32. Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty One

W e arrive at our hotel as the sky becomes blemished with rays of a muddy sunset. Perhaps my mood is dulling the colors, but I'm hardly focused. Garrett fell asleep on me hours ago, my shoulder long gone numb. Axel is lost to his own world, staring out of the window while tracing patterns over my hand and arm. Huxley glances at me often in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. I'm too trapped in my own mess of thoughts to be able to answer his scrutiny with reassurance.

"We'll stop here tonight. There's another six hours to go tomorrow. I've got the key cards," Wyatt says through the driver's open window as the vehicle comes to a halt. Huxley nods and steps out to attend to the bags, leaving me with Garrett drooling on my shoulder and Axel's absent-minded touches.

"I'm going to wake him," I whisper, nodding towards Garrett. I'm done with being stuffed in a car for today, heightened emotions and unspoken questions filling my head.

"Mmmhmm." Axel acknowledges, his eyes never leaving the sight of the hotel outside. There's something distant about him and my heart tugs that I don't feel comfortable enough yet to outright ask him. Maybe if I had realized sooner in the journey, I could have distracted him with some small talk. Patting Garrett's arm lightly, he snorts and grunts.

"Garrett. We're here."

"Ugh," Garrett blinks awake, rubbing his eyes and looking around blearily. He struggles upright, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand. Axel still doesn't move, lost in a world of his own. Garrett notices instantly.

"Hey Peach, would you mind attending to Dax?" Garrett gestures out of the window. Dax is leaning against the Nissan a few spaces down, a cigarette between his lips. "He only smokes when he's stressed. Riding with Wyatt must have been…interesting." He proceeds to crack open the door – a polite way of telling me to give him and Axel some space.

"Did I…do something?" The words float out of me before I realize there's concern churning in my chest. Garrett's eyes drop to my neck and return to my face so quickly, I feel the truth like a punch to my gut. The bruise growing on my throat has triggered something for Axel. Nodding, I maneuver myself over Garrett's lap and exit the SUV. I have no right to feel the ache at being excluded. Axel has his demons; I know that. As much as I know that Garrett is the best to deal with them.

Approaching the Nissan, I lean next to Dax and hold out my fingers. "May I?"

"You smoke?" he raises a brow.

"On days like this." I accept the cigarette and take a long drag. What I really want to say is, one summer I took a bad turn and Meg's friends hooked me up with a large amount of weed.

It followed the release of a new documentary made of my birth father and on a whim, a group of us thought it would be an interesting watch. Seeing how the media portrayed me was often comical; some Rapunzel style character who got her happily ever after. But I hadn't been prepared for the number of interviews this documentary featured. The amount of people involved, those who knew of the abuse I suffered and did nothing to save me. And then there was him. He gave graphic recounts of what he did to me from the safety of his jail cell. He was almost proud. The glee in his eyes as he described my sickening memories became a recurring nightmare I couldn't shake unless I was sated and high enough to empty out my mind.

Huxley returns, slightly breathless and juggling key cards. "You and Wyatt have rooms to yourselves, Dax and I, and Axel and Garrett will share," he explains, handing out the key cards before offering mine. "I figured you might need some time alone."

"What have I missed?" Dax frowns further. I stop myself from pushing the creases out from between his brows. I wish we could go back to this morning, where excitement was high and the day held so much potential. I'm not sure being alone is what I need, but I also have no words to offer for otherwise.

"Nothing. Let's head in for the night." I shoulder my bag and walk through the hotel's lobby, although sleep is far from my mind. I'm still reeling from the interaction with Wyatt earlier today, and everything else seems insignificant.

For a roadside hotel in a small town, the floors are shiny and polished, a scent of lemon cleanliness in the air. Potted plants line the walls, adding a touch of greenery to the otherwise beige space. The front desk is tall and wooden, and there are flushed sofas and armchairs scattered around for guests to relax in. It's more than pleasant .

Our rooms are all located down the same hallway, five floors up from reception. I opt for the stairs, eager to avoid any awkward silences such as the cramped elevator ride. Garrett and Axel spill out of the elevator at the same time as I emerge. The smirks back in full force, as if there's a naughty joke only the pair of them are in on.

