Page 7 of Forged By Shadows

Run.

Chapter Four

Iwatch the scene unfold with an odd sense of detachment. Avery fucking Hughes. She’s not supposed to be here. She definitely shouldn’t be with Garrett and Axel, heading to the gym. Directly into the lion’s den where Wyatt will be waiting. What the fuck were they thinking?

“I think I’m in love,” Garrett croaks against the ground. Avery stumbles a few steps back, a world’s worth of unanswered questions passing her features. Finally turning to run, as instructed, Garrett’s hand wraps around her ankle, jerking her to the ground. She hits the concrete hard, but that doesn’t impact her tenacity. Kicking, scratching, shrieking. Had it been anyone half as obstinate as Garrett, she might have stood a chance. As it stands, he’s army-crawled up her body and is gyrating his crotch into her face, yelling ‘kiss it better’. I can’t fully comprehend the ridiculousness of it all when Wyatt’s face lights up on the dash display. At my side, Huxley groans and accepts the call.

“Hey man,” he attempts to sound relaxed, despite running a hand down his face.

“Hey, I had to circle back. Left my damn phone at the house. I’m just coming up Belfield Drive now. Be there in-” Huxley is out of the driver’s seat before Wyatt finishes his sentence and I rush to disconnect the call. Wyatt isn’t at the gym, he’s barely a road away. I doubt any thought is considered as Axel also abandons the cab, helping to wrangle a struggling Avery into the trunk. Her language is colorful, her skirt hitching up to the waist. Screaming she’s going to kill us all, the trunk slams closed and an eerie silence falls over the SUV. No banging, no juddering. I peer back to ask if she’s okay when the orange Nissan turning the corner catches my eye. The boys jump back in their seats as Wyatt pulls to a stop by the driver’s side window.

“What are you guys doing here…on the side of the road…not in the gym?” Wyatt asks slowly, his brow raised. Huxley flexes his hands on the wheel.

“Just a flat,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s all sorted now.” Wyatt looks over the SUV disbelievingly, keeping his gaze narrowed.

“Okay then. Let’s not waste any more of practice sitting out here.” Wyatt smoothly drives ahead, finding two parking spaces side by side. The tension in the SUV is crippling as we follow at a snail’s pace.

“She’s so quiet,” Garrett whispers, a pained groan in his voice. “Why is she so quiet?” I catch him in the rearview mirror, rubbing at his reddened and sore eyes.

“How the hell are we going to lie our way out of that?” I jerk my thumb at the invalid. Reversing into a space, Huxley declines to answer either of us. One by one, my best friends slide out of the car, stepping into Wyatt’s side. His back is rigidly straight, his foot is tapping the ground. He’s pissed.

“You coming?” he scowls at me when I hesitate half out of the door.

“Uh, yeah. I just need to grab my bag. You guys go on ahead.” I attempt a cool smile. I can sense Wyatt’s irritated groan rather than hear it, and he refuses to move. Slinking around the back, I open the trunk, locking eyes with Avery. Her arms are crossed, her scowl an exact replica of Nixon’s and Wyatt’s. Reaching over her, I grab my duffle bag from within the junk Huxley left in here, hovering over her face.

“I’m going to leave the trunk popped open. You need to get out of here. The gym is Wyatt’s domain. If he catches you anywhere nearby-”

“No, thank you.” Avery states matter-of-factly, crystal clarity in her blue eyes. I trip over my words.

“No…you don’t want to be let out of the trunk?”

“No, thank you,” Avery repeats. “I want to lie right here and stew in my hatred for Wyatt and his stupid friends and all the stupid shit in my life that he is responsible for.” My mouth opens and closes a few times.

“That’s the most passive-aggressive thing-”

“Dax! Come on!” Wyatt storms towards me. Avery laughs bitterly.

“Daddy’s calling,” she muses just as Wyatt slams the trunk closed without looking down. I know he doesn’t hear it under the skid of his sneakers, but Avery’s small, mocking laugh follows us. I sigh, shoving my hands into my jean pockets while Wyatt’s hand clamps around my nape. He urges me into the gym where I ignore the receptionist and head for the staircase.

On the level below, I empty the contents of my locker out onto the wooden bench in the middle of the room. My jersey, shorts, sneakers, and hand towel. As I change, my back turned away from the rest of the team, Wyatt takes my day clothes, anally slapping the wrinkles out and folding them until they fit perfectly back into my locker.

“Head in the game,” he nudges my shoulder. In Wyatt’s language, it’s practically a hug. “We can’t let those fuckers from Radley get too comfortable on top.” He leaves me for a moment of solace, but I don’t let myself linger. Tying my laces, I’m running out on the court for the last few drills. Huxley throws the ball hard into my chest, his hands raised for me to reciprocate.

“Well? Did you get rid of it?” he leans in, his chocolate eyes boring into me. I give a quick shake of my head, throwing the ball back. We sidestep and duck under the next pair throwing their ball over head and repeat. We keep going until there’s a comfortable warmth burning through our calves, then Wyatt barks out formations to try. It’s not as easy as usual, given that Garrett is sitting in the stands with Axel applying a cold compress to his face.

At least the whole team is present today, including the subs who normally spend each game on the bench. I suppose it’s helpful for them to get some practice in while Garrett isn’t showboating across the court. We work the newbies hard, repeating the same moves until they can get their feet moving quick enough.

Waversea has a reputation for a winning basketball team, most going on to play professionally. Playing ball is just a release for me, a way to stay close to those I’ve come to call family. Us five shared a room at boarding school and it was no mistake we all got into the same university. I’m sure it had much to do with Wyatt pulling strings. We’re his family; any one of us being left behind wasn’t an option.

“Completely pathetic,” Wyatt scowls at the end of our allocated time on the court. The netball girls have already begun to filter in, posing on the bleachers in an attempt to get our attention. A few offer to take care of Garrett’s weeping eyes, the promise of nurse’s outfits being mentioned. Axel shoos them away, guiding Garrett into the locker room like a blind man.

The subs of the team have the good sense to grab their stuff and leave. They’d be the first to feel his wrath. Wyatt kicks the metal gate blocking off the supply closet. I feel the jarring sound down my bones, opting to shower beside Huxley rather than engage.

“He’s not handling her presence here very well,” Huxley groans quietly. I face the tile, lathering up and washing off.

“Has he even seen her yet?” I ask. Huxley shuts off the faucet, chewing his inner cheek.

“No. And we need to keep it that way.”

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