinch at the sudden roar, twisting my face away. It’s involuntary, but seems to irritate Wyatt further as he tuts. My nostrils flare in irritation. If he'd let me handle this situation delicately, if he’d just kept his mouth shut, Nixon wouldn’t now be using his closed fists on the desk to push himself upright. Struggling to calm his voice, Nixon’s eyes shoot daggers at Wyatt, still braced by the door.

“You will clear your schedule to show Avery around campus. You will make sure she settles into her new room. You will ensure no one bothers or distracts her from her studies. And so help me, if you want to continue living with my financial support, you will be a suitable guardian to your sister.”

“She’s not my fucking sister!” Wyatt shouts back and suddenly I’m transported back ten years in my mind. To a long summer in a new house with a spoiled little shit glaring at me. Even back then, his perfectly styled ash brown hair and taste for expensive clothing enhanced the brat he was, thinking he deserved whatever he wanted without ever having to work for it.

It was explained to me that Wyatt had no prior knowledge of my arrival. The Hughes’ weren’t in the market to adopt until a small, filthy child stumbled into the road in front of their car. I understood, and I was just so thankful to know where my next meal was coming from. So, for years, I tried to find common ground with Wyatt. I gave him the space and patience I hoped he deserved. But he preferred boarding schools to his own home, and soon enough he stopped coming back during the holidays too. Wyatt made himself a ghost, only his memory left within these walls. And I stopped giving a fuck.

Blinking back to the present, I balk to find Nixon has moved. A harsh crack reverberates from behind, silhouettes bouncing around the exposed wooden panels of the room. I spin in my seat, gripping the arm rest. Wherever Nixon hit Wyatt, it’s not apparent. The two are locked in a stare-off, but it’s Wyatt who bravely closes the gap to bump his father’s chest.

“You can give her our last name, give her half of the inheritance, parade her around like your perfect angel. But she is not, nor will she ever be, my sister.”

And there’s the truth.

Fury bleeds through Nixon’s features, the strain of the day becoming even more evident. He grabs Wyatt’s collar in both fists. Standing nose to nose, Nixon’s tone lowers to a threatening level I’ve never heard before.

“Avery has been more a part of this family for the past ten years than you have. I buried my fucking wife today. It’s all of our responsibility to see Avery is safe, and time for you to step up. Don’t push me, Wyatt.” He shoves his son backwards.

Refuse, I beg inside my head. Keep refusing until Nixon lets me stay.

With a lasting death glare at me, Wyatt leaves, making sure to slam the door harshly. Foreboding settles over me. On top of everything I’ve lost today, the lifestyle I love has just been snatched away and Wyatt is supposed to be the one keeping me safe. Something tells me, my big brother will do everything in his power to ensure the exact opposite becomes my new reality.

Chapter One

Meg’s sickly pink BMW rumbles to a stop before a gigantic building of brick and light. Every window is illuminated against the fall of evening, figures moving within cramped dorms. My stomach churns as Meg switches off the engine, a pair of fluffy dice swinging from the rear-view mirror. We remain there, locked in place until various sources of music and chatter mingle with the balmy air leaking through our open windows.

“It could be fun,” Meg offers for the hundredth time. I can’t spare her a look of bravery, my mind reeling. There is nothing fun about the bad omen before me. Forced social interaction, the onslaught of noise, being forced to share my space with a complete stranger. And somewhere within those walls is a fake brother who hates my guts. This is my new hell.

“You would fit in here much easier than I ever could,” I sigh. I wish Meg was coming with me, but her athletic scholarship is at a state school miles away. Lacrosse is her specialty, becoming the first junior captain, whilst juggling the swim team, business studies and debate club. It’s no wonder she hides at the Hughes mansion on weekends, needing to escape it all. Everything Meg has in this life, she’s had to work for. But at least she has teams of friends and an incredible amount of group chats to fall back on. Without my tutors, dance coach, therapist...I have no one.

I take a deep breath, hoping my fear is masked from a bunch of basketball guys who wander past. Their jerseys are black with yellow trims, baggy around thickly-corded muscles coated in sweat. One looks back, throwing a wink at me before he empties his water bottle over his dark, messy hair and shakes it out. I sink back in my seat, flinching as Meg rests a hand on my arm.

“You’ll be fine,” she promises, leaning across the console to press a kiss to my cheek. I know I'm keeping her from the long drive she has to make back, but Meg refused to let one of the chauffeurs bring me. She stayed all weekend, advising me on what to pack while I looked longingly out of the window after Nixon left for New York. I'm used to waving him goodbye, but this time I'm not going to be there when he returns.

Nodding, I pretend to find my resolve as I exit the car and grab my bags from the trunk. One medium-sized case for my clothes, a smaller one for my make-up, toiletries and shoes, and a backpack with my laptop, notepads-essentially everything I'll use for class. Class. I shudder to myself. Leaning through the driver side window, Meg returns my hug with equal vigor and pulls away to smooth the two tendrils of long hair out of my face. Her pale blue eyes appear gray, swimming with unshed tears.

“You’ve never needed Wyatt before. Don’t give him that power over you now.” Meg whispers in my ear. I know she’s right, but her words almost cause me to break. Waving goodbye from the curb, I hold the tears back. The night air grows heavy, my feet barely cooperating as I make my way to the building entrance and duck inside. Voices echo through the halls, doors slamming shut, laughter ringing out. I keep my head down, tackling the staircases with quiet resolve. Something I can attribute to my ballet; upholding stamina in the shittiest of situations.

Reaching the fourth floor, I enter a network of cramped hallways, tracking the numbers on closed doors for the one I've been allocated. Nixon forwarded on all of the emails from the Dean, including my dorm room, directions, a campus map and my class schedule. Music blasts from the doors left wide open, and I peer into each one, wondering if Wyatt will be on this floor too. I hope not. Sweat starts to bead on my forehead, my arms burning from my suitcases as I start to gather some attention. Wolf whistles follow me down the hall, throngs of college students stopping to assess me as fresh meat while shouting to be heard over one another.

I spot my dorm up ahead, the last one on the end. A group of girls huddle in the doorway, their brows raised when they see my approach. In a flurry, they rush past me, their giggles filling the air. My stomach cramps tightly but I refuse to let it show. Straightening my spine, I step into the room I'll be spending my foreseeable future in.

The room is small, two twin-sized beds against opposite walls. Separating them is an elongated desk for both of the occupants. On one side of the desk, beside a pot of brightly colored highlighters and post-it notes, a strongly-scented candle flickers.

"What is that?" I inhale deeply. "Gingerbread? Maple syrup?"

"Cinnamon apple," a fiery redhead replies without looking up from her phone. She's lying on the bed closest to the window, scrolling endlessly and tapping her foot to a song in her head. I inhale again, deciding it's a pleasant smell despite originally being overwhelming.

Entering the room, I ditch my cases by the foot of the empty bed and sink onto the mattress. It's not as giving as what I'm used to, but the stiffness in my limbs will take what it can get. Eventually, my roommate glances up, her eyes studying me for a moment before she speaks.

“You must be Avery,” she comments. She doesn't smile or grimace, as if she doesn't know what to make of me quite yet. I nod, pulling my hair free of its ponytail before a tension headache sets in. "Welcome to Waversea, I guess. Everyone is super excited for your arrival."

"They are?" I balk. There goes my careful constructed plan of laying low. The redhead hums, sitting upright.

"Oh yeah. You've been the hot topic all weekend. I gave up closing the door, bored of the insistent knocking and questions I couldn't answer. Now you're here, you can answer them yourself."

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