"If you need tiring out later, we'll be awake. Just give us a little time first." Garrett gives me a lazy wink before disappearing into their door with Axel trailing behind him. His head is down, the image of submission. Dax and Wyatt enter their rooms, leaving me alone with Huxley who's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You should've let me go after Wyatt," he says eventually. There's a quiet anger simmering in his voice that makes me shift uncomfortably on my feet. My stomach slowly turns to lead.

"He didn't hurt me. Not really," I counter, rubbing my throat subconsciously.

"It doesn't matter." Huxley pushes himself off from the wall and edges closer to me, his face taut with tension. "You don't have to protect him."

"I'm not protecting him," I retort quickly, too quickly perhaps because Huxley raises an eyebrow at me.

"You sure about that?" Before I can respond, Dax pops his head out of their room.

"Hey, I'm ordering room service. Come choose what you want." Piercing blue eyes land on me, set alight by the contrast of his tanned skin. His blonde afro is starting to grow out and I imagine what it might look like long, and if I have enough influence over Dax for him not to cut it. By his willing gaze, I know I do. "You feel like joining us for dinner?" I smile kindly, my heart fluttering the way it always does for Dax. Whoever said good guys finish last didn't meet him.

"I'm good," I reply regretfully. I'm not in the frame of mind, and if I allow him to, Dax will do whatever it takes to fix my sour mood. As it stands, I need time alone to mull over things.

Letting myself into my room, I find my bag already on my bed. Digging through the pockets, I realize too late that my phone is still lost in Wyatt's car. I guess Meg won't be talking me down from the ledge of stupid ideas tonight. Instead, I strip and shower, standing beneath the scolding spray until my skin is a vibrant shade of red. With a towel fixed around my bust and my hair clipped high up on my head, I spot the mini bar. Fuck yes.

If you've ever wondered how many tiny wine bottles it takes to get tipsy enough to confront your broody stepbrother, the answer is all of them.

My knuckles rap on the door, my back straight with confidence. I'm doing this. When an answer doesn't immediately come and I worry about being caught at Wyatt's door, I knock again. Harder .

"I swear, Garrett, if you ask me for a threesome one more time, I'll-" Wyatt swings the door open and stills. He's briefly distracted by the wet patches which have dripped from my hair onto my t-shirt. I sway slightly, a silly smile on my face as I mentally praise myself for putting a bra back on. The short shorts may have been too much. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk."

"Then call your therapist." Wyatt attempts to shut me out but my foot is already in the door jamb. Raising a brow, I stand my ground.

"I can cause a scene out here if you'd prefer." Currently, there is no one else in the hallway. No one to see me entering Wyatt's room when he sighs and strides away. A thrill of trepidation filters through my chest. I close the door with my back, taking a steadying breath. I'm in the viper's nest. A place I've avoided for so many years, and built up into something I thought I should fear. Now I've jumped the first hurdle, I blink rapidly to clear my vision.

Wyatt sits on the windowsill, putting as much distance between us as possible. Looking out at the night's sky, pierced by lit buildings, the shadows cling to him. I shake my head, my brain sloshing against the sides of my skull. It doesn't help. The darkness shrouds him, like the grim reaper. Or maybe just someone who's so incredibly lonely. He's the eye of the storm. Surrounded by the whirlwind of his reputation, yet inside, he's still sad and all alone.

I spot my phone on his bedside table. Jolting forward, I trip on the leg of a desk and the world tilts. I hear the thud on the floor more than I feel it, and steadily drag myself to the bed. Flopping onto it, I reach for my phone but the battery is dead and my head is starting to swim anyway. Trying to drunk text Meg would have only served to bring on my headache sooner. The whole time, Wyatt says nothing. I roll over on his bed, laying my head on my arm.

"Do you want to screw me or something?" I blurt. Wyatt's head whips to me, his green eyes ablaze. I twist my lips. "Something happened in that car. If you wanted to hurt me, kill me, dump my body on the side of the road, you had your chance. But you didn't, and I can't understand why."

Wow, that was much easier than I thought. Hours of confusion all summed up in one drunken babble. I knew this was a fantastic idea. Wyatt, with his jaw tight enough to crack and hands fisted, doesn't seem to agree.

"Not everyone wants to screw you, Avery," he says my name without the usual disdain. Exhaling, his hand is released from its clench and he returns to look out of the window. "I'd rather cut my fucking dick off than touch you with it."

