Page 33 of Forged By Shadows

“You couldn’t save yourself. What makes you think you can save her?” my mother laughs into my ear, her body flush behind me and her talons sinking deeper into my flesh. Upon spotting me, Avery’s eyes widen and bubbles leave her mouth as she tries to scream. Banging on the glass with her fists, her golden hair sways around her as a blood-red hoodie weighs her down to the bottom. It’s Wyatt’s, I vaguely realize. She pulls and yanks at it, but it’s no use. And I can’t do anything to help her.

A hand slides around my neck, tightening until I can’t breathe but I don’t take my eyes from Avery. She deserves a life free of misery and pain. To feel true joy without fear. As the last bubbles leave her lips, she begins to convulse and writhe against the burn of her empty lungs. A tear slides down my cheek as my own supply of oxygen runs out, but I refuse to fight against the hand holding me. I deserve this, but Avery doesn’t. I could never be what she needs. My damaged soul is always going to drown her.

“Axel!” a voice screams into my ear. Those hands are still touching my neck and face, shaking me until I’m able to drag a full breath into my lungs. I shoot upright, directly into Garrett as he straddles my waist and grabs my nape. “You weren’t breathing, you stupid fuckwit.” He runs his hands over my shaven head, cupping my face and then drags me back into his chest. The reality of my nightmare settles on me like a ton weight. I’m used to revisiting my past, to watching my greatest fears play out behind my eyelids on a nightly basis. They’re painful but predictable. This was different.

“It’s okay, everything will be fine,” Garrett soothes me, his arms stroking my back and shoulders. I throw my arms around him, our lips connecting as I desperately try to grab onto something real. Something worth living for. Returning my kiss, Garrett embraces me fully until I can taste the saltiness of my tears leak between our lips. My heart clenches as depression tries to tighten its grip. Garrett knows me. His soul is as damaged as mine, but Avery…she’s too pure to be tainted. She’s the epitome of what I’ve always wanted but can never have.

Sweet touches and tender reminders of him pull me back to the present. I retreat from his lips to cry into his shoulder, unable to help myself from being weak once again. Maybe Wyatt does have the right idea after all, to bury his emotions under an angry façade, because this touchy-feely shit isn’t working for me.

Finally reigning control of myself, after soaking Gare’s shoulder, I stare at the streetlamp shining beyond the window. Gare attempts to arouse me, his fingers trailing my sides and dipping over my inner thighs. This is the routine. I dream, I panic, I cry and then I fuck out every ounce of emotion I don’t want to feel. Garrett is always there, always willing to be that body for me to use. He believes he deserves it, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. If I thought I could express the depth of our connection, of how I yearn to make love to him day in and day out, without him running scared - I would. He places tender kisses to my jaw, his fingers stroking a path along my dick. I barely feel it. All I feel is numb and completely useless.

“I need a drink,” I gently ease him off me. Pulling on a pair of lounge pants, I scratch my head and leave the room. I’m reaching breaking point, and not even Gare’s pity fucks are keeping the nightmares at bay. I need more. I need all of him. But instead of committing to me, he’s found a blonde bombshell replacement to palm me off on.

My feet pad across the marble flooring, deepening the sour taste in my mouth. I hate Wyatt’s taste in decor. He thinks money fixes problems, but to me, it’s the cause. I’d take a tiny dorm room with twin beds. Dirty clothing piles in the corner, shelves overflowing with knick knacks I don’t need. Anything to take me away from the mansion I grew up in, and the things I had to do to maintain it once my father died. But I also understand too well that people show love in different ways.

In Wyatt’s mind, keeping us safe, secluded and secure is how he shows love. He doesn’t let us worry about our next meal or how we’ll fund our next semester. He takes care of us without words of affection. But at what cost to himself? Who has Wyatt’s back when it all comes crashing down? The Shadowed Souls may surround him, but he won’t let any of us in.

Turning into the kitchen, the refrigerator closes and I think I’m still dreaming. Avery turns her baby blues onto me, an oversized t-shirt just skimming her thighs. She’s standing on one foot, the other tilted upwards like a flamingo. In her hand, she holds a bag of ice.

“What’s happened?” I rush forward, my voice hushed. All of the mental berating I just gave myself about keeping my distance evaporates as I lean down to inspect her swollen ankle.

“It’s nothing.” Avery tries to brush me off. I extend her leg into the light and gently turn it. The blue and purple bruises conceal a lump, which is definitely not ‘nothing’. “I went over on it at the studio, and then thought I saw something so I ran here. Stupid mistake, that’s all. Huxley has already tended to it.” Ignoring the stab of jealousy that strikes out of nowhere, I inspect the thin coating of cream he’s applied. A rookie attempt.

“Okay well, this needs to be compressed and elevated. I’ve got some bandages,” I rise to rifle through the cupboards. Avery sighs and stops me.

