51. Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

R olling my shoulders, I close the laptop and sag back in my chair. I've been on a video call all morning with the entire college Board, having convinced them to meet for a virtual hearing. There was no chance of leaving the house without the reporters camping outside jumping on me to comment. I have nothing to say, in particular, nothing about my ‘intimate relations' with Avery.

During his time in hospital, Huxley missed an important coursework deadline, which means half of his overall mark for this year is sitting at a big fat zero. After an hour of persuasion, they finally decided to give him until the end of today to get it submitted.

Collecting Hux's laptop, I climb the central staircase to his room and knock softly. Peeking around the door, he's sitting alone in the dark and watching TV. For a moment, I look over the blank expression on Hux's usually cheery face as he stares forward. His eyes are lined with heavy shadows, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. His hair is hanging limply onto a white shirt that has a sauce stain down the front. Huxley would never normally be seen with a speck of dirt on him, preferring to go topless rather than look grubby.

"Hey Hux?" I ask, snapping him out of whatever daze he was just in. He attempts a smile that doesn't come across but I return it anyway. Moving into the room, I walk over to open his curtains. "It's lunchtime, do you want anything to eat?" He shakes his head, looking like a lost puppy as he gazes at the full bowl of soggy cereal on the bedside table. Oh thank fuck, I'd briefly thought that smell was him.

Typing out a message to Garrett, asking him to come and collect the bowl, I quickly change my mind in fear he might try to eat it so I copy the message and send it over to Axel instead. Sitting next to Hux, I open his laptop and place it on my crossed legs. "I have good news. In light of-" I glance to his left shoulder where the dressing is poking out the neckline of his t-shirt, "well, you have until four o'clock today to submit your fall coursework. So I've come to help you." I smile but he doesn't return it. The ghost of the Huxley I know just stares back blankly .

Axel strides in without knocking, replacing the bowl with a bottle of water and a banana. "You have to eat Hux, or I'll get Avery to force feed you," he says before leaving. A hint of a real smile flickers across Hux's face, half hidden by the overgrown stubble that now qualifies as the start of a beard.

"Sorry, Dax. I'm not in the mood. I'll just make up the credit next year." I can't hide my shock. Huxley is the best of all of us. Top of his classes, the quickest on the basketball court - not that I'll admit it out loud. He's our golden boy.

"Sorry dude, I can't let you do that. Even if we only send what you've done up to now, it'll be better than submitting nothing at all." I type his password in, since we all know each other's for emergencies, and load up the document. I don't have the first clue about law, but I read through a few pages trying to understand what he's decided to base his most recent paper on.

"Did Avery sleep in your bed last night?" Hux asks unashamedly. "She didn't come back all of yesterday or last night."

"She was revising in the study. Garrett found her passed out on the desk and carried her back to her own room." At Huxley's panicked look, I rush to add, "Don't worry. He dragged his mattress through the halls and slept right outside her door. No one is getting in without one of us knowing." This is one of the instances where I'm glad Garrett is prone to overreacting.

There's a streaming link online with a twenty-four hour rolling video of the front door. On the plus side, the press are doing the police's surveillance for them. On the downside, Avery is now a prisoner inside these walls. Not just those of the frat house, but those of Huxley's room. He's staring longingly at the door, thinking of her. Pining for her. It's not healthy for either of them.

"Hux…She can't be stuck in here every minute of every day. Especially when you are choosing not to leave yourself."

"I know that." He grunts and scowls. Relaxing back against the pillows, his fingers drum and gaze becomes unfocused again. I return to the eighty-seven page essay, highlighting sections which could be worded better and color coding references. At times, I find myself squinting as I reread the same sentence twenty times over, trying to make sense of the legal mumbo jumbo.

"For the love of fuck, stop reading. It looks like the vessel in your head is about to explode." I grimace, rubbing the new addition to my forehead. "Tilt the screen my way. I'll annotate, you type." He says with a roll of his eyes, shifting to make space for me against his headboard.

We spend the next two hours pushing through his essay until Hux eventually drifts off to sleep. I sit beside him, his head flopping over onto my shoulder while I scan through the document again, searching for spelling and grammatical errors. Once I'm satisfied it's as clean as I will get it, I email the essay over to his tutor with a sigh of relief.

In his inbox, I can't help but notice an email from Stephanie Vaughn, Huxley's mother. The subject reads ‘Let's Have Lunch' as if she hasn't disregarded him for years. Our pasts are nothing alike. Huxley spent his childhood trying to please the parents who were stealing from him. I was raised with nothing material, but all of the love and respect for the strongest woman I'll ever know. Now she's gone, and it's that feeling of not having second chances which makes me wonder if I should encourage him to reach out while he still can.

Closing the laptop, I readjust Huxley further down the bed, figuring it will strain his injury more if he wakes up with a stiff neck. My arm gets trapped beneath his head, which I consider leaving but I should let him rest properly. As I withdraw my arm, he flinches violently and raises his fists to defend his face, causing a scream of pain to escape his lips as his shoulder is jolted.

