28. Tail Between My Legs

28

Tail Between My Legs

Dax

Friday, June 2 nd

10:20 p.m.

"I have good news and bad. Good—the guys are downstairs at the bar. Bad," Bree tilts her head toward the sky, "you have to move."

"From here?" I point at the grass beneath my feet. Did I step in something, or am I about to?

"No, the city."

I guffaw. "Whatever. You're so dramatic."

"I'm being serious. We can't have you running into Dani anymore. And the solution—you move."

"I'm not moving. I won't rearrange my life because she's a psycho."

"Suit yourself. I can't keep digging you out of these holes. There are only a couple more months until the restraining order is no longer in effect. Five years have flown by. Then what?"

I take this morsel of information—who cares if the restraining order is almost up—and decide I won't be the one to budge. Despite the need to protect myself, I need to make a change and stop being self-centered. "Liam is getting ready to start treatment. I'm not leaving."

"And you're gonna keep Liam safe." It's a statement, not a question.

I answer anyway. "Yes."

She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her bag, shakes one into her hand, and slides it between her lips. "Like I said, suit yourself. Next time, it's probably gonna be worse. She could get you thrown in jail if she provokes you enough to touch her again or, god forbid, damage that money-making face." She runs her pointer finger over my cheek before pinching it.

"In this profession, we keep our hands to ourselves," Garrett scolds as he stops next to Bree, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets. "We don't want to spoil the merchandise, especially since he's the Golden Boy."

"Shut up," I bite out.

"He has a point," she says as Garrett pulls her in for a side hug, and she slips the cigarette between her lips before she lights it. She inhales.

Catches me staring.

Flips me off and smiles.

Her mouth quirks up.

"And what's that?" I ask. I don't really want to know, but something tells me she's going to fill me in whether or not I want to hear it.

"If you would keep your hands to yourself, we wouldn't be in this situation." She bobs her head from side to side with too much attitude and pokes me in the chest for good measure. Her lips lift into a smile. " You need to learn to behave."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Garrett chuckles and nods for her to follow.

"We can discuss this later." The two of them meander off and make their way inside the hotel. And I'm left alone with my thoughts and too much energy to call it a night.

I reconsider the idea of joining everyone at the bar but decide on the solitude of the hotel pool. I take a couple of minutes to make my way through the lobby and to the back of the hotel. I plop onto an empty lounge chair and bask in the quiet.

Avoiding Bree is a bad idea, but I don't have it in me to listen to her explain how much I messed up for the hundredth time. I am an adult, and I always take ownership of my decisions, but my time with Dani has turned into the worst thing I've ever done—yes, my list of past incidents is long.

I lean back and drape my arm over my eyes, tired from the direction my thoughts have taken. Dani was a bad idea. I shouldn't have let things get out of hand. But I can't change what happened, and the situation with Dani is now a thing of the past.

Or it was until yesterday.

Besides seeing her across the room at the party—I tally it up—it's been a little less than a year since I ran into her while on a jog at the park, but that encounter was nothing compared to what happened at the hospital the other day.

Bree drops onto the chaise beside me, clearing her throat. Her presence draws me out of my contemplations. She sits there without saying a word. I hate how she does this. And she knows it. But she uses it as a means of torture to get me to spill my guts.

"Your entourage gave you away," she says, pointing over her shoulder.

I glance at the fence surrounding the pool and the flock of women outside it. "They're not here for me."

"Bullshit. They were watching at the shoot earlier. You didn't see them?" She reclines on the chair, closing her eyes.

"I was preoccupied."

She humphs under her breath.

I smile and wave at the crowd. It's my duty, and I should be on my best behavior. "Why didn't you shoo them away?"

"I'm sick of dealing with your dirty laundry."

"I'm not the one who hooks up with the fuck bunnies. That's Garrett's thing, not mine."

She lolls her head to the side, glaring at me, her brown eyes frustrated. "And I always seem to have a front-row seat for the shitshow. Why can't you two grow up?"

I throw my hands up. "In my defense, I haven't been on your shitlist in forever."

"True, but your offense is ongoing."

"What do you expect me to say to that?" There's a surge of disappointment, knowing she's right. I made the mistake of letting Dani into my life, and I have to live with the fallout.

