Page 38 of Forged By Shadows

“You know what,” I throw my bag down onto the ground. Upending the envelope onto the island, Wyatt’s eyes slowly trace the note that floats against the marble. “Yeah, you can fucking help me. You can do your damn job!” Slamming my fist down on the counter, I instantly regret it but refuse to let my face falter from its glare. Wyatt doesn’t react aside from the dip in his tone.

“Excuse me?”

“You are most definitely not excused. You were told to watch over me. Nixon ordered you to keep me safe.” My shoulders are so tense, my neck will snap if I shift too quickly. Finishing his shake, Wyatt toys with his tongue against his teeth. Again, he looks at the note with a lack of interest. Maybe fan mail is a common occurrence for him too, but I certainly have never received one without a postage stamp. Without an address. As far as I know, this is the first time Mr. XO has hand delivered a message. It means he was here. He is here, somewhere in Waversea. At a loss, I grip the socks and toss them across the room. They hit the refrigerator and drop to the floor.

“What’s happening in here?” Huxley appears. His presence brings the others from wherever they were hiding. Wyatt sighs, slowly walking to leave and pausing when he’s looming over me.

“I believe it’s the definition of a bitch fit.” Forget the red flag. I lunge at him, grabbing fistfuls of hair and skin. I fight dirty, my nails digging into anything I can find, hanging on with all my might when someone else tries to drag me away. Using one hand to grab the back of Wyatt’s hair, I punch him with the other. His head whips to the side, an instant welt blooming across his jaw. A hand catches my arm before I can do it again.

“How’s this for a bitch fit, asshole?!” I scream as I’m finally pried away from him and into the cage of multiple bodies. No one attends to Wyatt, who’s massaging his jaw and checking his teeth with his tongue. My mind is screaming. Now I’ve had a taste of his pain, I want more. He deserves more. I attempt to dodge those holding me, my fist clenched and ready. Maybe I can liberate a few of those perfectly straight teeth as well.

“Avery, stop.” A voice finds me amongst the bodies. Hands cup my cheeks, tilting my face upwards to Dax’s. He pleads with his blue eyes, his concern palpable. I scrunch my eyes closed, refusing to let go of the rage. Wyatt will never take me seriously. He’ll never listen to me, and I don’t know why I still care. The anger twists bitterly inside, turning on myself. He’s part of the problem, but this desire for his attention is what will always haunt me. Why do I want him to accept me?

“Breathe. Talk to me.” Dax tries again, his thumbs stroking across my skin. Wetness pools there, the first hint that a tear has escaped my eye. Tiredness wins. My limbs drop, the tension ebbing away.

“I have a…I don’t really know. A fan, I think.” I open my eyes. The others are crowding me, but it’s Dax I talk to. He’s the one I know is always listening. “He…I mean, I think it’s a he. Meg and I call him Mr. XO. He’s been sending me birthday and Christmas cards for the past ten years, sometimes other letters and flowers. My favorite chocolates,” I shrug. “It’s all been pretty innocent, but I forward his notes onto our private investigator anyway.”

“Okay,” Dax nods. Slowly, he shoulders his way through his friends to guide me to the sofa. Huxley is at my back the entire way, until we sit and he nestles into my other side. I keep my attention on Dax’s hands stroking mine. “Then what?”

“I received a note and a gift this morning in the dance studio. He was here, in person. He’s never felt this close before, and I kinda freaked out.”

“The night you came to me with your ankle twisted,” Huxley breathes. “Something spooked you then too.” I can only nod. Garrett reappears, sitting on the coffee table with his long legs crossed and a bag of chips in his hands. His loud crunching earns him scowls from everyone, but he couldn’t care less.

“Stop struggling,” I hear Axel huff. He’s moved away to attend to Wyatt’s jaw, muttering that it needs ice. I can’t hide my smirk at that.

“Dax and I will head to your dorm, pack up your stuff.” Huxley kisses the top of my head. I grab his thigh to stop him from getting up.

“Wait, what?!” Looking at Dax, he seems to be in agreement.

