53. Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Two

D ragging my feet from the study to the living area, I slump onto the sofa. A defeated groan rumbles through me. Wyatt is lounging in an armchair, an arm over his eyes. Garrett and Axel drop down beside me a moment later, both huffing loudly.

Midterms are kicking all of our asses. Despite being trapped inside, we've been too distracted to study, and I barely keep myself awake through Mrs. Patrick's online lectures. Taking English Lit for extra credit was supposed to mean I didn't have to focus on it so much, but with reporters lingering in the windows and across the front lawn, I'm struggling to focus.

Today, Dax and I both sat a multiple choice and an essay style exam on opposite ends of the desk, ignoring the reporters chatting outside. The vans are a permanent fixture on the other side of the road, camera crews taking shifts for the slightest appearance we make.

At the very least, I'm sticking to my schedule. I have ballet practice in an hour, in a dining room that the guys have cleared out for me. The flooring isn't right, the curtains remain drawn. I can't watch myself in floor-to-ceiling mirrors or check my own technique. It's just not the same, it's not right and this is what I feared about the showcase. That I would come to dread dancing, the one thing that's kept me going all these years.

Fingers touch my shoulder, the firmness deepening into a one-handed massage. I lean my head back against Dax's arm.

"Hey, where do you go? One minute you finished your exam early and then you vanished." A kiss touches my temple.

"You muttered, ‘I could murder a cheeseburger right now.' " Dax reaches out of sight and hands me a paper bag from the cafeteria. Garrett shoots upright, like a dog catching onto the scent of grease.

"Suck-up," Axel rolls his eyes. Dax produces a second bag and drops it in Garrett's lap .

"Only because I knew you'd steal Avery's if you didn't have your own," Dax gives Garrett a stern stare. Garrett isn't paying attention. The smell hits me as I open the bag and I melt into the sofa. Dax's other hand sinks into my shoulder, massaging the kinks while I stuff my face. Suddenly, life doesn't seem as bad. I try not to let my mind drift about how comfortable I am. Ironic, since there's a man upstairs struggling through his recovery because he chose to protect me.

"Has anyone checked on Huxley today?" I sigh into Dax's touch. He rubs small circles either side of my nape, pushes his thumbs down my spine.

"I was just up there," Wyatt mumbles, leaving the arm over his eyes. "He ate some of his lunch but I found him just staring out of the window." The mood around us sours. I sit up, shaking off Dax's skilled fingers and offering the rest of my burger to Axel. He takes it.

"I'll go talk to him."

"Hey, do you know what we should do?" Garrett's arm whips out to push me back down when I try to stand.

"I'm not screwing you in his bed and forcing him to watch," I drawl, my head tilting and eyes hooded.

"Oh, you minx. Now that's exactly what I want to do. But I was going to say, we should have a party! On Friday, when this hellish midterm week is over. "

"Because our last party went so well," I purse my lips. The murder mystery party was an utter shambles, and we didn't even get to finish it. As far as I know, Wyatt hasn't apologized for trying to beat up Garrett, nor has Garrett incessantly made fun of choking Wyatt unconscious like I would have expected.

"Trust me, I'll make it fun." Garrett pleads with wide, brown eyes. He's perfected the puppy-dog look, but still, I can't trust someone whose idea of romance is to have a heavy-handed man insert a device into my uterus. Planning capabilities aside, I sigh and relent anyway. No one can say Garrett doesn't consider everyone's best interests when it matters.

"Fine. But nothing big, I don't have the energy to mingle with loads of people."

"Just us," Garrett holds up a three-finger salute. I don't know what it is but apparently it means I'm supposed to trust him.

"And tricking me into a gangbang is a copout as a form of entertainment," I add, just to iron out the fine print.

"I'm out," Wyatt huffs, stands and leaves. I forget he's there half the time, now he's not pushing me around or calling me names. It's more of a mutual decision to ignore each other. Garrett's eyes are sparkling with mischief, his burger still sitting in the box on his lap. Wow, he must be serious for a change .

"You're the best form of entertainment, but I will put my thinking cap on. Now go help Huxley blow off some steam." He lets me up this time and I make sure to smack his shoulder. Meg would pull me aside and warn me to keep him in line, that he gets out of hand too easily. Then I'd explain back that Garrett's spontaneity makes life interesting. I never know what he's going to say, what he's thinking. He's a loose cannon, sure, but one that explodes joy and vibrance.