“It’s fine, Axel. I can care for myself.” Her words sound harsh, her hair rough from sleep. Did she have the same nightmare as me? Did she witness how I couldn’t save her, how I’ll always fail her? The next time she tries to wave me off and leave, I move forward quickly on instinct. Gripping her hips and planting her onto the counter harder than I intended to, I step between her legs and press my cheek against hers so those all-seeing eyes of hers can’t look into my soul while it’s vulnerable.

“That’s the problem Avery. I do care. I just witnessed you dying in my dream so you can push me away all you like. I’m not going anywhere.” My chest sinks at my confession. Despite the turmoil I’ve been putting myself through, despite knowing I need to stay away from her, I can’t. She’s an enigma. She’s the light at the end of the darkened tunnel. I dare a glance at her expression. Glazed eyes assess me above a faint smattering of freckles over her button nose and her golden hair tickles my bare chest. A fucking angel.

“I’d rather the ugly truth than false promises Axel,” Avery breathes. Another stab to the gut. It’s too easy to forget Avery has her own demons. She carries her past with more grace than I will ever understand. Taking her hand from her lap, I link our fingers and bring our united fist up between us.

“I promise. Despite the fear that I’m the opposite of what you need, I promise that above all else, I will keep you safe.” Leaning her forehead against mine, Avery parts her legs and hooks her arms around me so we are fully pressed against each other. The weight of my nightmare has lifted, but the underlying anxiety remains. My doubts will always be the driving wedge between myself and my happiness. Am I too tainted to be enough? Too broken to help fix her?

We stay like that, happy to support one another without judgment for the longest time. But it will never be enough. I need comfort like this to survive, gentle touches and soft caresses remind me of how it feels to be loved. To be alive. Garrett wants me to be with her. He’s all but promised her to me. But I fear Avery alone won’t be able to fill the void Garrett has created within me, and if she were to try, then I run the risk of losing them both.

Chapter Twenty Five

Iwake to a hand clamping over my mouth. With Huxley’s snoring form pressed against my back, I don’t panic like I did when Wyatt caught me half-drunk and cemented in a nightmare. This time, I open my eyes lazily, brow already cocked to see who is hovering above me. Garrett is the answer.

“Get dressed,” he whispers, removing his hand to chuck a pile of clothes onto my midsection. I groan, my voice slurred as I roll over.

“I have English class.”

“I know you have an edible ass. Now get it downstairs.” He rushes out of the room on tiptoes like a sneaky little nymph, while I push my head further into the pillow.

“Just go,” Huxley huffs, shoving me out of the bed. “He keeps things interesting.” I roll onto the ground, landing on my hands and one foot. The other is high in the air while the clothes topple onto my back. After Axel bandaged my ankle and grabbed two sofa cushions, he tucked me into Huxley’s bed with my leg elevated and a kiss pressed to my temple. It was an experience to say the least.

I emerge dressed in a mixture of girl’s clothes which were no doubt left over from wild frat parties. At least they’ve been laundered. The t-shirt sits short above my navel, a huge pink heart in the center. On the bottom, the ripped jeans are a good fit and after stealing an additional pair of thick socks from Huxley’s drawers, my ankle feels much better in the high-laced boots. I recall waking a few times in the night to my ice compact being swapped out for a fresh one, but that could have been in my dreams. I was all over the place after Theo surprised me, Huxley bathed me and Axel held me as if I’m precious.

On the landing at the top of the stairs, I stop as Wyatt ascends in his basketball jersey and shorts. His hair is damp, his green eyes are tired. He sees me at the same time as my hip leans against the railing, staying well out of the way. By the glare he gives me, I half expect him to toss me down the stairs. Without breaking his stride, he comes directly towards me, stopping on the step below.

“So you just stay here now?” he asks with bitter acceptance. My brows hit my hairline. Is he actually talking to me? Wyatt doesn’t talk to me - he talks at me. He lords over me like some big bad wolf with more money than sense.

A thousand replies toy with the end of my tongue. Should I just say yes and make it official? Rooming with Huxley beats communal bathrooms and ties on doorknobs. Although, he’ll probably grow bored and want his personal space back soon. Perhaps I ask Wyatt if there’s a spare room for me, since apparently we’re trying out this open communication thing. Unfortunately, years of anger and loathing don’t disappear so easily.

“Get over it, Dipshit.” Pushing past him, our shoulders lock in a battle of wills before I win out and manage to move forward. Garrett appears at the bottom of the stairs when I reach the lobby, directing me to the garage. Huxley’s white SUV stands proud, all fixed and shiny like new. The orange Nissan and green Mercedes sit either side, but Garrett ignores all of these.

Tossing me a helmet and leather jacket, there’s a silent instruction to mount the Ducati at the back while the garage door lifts. Garrett takes the front, zipping up his own jacket. There’s a challenge in his brown gaze which I refuse to fail. Hopping onto the back, I pull on the helmet and wrap my arms around Garrett’s middle.

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