“You’re staying here until we find out who this Mr. XO is. Maybe Wyatt doesn’t care about protecting you, but we do.” His eyes remain soft, his touch lingering. I swallow thickly, watching them don jackets and shove their feet in their sneakers. Huxley’s jaw is set, his back rigid as he swings his keys around his index finger.

“Wyatt, ice your own fucking jaw. Axel, attend to Avery’s hands. Garrett, share your snacks.” He dishes out orders in a tone I’ve yet to hear but instantly find attractive. My eyes lower to my hands, finding my knuckles red and pulsing. My nails are cracked, and a few half-crescent moons in my palms are prickling with blood. The three of them stalk out of the door, Wyatt’s glare promising revenge. It doesn’t have the same appeal with a pack of frozen peas pressed against his face.

Before Axel gets close, I jump over the back of the sofa and seek out my phone, sending a quick photo of my hands to Meg. She’s going to love this.

Chapter Twenty Eight

In retrospect, this is the last place I should have run to. The police station would have been a better option, considering I’ve ended up in jail anyway. Despite his broken nose and general foul mood, Wyatt has finally taken my safety seriously - and I hate him even more for it. I’m certain the huge planner now situated on the kitchen wall, detailing every aspect of my life, is more to taunt me than aid me.

For the past week, seeing us through to fall break, Dax has escorted me between classes. Huxley drives me anywhere else, whilst rotating with Axel to watch me during ballet practice. Garrett is my lunch-time buddy. I’ve grown morbidly fascinated by the way he swallows without chewing. It’s like watching a colorfully-tattooed pelican who’s never tasted carbs before. Wyatt has been…around, unfortunately. We haven’t had any real interactions, but I’ve been forced to watch every basketball practice and suffer his presence at meal times. I do have my own bedroom though, so that’s eight hours a night without being loomed over.

And there’s now. A Sunday study session for everyone ahead of assignments due next week, mine and Dax’s included. Five additional chairs have been set up around Wyatt’s large desk in the study, with him in the large leather chair in the center. I tap my purple highlighter aside my head, proofreading through Dax’s half of our essay while he does mine. Then we’ll swap back and amend where needed. I’m halfway through a yawn when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Sneaking it out of my sweatpants, I peer at the screen beneath the table.

Meg: ‘Got them to break their pact yet?’

I suppress a sigh and a smile, shooting back a message that says I’m working on it. Two damn weeks in this testosterone-filled house without my vibrator and some dumb pact they decided to make without consulting me. Sure, I could look elsewhere but I essentially have four cockblocks surrounding me at all times. And let’s be honest, no one else in the vicinity can compare.

“No phones during study time,” Wyatt remarks in a clipped voice. I roll my eyes and pocket my phone.

“I can’t help it when some guy decides to slide into my DM’s, and ignoring his dick pic would be plain rude.” Shrugging, I put on my best puppy-dog eyes. Wyatt’s nostrils flare. The other pens and fingers typing at laptop keys around the table have gone still. After a beat, Wyatt dismisses me.

“Sure,” he returns to his MacBook screen. The light illuminates his annoyingly handsome face. “After you’ve left the study, message whatever simp you like. I just figured you had a little more tenacity than that.” My blood starts to boil, the way it always does around Wyatt. Oh, I have tenacity alright - the bruising lingering on his jaw is a testament to that.

“You don’t know anything about me,” I huff with unspoken weight behind my words. Wyatt catches on though, his gaze spearing me in an instant.

“I know enough. Perhaps whoever is distracting you from your studies will entertain your fanciful ideas of candlelight and flower petals, but they won’t get your ass to graduation. That’ll take hard work. A lot of hard work,” he drawls the last part. I don’t let him rattle me in the way intended. Instead, I chuckle into my drink, tipping my head back to take a long, refreshing sip from the can. When my gaze returns to the table, five sets of eyes are glaring intently at me.

“What’s so funny?” Wyatt says through clenched teeth. I raise a brow, feigning innocence and go back to my work. Usually, if you ignore idiots, they leave you alone. Not here, apparently.

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