Page 77 of Forged By Shadows

At the very least, I’m sticking to my schedule. I have ballet practice in an hour, in a dining room that the guys have cleared out for me. The flooring isn’t right, the curtains remain drawn. I can’t watch myself in floor-to-ceiling mirrors or check my own technique. It’s just not the same, it’s not right and this is what I feared about the showcase. That I would come to dread dancing, the one thing that’s kept me going all these years.

Fingers touch my shoulder, the firmness deepening into a one-handed massage. I lean my head back against Dax’s arm.

“Hey, where do you go? One minute you finished your exam early and then you vanished.” A kiss touches my temple.

“You muttered, ‘I could murder a cheeseburger right now.’” Dax reaches out of sight and hands me a paper bag from the cafeteria. Garrett shoots upright, like a dog catching onto the scent of grease.

“Suck-up,” Axel rolls his eyes. Dax produces a second bag and drops it in Garrett’s lap.

“Only because I knew you’d steal Avery’s if you didn’t have your own,” Dax gives Garrett a stern stare. Garrett isn’t paying attention. The smell hits me as I open the bag and I melt into the sofa. Dax’s other hand sinks into my shoulder, massaging the kinks while I stuff my face. Suddenly, life doesn’t seem as bad. I try not to let my mind drift about how comfortable I am. Ironic, since there’s a man upstairs struggling through his recovery because he chose to protect me.

“Has anyone checked on Huxley today?” I sigh into Dax’s touch. He rubs small circles either side of my nape, pushes his thumbs down my spine.

“I was just up there,” Wyatt mumbles, leaving the arm over his eyes. “He ate some of his lunch but I found him just staring out of the window.” The mood around us sours. I sit up, shaking off Dax’s skilled fingers and offering the rest of my burger to Axel. He takes it.

“I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey, do you know what we should do?” Garrett’s arm whips out to push me back down when I try to stand.

“I’m not screwing you in his bed and forcing him to watch,” I drawl, my head tilting and eyes hooded.

“Oh, you minx. Now that’s exactly what I want to do. But I was going to say, we should have a party! On Friday, when this hellish midterm week is over.”

“Because our last party went so well,” I purse my lips. The murder mystery party was an utter shambles, and we didn’t even get to finish it. As far as I know, Wyatt hasn’t apologized for trying to beat up Garrett, nor has Garrett incessantly made fun of choking Wyatt unconscious like I would have expected.

“Trust me, I’ll make it fun.” Garrett pleads with wide, brown eyes. He’s perfected the puppy-dog look, but still, I can’t trust someone whose idea of romance is to have a heavy-handed man insert a device into my uterus. Planning capabilities aside, I sigh and relent anyway. No one can say Garrett doesn’t consider everyone’s best interests when it matters.

“Fine. But nothing big, I don’t have the energy to mingle with loads of people.”

“Just us,” Garrett holds up a three-finger salute. I don’t know what it is but apparently it means I’m supposed to trust him.

“And tricking me into a gangbang is a copout as a form of entertainment,” I add, just to iron out the fine print.

“I’m out,” Wyatt huffs, stands and leaves. I forget he’s there half the time, now he’s not pushing me around or calling me names. It’s more of a mutual decision to ignore each other. Garrett’s eyes are sparkling with mischief, his burger still sitting in the box on his lap. Wow, he must be serious for a change.

“You’re the best form of entertainment, but I will put my thinking cap on. Now go help Huxley blow off some steam.” He lets me up this time and I make sure to smack his shoulder. Meg would pull me aside and warn me to keep him in line, that he gets out of hand too easily. Then I’d explain back that Garrett’s spontaneity makes life interesting. I never know what he’s going to say, what he’s thinking. He’s a loose cannon, sure, but one that explodes joy and vibrance.

Climbing the stairs, Axel calls after me that I have fifty minutes until ballet practice. He should know, having taken on the role as my timekeeper and dance coach. He doesn’t know anything about ballet, but he does understand joints and ligaments. He keeps close watch on my stance, how I hold my arms or when my weight leans too much on my stronger leg. Then, he helps me to stretch out afterward.

Wyatt’s bedroom door slams shut just as I reach Huxley’s. I withhold my frustrated sigh. At some point, I have to question what his friends even see in him and if it’s always going to be this way. Maybe he thinks the same about me, but that would mean he’d actually have to think about me.

Entering Hux’s bedroom, I find him just as Wyatt said. Propped up against the headboard, staring out of the window, a plate of uneaten food on his bedside table. I don’t bother speaking, shedding my sweater. I climb over his body in my vest and yoga pants, wrapping my arms around his neck. In an instant, I’m enclosed in his heat, his hands smoothing across my back. His hold is strong, desperate. He inhales my neck as if breathing life into himself.

“I’ve missed you,” Huxley says against my skin. His words are soft, his lips chasing. Drifting my hands into his damp hair, I gently ease his head back.

“You’ve showered,” I smile. He exudes my honey shampoo and vanilla body wash. A shine slowly burns to life in Huxley’s chocolate eyes.

“And I brushed my teeth too,” he flashes a small smile. The kind that makes my heart flutter. To celebrate his small milestone, my head inclines. His mouth meets me halfway, a gentle press, a seeking comfort. Those large hands smooth over my back, drawing me ever closer.

A sigh escapes me. Deepening the kiss, Huxley’s mouth moves against mine, carefully building a rhythm. He doesn’t press for more, doesn’t take us beyond simply enjoying each other’s presence. I drown in him, in us. A silent conversation of affection and tenderness takes place between our lips and without thinking, my hand shifts to gentle rest over his healed bullet wound.

But it’s more than that. Beyond the sweet kiss, there’s a tremor in his fingers, a tremble in his chin. He’s withholding an onslaught of emotion that has been buried for too long. I understand it well. I’ve lived through darkness. I’ve survived trauma. He can too. Breaking away, I drop my forehead against his.

“There’s been so many times I’ve searched for comfort like this.” My chest rises and falls heavily. Huxley’s stubble brushes my cheek.

“Don’t leave again. Stay here with me.” And there is the crux of the problem. Pressing my lips together, I sit back, solidifying the space between us. Huxley’s face, previously so filled with hope, falls. “Ahh, I fucked it.” My smile is slatted as I cup his cheek.

“You need to try to get out of here, Hux. We can still do this,” I gesture between us, “on the other side of that door.” He nods knowingly. If it came down to an ultimatum, Huxley wouldn’t really push for me to abandon my life. He wouldn’t want me to hide from my classes. He wouldn’t let the bullet he took be in vain.

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