I make a hum in my throat and roll onto my back. Staring at the ceiling, I sigh. I came here for answers, but it's clear I'm not going to get them. I'm stuck, stuttering over the same thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, Wyatt's perception of me has become part of my persona. I'm the charity case. Adopted and hidden away. Sometimes I think if Cathy wanted a companion for when she was home from filming, she probably should have just gotten a cat.

"I don't know how to do this," I mutter.

"It's easy," Wyatt turns to face me, his elbows resting on his thighs. My head rolls to the side to watch him. "Whenever you get sentimental over time lost, remember that you destroyed my childhood. You've taken everyone I thought cared about me, and now you rock up in here asking if I want to screw you?! Stop looking for something that isn't there, and get the fuck out of my room."

And there it is. What I wanted…right? My body sets alight with fury and my delayed brain decides I wanted answers, but apparently not that one.

"Oh, change the fucking record, Wyatt!" I sit up way too fast and bile rises in my throat. "It's not my fault you didn't get enough of mommy's hugs as a child. It's not my fault you were so easily replaceable!" I scream. Wyatt visibly flinches. I gasp through my hoarse throat. That wasn't my imagination, I saw the pinch of his brows, the look of pure despair break through before he locked it back down. Climbing off the bed, I approach him in a flurry of babbling.

"Shit. No, I'm sorry. I take that all back." My hands hesitate from touching his arms. The weight of regret on my shoulders threatens to buckle my knees. I can't stoop to his level. I can't end up like him, hating for no reason. Wyatt's head is turned slightly, his sunken green eyes staring at the wall. He's waiting for me to retreat, to leave like he's asked. But fuck it, I've come this far.

Pushing him back against the window, I jump into his lap and wind my arms around his head. I hold Wyatt against me, consumed by every inch of his heat seeping into my body. What was it Huxley once said about forbidden fruit ?

"Get off me," Wyatt growls but makes no move to remove me from his lap. I bury my head lower into his neck, my arms tightening.

"No."

"Avery, I'm warning you." I inhale his expensive cologne and slip from the reality, and the timid girl, I once knew.

"I don't care. Do your worst."

Wyatt moves so fast, a shriek escapes me. His arms crush me into him, all sense of gravity failing me. My back hits the wall, trapped beneath his muscle. Unable to touch the floor with my tiptoes, I wind my legs around his waist on instinct, and Wyatt's hands on my thighs hold me there. Shorts were a terrible choice, after all. My core clenches.

"Wyatt," I say too breathlessly. He refuses to look at me.

"I can't have you like this." His reply is spoken directly into my ear. I phase in and out, bringing a hand between us to trace the ink at his collar bone. It dips into the neck of his t-shirt, barring me once again from seeing the full tattoo. Fuck, I want to know what it is so bad. "I'm not allowed to have you like this." Despite his words, Wyatt's thumbs stroke my thighs. The belt on his jeans pushes against my center, giving me a false perception. I've had this dream; Garrett has all but forced it upon me.

Grabbing a handful of messy brown hair, I drag Wyatt's head back to look at me. The hatred is still present in his green glare, but there's more there. I can see it clearly now. His full lips are pressed together, his jaw ticking, but he's not withdrawing.

"This…" Wyatt looks over my face. There's no indication of him liking what he sees, but it strikes me fiercely with how much I want him to. "This will never happen again." His hands retract as quickly as they lifted me. I drop to the floor, evidently sliding down his body. My hands don't get the memo as they settle on his hips and my head presses against his chest. A harsh pounding beats against my ear, causing me to smile. Well, look at that. Wyatt has a heart after all.

Everything from then on is a blur. The punishing grip on my wrist, the room spinning. My bare feet grace the rough carpet of the hallway, a loud banging causing me to wince. Words float through the air as I'm thrown forward into another hard body.

"Deal with your mutt."

Arms envelop me, just as muscled and firm as the last. Dax places a finger beneath my chin, bringing my face up to meet his.

"Oh, what did you do, Swan?" His piercing blue eyes are an anchor to the storm I got swept into. I was so close to breaching the center, to seeing Wyatt's true intentions. On reflection, I didn't need to see it. I felt it. The biggest grin spreads across my face as I sway into Dax's hold.

"I got answers."