Page 87 of Forged By Shadows

I nudge him, finding a small smirk for his eyes only. Huxley and Dax get a scowl to the back of the head for thinking I’d give a shit about Wyatt. His hissy fit at my showcase was uncalled for. Outrageous, in fact. He had the nerve to act jealous, after every emotional rollercoaster he’s put me through. And once the dam had broken, he wanted it all. He asked me to kiss him, ordered me to bend over and let him fuck me. He would have taken everything if I’d let him, and then given me shit for it afterwards. He’s already called me a slut tonight, but he was the one freaking out about a male ballet dancer’s hands on my waist. A dancer who is flamboyantly gay, by the way.

I enter the house, my eyes glued to the pounding ceiling. Wyatt is having a full-on bitch fit. What a fucking hypocrite. In any other instance, Wyatt would have ruined my entire night. Locked me up, made sure I didn’t continue with the show out of pure spite. I love dance and he hates me, why wouldn’t he want to take that away? But what was different about tonight is anyone’s guess.

Axel places my bag on the kitchen island and I stifle another yawn. I reckon I could head straight upstairs and fall asleep through the banging and crashing. However, Huxley and Dax are by the dining table, standing beside the chair at the head, already pulled out. On the mahogany wood in front of it lies my mother’s diary. My face hardens as soon as I see it while Huxley crosses his arms defensively. So it’s not just palming my pussy that Wyatt is furious over.

“How much did you tell him?” I jut out my chin. Huxley mimics the action.

“Everything.”

“Why?!” My mouth drops open. Maybe there are facts Wyatt should have known sooner, but everything? These are my mom’s memories, her secrets to tell or take to her grave. They’re not in a gossip column for Huxley to pass around. Keeping my eye contact, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope.

“Because this was posted through the letterbox at exactly seven o’clock. I suspect he thought we would all be at your showcase.” Prickles encase my nape, goosebumps line my arms. He. A single person.

“Huxley,” I state firmly. “You didn’t interact with this person, did you?” He half shrugs, unable to hide his wince of pain.

“I didn’t get the chance. I chased him south off campus, but I’m not as fit as I usually am. My lack of stamina caught up with me.”

“What the fuck, Hux?” Axel gasps, slapping his hands on his thighs. I share the sentiment.

“What the hell were you thinking?! You were shot last time, and we wouldn’t have known for hours!” I’m furious, discarding the envelope still held in his hand. Closing the space between us, I raise my hand to hit his tender shoulder and stop myself at the last moment, balling my fingers into a fist. “Don’t do that again.” His chocolate brown stare is steady, not in the least bit regretful. He’d do it again in an instant. I glower at him, at everyone.

“I’m serious. That goes for all of you. If you start putting my safety above your own and I have to spend all of my time worrying if someone in this room has done something stupid, I’m gone. I will walk away.” There’s a pause and a mixture of expressions in response, ranging from worry to ‘No, you won’t.’ I double down, but my voice is smaller. My head lowered. “I don’t deal with loss well. Don’t force me to protect myself like that.”

None of them say anything, the air thick with unspoken words. It’s too late. They already do value my safety above theirs. Another crash sounds from upstairs, this one juddering the entire house. A hundred bucks says Wyatt’s been drinking straight whiskey since he got back.

“Give me the letter,” I hold my hand out, sighing. There’s no patience left for pleasantries. Huxley gingerly places it into my hand, while Dax scrapes the chair back further. AKA, you’ll want to sit down for this.

Exhaling loudly, I take the seat. Four men drop into the chairs closest, Axel and Garrett leaning forward to see the pages I’m unfolding. I recognize them immediately. The yellow tinge to the paper, the faintly printed lines, the handwriting in purple pen and large flourishes. The missing pages from mom’s diary. My heart stutters to a halt, my body forgetting how to function.

