Page 16 of Wildest Dreams

“Bless you,” he blesses himself. “Thank you,” he thanked himself.

“You blessed yourself,” I blink, head slightly tilted.

“No problem,” he okays me with his finger and thumb then stumbles forward towards the kitchen. “Ma!” he calls out and I feel Dixie looking at me. I ignore the urge to face her, to let my eyes sweep over her beautiful face.

Moving forward, Pacey is lifting the pots and pans to see what's cooking. Mom slaps his hand away and tsks.

“Pacey, you're drunk. Go to bed,” she scolds, and my dad rolls his eyes but doesn’t move from his spot at the breakfast bar.

“Come Pace, lemme get you up...” I wrap my arms around his shoulders, and he shrugs me off, pushing me in the chest and knocking me off my feet.

“It's all your fault,” he slurs standing over me and my brows pinch.

I know he is talking shit. He is angry, I get it, but attacking me isn't going to help.

“Hey!” I hear the bellow of Riggs as he barrels across to where Pacey is stumbling. He grabs Pacey and drags him from the kitchen as I push myself from the floor to my feet.

“You okay?” Aspen asks, rushing to my side and checking me over.

“I'm fine,” I grunt, turning myself away from her.

“Jorge, all the kids are home,” my mom's tone is uninterested and sarcastic, my dad grunts in response.

“Idiot,” I chew the inside of my cheek.

I dust my cargos down and grab the plates from the kitchen cabinet as I start to lay the table when I hear the sound of shouting and banging.

Dixie looks terrified.

We all just continue as normal.

Pacey has had too much to drink, and thinks the whole world is against him.

Austin is his best friend. Sure, there is an age difference, but he and Austin always hit it off. He is protective of him, and what Austin is being dragged through is not ideal. We all know it wasn't Austin, but it's hard to prove an innocent man as not guilty when everyone who cares believes the rumours.

Yes, we were the last people to see Clay alive.

Yes, Austin and Pacey put his beaten body into the back of the truck. But he was still breathing. He was conscious. Just bruised and bloody.

“Can I do anything to help?” Dixie asks, her sweet voice floating through my heavy thoughts.

“I need to grab some wine, wanna come with?”I'meven surprised I have asked her to come with me.

“Sure,” she shrugs her shoulders up, placing the baby monitor on the center island and follows behind me.

Walking out the front of the house, I jump the steps of the porch and round the corner of the house when I come to the basement doors. Unbolting them, I tug both open and hold my hand out to help her over the lip and onto the step.

She looks at me, hair blowing softly in the spring breeze, her hand a little cautious to fall into my palm. Her eyes bounce between mine and I watch as the once angry waves are now calm. She makes me feel safe. And I like that.

Her hand slips into mine, if only for a moment as she steps over and I feel the current swarm through me, singeing my nerve endings and as painful as it feels, I don't want to let go of her.

I follow behind her, pulling the light cord as we climb down onto the fourth step and I scoff when I see the fairy lights hung from the oak ceiling beams.

“Fairy lights?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Aspen. Scared of the dark. Riggs put them everywhere. He never wanted her to be afraid...” I trail off as we step into the basement, and I look around for a bottle or two of red. “Do you drink red?” I ask, letting my fingertips brush across the dusty bottles sitting in their racks.

“I do,” and I don't miss the way a pinch of crimson splashes into her cheeks and my lips pull slightly at the corner into a smirk. But she misses it.

---