"Nothing. Just here to remind you." Bree smiles, referencing the restraining order fiasco.

"Because I don't beat myself up enough over it every day?"

"Just doing my job."

Dani has always taken things to the extreme. I shouldn't have let our arrangement get out of control, but when she came calling, I was always there to answer. I had no intention of taking advantage of her and didn't know she had different ideas about what would happen between us. Plus, I sorta overlooked her obsession with me because my ego got in the way.

After explaining to her how I'd like to stay friends and how I'd see her around, I never imagined she would take things as far as she did.

"Whatever," I say, knowing I'm being a colossal pain in the ass. I cross my arms over my chest, hoping Bree will take the hint and disappear.

"What I said earlier," she says, waiting for a beat, "moving is unnecessary. It would make my life a whole helluva lot easier, but I won't make you move because you keep sticking your head up your ass."

"Well, thanks."

"You know I'm looking out for you. Once the restraining order is up, there's not much we can do."

"How long do we have?" I ask, knowing I should have the answer, but it slips my mind. Bree probably mentioned it before, and I missed it.

"Your lawyer said two months." She throws her legs over the side of the chair and settles her chin on her palm. "Just double-checking because he asked. You didn't touch her, right?"

I replay what happened on the elevator, and my heart somersaults to my toes. Sweat clings to my skin. I drop my head in my hand, squeezing my eyes shut.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Bree throws her hands in the air. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

I shake my head.

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

I look at her with wide eyes and no answers.

She leans toward me and grabs me by the shoulders. "What in the fuck happened?"

"She wouldn't stop talking and said something she shouldn't have, and I wasn't thinking—I just acted."

"And that's what got you into this mess in the first place."

"I know that," I bite through clenched teeth.

She glares at the sky, shaking her head back and forth. "That much is obvious. Dax"—she pauses for effect, holding her hands to either side of her face—"listen to me. If she shows up—you leave. If she talks—you ignore her. If she touches you—fucking run in the other direction. Do you understand?"

I already feel stupid enough for putting us back in a situation where something else could happen.

Bree's condescending tone grates at my nerves, but she's right. Why do I keep finding myself in these situations?

"We don't have enough cause to get another restraining order when this one's up. This isn't just about you at this point. Don't you get that? Now that she has ammo against you, do you think a judge will vote in your favor? What the fuck?" She stands, throwing her hands in the air. She paces beside the pool.

What do I say? A million excuses fill my mind, and none are good enough. Bree's right, one hundred percent, but I can't take back what happened. I wish I could, but I can't change what I did yesterday or five years ago.

"You're right." It's one thing to know something, and it's another to act on it. And from now on, things are going to be different. I'm going to be different. Liam needs me to step up. "I'm sorry. But I didn't hurt her."

"That's not the point. You shouldn't have touched her."

"You act like I don't already know that. What am I supposed to do?" I push off the chair, standing next to her, frustrated with the direction this has gone. I mentally vow to fix some of the chaos I've set into motion. I'll do my part, as much as possible, and if that means moving, changing careers, or whatever else I need to do, so I'm not a disappointment—to Liam, Bree, and everyone else—I'll do it.

When Liam finishes treatment.

"Keeping you out of trouble is part of my job. Thinking before you act would make it a little easier." She places her balled fists on her hips and lets out an exaggerated breath. "You know," she says, narrowing her gaze, "not everything is about you. Maybe you should consider what other people want once in a while. It would be good for you. I know you're here for one reason"—she eyes the crowd of women still ogling me—"but maybe you don't have to be such a dick. Women won't solve all your problems."

"That's asking a lot," someone says, sticking their nose where it doesn't belong. The two of us whip around. My eyes land on Lyla—my favorite mistake. She crosses her arms over her chest, surveying the pool deck in a mini dress that hugs her perfect curves. I didn't hear the gate open or close. Tension electrifies the air around us as she makes her way next to me.

"Stay the fuck out of this," Bree snaps, knowing the type of trouble I get myself into. The perk of being a model is easy access to women. It also happens to be my downfall.

A flash of disgust pierces Bree's face, but she schools her expression back into place before she jabs a finger in my direction. "We'll continue this conversation later. Stay the fuck away from Dani," she says, slapping her hands in front of my face to emphasize her point. She grabs the gate and charges through, glaring at Lyla.