"Hux, it's okay! It's just me, just Dax," I say as he comes to. Blinking in confusion, a look of anger falls over his face as he recognizes me.

"Get out," he says, shifting onto his right side. I linger, unsure if he means it until he shouts, "Leave me alone!" Confused, and slightly irritated, I place his laptop onto the dresser and exit the room. I get he's struggling with a few issues right now, but surely Hux can see I am trying to be there for him, as I always am.

Just outside the door, I almost crash into Wyatt. He's loitering around, hands in his pockets, unsure what to do with himself.

"He's getting worse, isn't he?" I nod. Wyatt sighs, jerking his chin. "Come with me. I need a witness."

"What for? Where are we going?" But Wyatt doesn't answer. Instead, we descend the stairs and pass through the kitchen.

I know they were harmless, but Huxley's words have really affected me. I was the first to join Wyatt. Or rather, he thought up the Shadowed Souls one night when I was on the verge of becoming a child of the state. In Wyatt's head, a gang name gave him the right to take over, funding my education and housing thereafter. Then came Huxley, the charming kid who used popularity to his advantage. But when it came to it, he would return to his room and sit alone, slipping into a void much like the one starting to consume him again now.

It was my suggestion to take on Axel after that, saving him from being expelled after he beat a boy shitless for commenting on the hotness of his mom. And Axel chose Garrett, the guy no one wanted to share a dorm with since he kept eating the entire contents of the fridge overnight. There were many arguments over the legal claim of naming tupperware, whereas in Wyatt's house, everything was fair game. The five of us need each other in our darkest moments, which is why Huxley's outburst probably hurt him as much as it hurt me.

Exiting through the back door, Wyatt stops on the back porch. Curled up on the wooden swing, Avery is covered in a mound of blankets, a book in hand and travel mug stuffed into the crook of her arm. No, not a book - her mom's diary. I briefly look around, wondering why she was out here alone but then I spot Axel and Garrett working on their motorbikes with the garage door wide open. It's not the best vantage point, but close enough should the reporters jump the fence.

"Can I help you?" Avery tilts a brow. The air between those two hasn't been quiet right since the manor, before the attack and everything went to shit. Wyatt crosses his arms, taking a defensive stance.

"Yes, actually. I need you to convince Huxley to take a shower, leave his room and get on with his life." Our presence has attracted the attention of the others, who look at me questionably and I shrug back. Not Avery though, she's growing used to this back and forth, remaining impassive.

"Why me? "

Wyatt thinks over his words. "I believe it can only be you. So I'm asking nicely."

"Strange," Avery hums, her interest returning to her book. A gentle wind blows the chair, a light creak accompanying the shift of her braided hair. "I thought niceties went hand in hand with manners." I take a step back to hide my smirk. I haven't been asked here as a witness, but as a referee. Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood to break the pair of them up today. I'm a one-melodrama-at-a-time kind of guy.

Sighing deeply, Wyatt's arms fall to his sides. Here it comes.

"Please."

My brows shoot to my hairline. Lifting her blue gaze, Avery closes the diary and carefully places it in her lap.

"Sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over the grinding of your teeth." Oh she's good. She's learnt so well. Avery doesn't even falter, as if she's been waiting months to deliver back the shit Wyatt's been dealing out to her. I reckon if he were to drag her into a whiskey-infused cupboard now, she'd barely react. Simply wait to be released and then attack him like a lioness, all blonde mane and sharp claws.

"Please can you convince Huxley to leave his room. Perhaps he could join us for dinner tonight. All of us," Wyatt states as an afterthought.

"Are you cooking?" Avery tilts her head. Wyatt clenches his fists, his patience well and truly spent.

"Don't push it."

"I'll cook," I interject, deciding I should have some input here.

"Deal." Avery pushes her blankets aside, slipping her bootie slippers onto the wooden patio. Her flannel pajamas are yellow and striped. Keeping the diary close to her chest, she glides past Wyatt to lean into my side, her mouth beside my jaw. "At least I know you won't poison my food."

Avery disappears inside the house, and Wyatt takes her spot on the porch swing. His limbs are slack, as if being polite took all of her energy.

"You did a good job," I smirk, patting Wyatt's thigh. He takes a swing at me and misses.

"Don't patronize me." My laughter is canceled out by a round of screaming and protests from the top floor. I briefly look up, wondering if I would have been better served as a referee up there, and then quickly decide against it. Avery is a big girl, she can handle herself.

That evening, we all sit around the dining table. I made spaghetti and meatballs, while Garrett was on garlic bread duty and Axel laid the table. Wyatt sits at the far end, nursing his wine glass like a lifeline. Avery decided last minute we should dress up, after she manhandled and shaved Huxley in the shower. Given by the way he keeps tugging at the crotch of his pants, either the razor went on a little journey or he's gained a serious case of blue balls. His hair is still damp, pushed back from his ashy face. But he's smiling, and that means more to us than Avery will ever realize.