This is what she, or someone, was trying to keep hidden. The entry is short, written in a rush. An excited flurry. She’s been for her first scan. Nixon was by her side, holding her hand when they were delivered the news. Twins. She couldn’t be happier, Nixon is overjoyed. Imagine two sets of feet running around the manor, double birthday parties, the bestest of friends who will never have to walk a day alone. Her heart is so full of love, she might just burst.

“It’s not…I don’t get…it doesn’t mean,” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut. “We don’t know if this is true. It could be fake, forged.” It’s one hell of a good forgery if so, even through my tear-filled eyes. The handwriting is identical. “I don’t understand what you’re showing me.” Huxley reaches for the envelope and shakes out the rest of the contents. Two tiny hospital bands with the date and timestamp. Both labeled as Baby Hughes.

“Okay. So…Wyatt had a twin. Weird but I mean, there’s been no mention of it before. There were no pictures in the manor or hint that there was anyone else. Maybe they didn’t survive. Either way…I just…why are you looking at me like that?!” I glare at Garrett. Whatever conclusion he’s come to, I instantly dismissed when I saw the bracelets. It’s Dax’s turn to reach across and flip over the diary page in my hand. A list of baby names, all girls, only one circled. Avery.

No. No, no. Not happening.

“This is ridiculous. I don’t get what you’re implying,” I toss down the pages. This is a joke. A stupid joke probably orchestrated by Wyatt to push me away again. He hates that I got close enough to see his armor crack. But then why is he flipping out upstairs?

“I think you know exactly what we’re implying,” Huxley sighs heavily. “Avery, before you were adopted by the Hughes’, had you ever met your mother?”

“She had an affair with Fredrick Walters,” Dax continues. “We know he’s your biological father. And we know he fathered these twins.”

Whatever happens next, I’m not present for it. I faintly hear voices telling me to breathe, but it’s too late. The room goes dark around me, blocking out everyone and everything. Cold spirals through my core. My chest crushes in on itself, squeezing my heart as it fights to keep beating within the tight enclosure. Fear has me gripped firmly in its claws, its nails piercing my flesh as the darkness bleeds out.

Everything spins, a mixture of blue and brown eyes briefly flashing through the haze before I drown in the darkness again. My body starts to shake as I fight for control. In my mind, the attack lasts for hours. Arms band around me, my body airborne before I’m lowered again. Every cold part of me is clung to by a large warm hand. The Shadowed Souls surround me on the sofa, soothing and stroking. Whispering and worrying. Eventually the trembles ease and I can concentrate on inhaling and exhaling deeply.

There’s a huge, final crash from above. I hear it so violently, I momentarily believe it came from within my own chest. Stomping follows, booming around the lower level. The guys shoot upright, calling out, pleading. Wyatt don’t go. Dude, wait - let’s talk about this. Come on Riot, we can sort it out. I peer over the back of the sofa to see him stuff his arms into his jacket and shoulder a large duffle bag. His back is riddled with tension, his brown hair a mess. My lips part on their own accord.

“Wyatt,” I breathe. It’s a desperate sound, a world of emotion held in that one word. As Wyatt swings the front door wide open, he stills. His head snaps aside and I’m drowning again. Those haunting green eyes physically spear me. The pain, the anguish, the disgust. His lip is snarling, and I watch the deadness of his hatred take over, killing all other emotions. I’ve lost him. He hates me, with a proper reason this time. Slamming the door behind him, he’s gone and my heart cracks wide open.

I’m light-headed. My head lowers into Axel’s lap for the second time tonight. Faces fill my vision, someone stroking my hair. Someone wrapped around my legs.

“W-what does this mean?” I manage to force out. I know what it means, I just don’t want to admit it. Admit what Wyatt and I did, what we could have done. No wonder he’s destroyed the house, my stomach rolls just thinking about it. Dax is there, staring deeply into my eyes. A lifeboat in the ocean, a piercing blue light to my redemption. His lashes flutter over his cheek for a moment, a deep breath preceding the answer I desperately need to hear.

“Oh, Little Swan. It means you always were a Shadowed Soul after all.”

To Be Continued…

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