Climbing the stairs, Axel calls after me that I have fifty minutes until ballet practice. He should know, having taken on the role as my timekeeper and dance coach. He doesn't know anything about ballet, but he does understand joints and ligaments. He keeps close watch on my stance, how I hold my arms or when my weight leans too much on my stronger leg. Then, he helps me to stretch out afterward.

Wyatt's bedroom door slams shut just as I reach Huxley's. I withhold my frustrated sigh. At some point, I have to question what his friends even see in him and if it's always going to be this way. Maybe he thinks the same about me, but that would mean he'd actually have to think about me.

Entering Hux's bedroom, I find him just as Wyatt said. Propped up against the headboard, staring out of the window, a plate of uneaten food on his bedside table. I don't bother speaking, shedding my sweater. I climb over his body in my vest and yoga pants, wrapping my arms around his neck. In an instant, I'm enclosed in his heat, his hands smoothing across my back. His hold is strong, desperate. He inhales my neck as if breathing life into himself.

"I've missed you," Huxley says against my skin. His words are soft, his lips chasing. Drifting my hands into his damp hair, I gently ease his head back.

"You've showered," I smile. He exudes my honey shampoo and vanilla body wash. A shine slowly burns to life in Huxley's chocolate eyes.

"And I brushed my teeth too," he flashes a small smile. The kind that makes my heart flutter. To celebrate his small milestone, my head inclines. His mouth meets me halfway, a gentle press, a seeking comfort. Those large hands smooth over my back, drawing me ever closer.

A sigh escapes me. Deepening the kiss, Huxley's mouth moves against mine, carefully building a rhythm. He doesn't press for more, doesn't take us beyond simply enjoying each other's presence. I drown in him, in us. A silent conversation of affection and tenderness takes place between our lips and without thinking, my hand shifts to gentle rest over his healed bullet wound.

But it's more than that. Beyond the sweet kiss, there's a tremor in his fingers, a tremble in his chin. He's withholding an onslaught of emotion that has been buried for too long. I understand it well. I've lived through darkness. I've survived trauma. He can too. Breaking away, I drop my forehead against his.

"There's been so many times I've searched for comfort like this." My chest rises and falls heavily. Huxley's stubble brushes my cheek.

"Don't leave again. Stay here with me." And there is the crux of the problem. Pressing my lips together, I sit back, solidifying the space between us. Huxley's face, previously so filled with hope, falls. "Ahh, I fucked it." My smile is slatted as I cup his cheek.

"You need to try to get out of here, Hux. We can still do this," I gesture between us, "on the other side of that door." He nods knowingly. If it came down to an ultimatum, Huxley wouldn't really push for me to abandon my life. He wouldn't want me to hide from my classes. He wouldn't let the bullet he took be in vain.

A deep inhale helps Huxley to steel himself. His eyes close, blond lashes fluttering over his cheeks. He's searching, hunting for that piece of his soul that helps him to shine. I don't expect him to find it so easily, but there is a hint of a smirk when he looks at me again.

"Hey," I bop him on the nose. "Are you ready to venture downstairs with me? "

"It depends on who sent you to ask," Huxley's brow lifts. I don't know what that means, who Huxley seems to have issues with currently, so I deflect.

"I know you've been cooped up for a while, Hux," I lean forward, resting my forearms on his shoulders. He's easily distracted by my cleavage. "But do you really think I've started taking orders?" He chuckles lightly, playing with my hair.

"I think you're easily bribed." I laugh then. "Maybe I could be bribed too." I bite my bottom lip, which he promptly pulls free with his thumb. His fingers are soft against my cheek, his knuckles stroking a path down my neck. Heat floods my system and it takes everything in me not to roll my hips to see if he is equally affected.

"Is that so? Maybe we can stroll up and down the hallway hand in hand while you tell me what it is you want." I tilt my head back and forth. Huxley shifts, laying us both down on the mattress.

"Nice try, Little Swan," his smile turns sad. "I'll come out soon. Not today, but soon." Huxley nuzzles into me further. Well, this has gone to shit. Nevertheless, my leg becomes locked between his thick thighs. I'm drawn into the protective hold he keeps around me, snuggled in his warmth.

"When you're ready," I agree, unable to withhold my yawn. My eyes have fluttered closed, despite the brightness all around. The midday sun streams through the window, viscerally reminding me that we're all trapped here, whether by the paparazzi or by our own demons. "You've got about thirty minutes before Axel comes looking for me." My voice becomes heavy, the weight of stress being interchanged for the weight of Huxley's bicep.

"That's all I need." Huxley presses a kiss to my forehead and I'm a goner.