I don't know what's happening between them, and I have no intention of sticking my nose where it doesn't belong, but it doesn't look good.

Lyla watches as Bree leaves. She turns to me, cupping my face in her hands. "You okay?"

"She's right."

"She wasn't being a bitch like always?"

She should shut the hell up. I could give her something better to do with her obnoxious mouth—the thought catches me off guard, that her mouth on me doesn't sound appealing. I try to push the emotions somewhere deep where they can't affect me and shake my head like a fucking Etch-A-Sketch. The disgust I have for myself burrows into me like a diseased tick.

"Don't talk about her like that. Where would you be without her, huh?" She rolls her eyes, and it doesn't affect me the way it usually does.

"Just because she's my manager doesn't mean I owe her the world. She does the minimum of what she's supposed to do for the rest of us. You're her pet project."

I take a step back, creating a distance between us. "Go away." I reach the gate, pulling the lever to return to my room. I have a lot to figure out, and I don't need Lyla making me feel bad about Bree's need to mother me.

The crowd of women parts for me, and I smile, tucking my head. I can't believe Bree didn't make them leave.

"I didn't mean it like that." The hurried sound of her heels clicks against the concrete. She grabs hold of my arm as she catches up with me. "Let me take your mind off things."

The offer is less than appealing. Lyla's always been a great distraction, and it's been a few weeks since the last time, but I'm not in the right headspace for a meaningless fuck.

I let her lead me away from the pool and into the lobby. Garrett and Cole sit at the bar, and I get a knowing look as we pass. Garrett taps Cole, and they both chuckle and wave.

As a rule of thumb, the people in this profession have an unspoken agreement. It's not unheard of for us to slip off with each other after photoshoots for a bit of fun or a night or two in someone else's room.

Lyla isn't ashamed that everyone thinks she's taking me upstairs. All her actions are deliberate. We make it to the elevator, and she pushes the call button, leaning against the wall as she pulls me closer.

I didn't mean to make Dani believe there could be more between us and look where that got me. The idea of doing something similar to Lyla has me reevaluating how wise it is to take advantage of the situation.

My need to escape by any means necessary is exhausting.

I hate how I get swallowed up inside my head.

It's all-consuming.

But what am I gonna do if . . . ?

This is so fucked up.

"Stop." I pull out of her grasp as I head toward the stairwell.

Brighton flits into my mind, and I shouldn't care. I reconsider what I'm about to do because there's a slight chance there is something there, and a pang of guilt fills my mind about it even though she's off-limits.

The elevator chimes its arrival, and I turn, finding Lyla with her hand on her hip and a scowl on her lips. A surge of disappointment crosses her face when our eyes meet. "Don't get all sentimental on me. No strings attached," she says, walking toward me.

I stall in the middle of the hall, second-guessing my sanity and the offer of a distraction.

She takes me by the hand and tilts her head back toward the elevator. "Promise."

This is a bad idea.

And I've had more of those than my fair share.

"I'm not interested."

"You're bad at lying." She tugs on my hand, and my body follows her against my will.

The prospect of benefiting from our arrangement is at the forefront of my mind the second she runs her tongue along her bottom lip and presses her chest into mine. A voice niggles at the back of my mind—something about women not solving all my problems—but I ignore it. Who am I to deny a woman what she wants?

No expectations.

No attachment.

Fun and done.

The thrill of the idea of this happening with Brighton instead of Lyla quickly outweighs any thoughts of this transpiring with anyone besides Brighton ever again.

Lyla pauses for half a second when she realizes I've stopped. "I'm intrigued by your lack of interest."

"It's not that complicated." I pull my hand free from hers.

"It's hot," she says, pulling her lower lip between her teeth and giving me come-fuck-me eyes .

"See you tomorrow."

The "therapist look" she levels on me makes me reconsider my sanity. There's not even a possibility with Brighton, but I don't want to chance it.

"What the hell?"

Yes, sweetheart, I'm a worthless piece of shit. You're welcome. "Good night," I say. Sometimes, I shock myself with the brilliant things I do.

"If you walk away, we're done."

I don't owe her an explanation. I don't doubt my decision. I don't give her a second glance. "I couldn't care less, to say the fucking least."