Leaving my dress and the cum-covered boxers crumpled on the rug, I push my arms through the shirt sleeves and button it all the way down to graze my thighs. The guys exit the room without even a glance back, leaving me alone in the dark. Well, fuck me, I guess. Quite literally. Shame washes over me, the feeling I’ve been used twisting uncomfortably in my chest. But who am I kidding? I used them right back. Even Axel during his recovery, which was completely selfish of me. I’ve been so caught up in training and not sleeping, I forgot it’s not just me who is hurting, emotionally and physically. I needed a distraction and I took it, no strings attached. Surely there are worse ways to destroy your morals than trapped between two insanely hot guys.
Dax
The morning rays piercing through the glass skylight hurt my tired eyes, forcing me to squint and rub them even more than my reckless night’s sleep already was. Blasting Fall Out Boy through my wireless headphones, I tap the treadmill’s digital screen to speed up my causal jog to a full-on run. Pumping my arms in time with my burning calves, I relish the sweet pain of pushing myself for a change. We’re due to return to Waversea soon, which would include gruelling 5am training sessions on the basketball court before class. Not that I can see us going back if nothing has changed around here. We were supposed to use Axel’s place as a hideout while we came up with some sort of plan and ensure Avery stayed hidden away from harm. I don’t want to be that dick who leaves in a time of need to finish his degree and move on with his life when everything is going tits up, but with Avery still ignoring me, it doesn’t seem like I’m wanted or needed here either.
The elastic holding my hair back snaps, my blonde curls exploding around my face and sticking to my sweat-covered neck. I keep running, refusing to stop until these unwanted feelings are dulled enough to give me a short reprieve. The pounding of my feet matches the heavy bass streaming into my ears, the bloodthirsty lyrics starting to make me feel invincible. If only I knew what I was running towards, I could implement the steps to get there sooner and save my stress. Unless I’m subconsciously running away from something instead.
The last song in my playlist comes to an end so I shut off the machine, gasping for breath and struggling to remain upright on my trembling legs. Abandoning my trusty mp3 player and headphones on the treadmill’s handle for later, I grab my hand towel from the weight bench and scrub the rough material down my face. Lifting my head to the skylight, I nearly jump out of my skin at the creepy ass cat sitting directly above me, his yellow eyes zeroed in on my every movement. His striped tail flicks back and forth casually while his tabby shoulders flex as if readying himself to pounce on me straight through the glass. I edge my way out of the room, not breaking eye contact the entire time.
Every window in the mansion has been designed with the purpose of drawing in as much daylight as possible, but when there is this much space and practically no one in it, the point seems mute. I’ve yet to find a room I could imagine as being homely and can’t help but think how dreary it must have been growing up here. It’s always eerily quiet, the staff only around on weekends and Sharon accompanies Richard to work on weekdays. Not that I expect she does much other than eye-fuck his employees and pass her menial tasks onto interns. Strolling through most of the lower level, each room as grand and unused as the last, I finally enter the kitchen to find Garrett slumped over the kitchen counter.
“You alright, man?” I ask, pulling a bottle of water from the refrigerator and leaning against the same counter. He groans loudly, slowly sitting upright on the stool to face me. Damn, he looks like shit. Dark circles cling to his bloodshot eyes, his hair is a straight-up mess which is saying something considering he never styles it normally. Next to him on the black surface, he’s laid out a large mixing bowl, scales, flour, butter, eggs and sugar.
“I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, his widened eyes looking pitifully desperate. Pushing off the side, I wash my hands in the sink and return a moment later to help the usually arrogant fuck that probably wouldn’t have done the same for me. Nah, he’d have laughed and called me an asshat.
“When I was a child, my mom used to bake with me every Sunday. She swore by this trick, match the ounces and half the eggs. So, if you use six ounces of flour, butter and sugar, you’ll want three eggs. Or four ounces each and two- “
“I know how to make a fucking cake, Betty Cocker. You’re not the only one who had to learn to fend for himself young. I meant I don’t know what to do about Axel.” I still halfway through measuring the flour, torn between throwing the bag into his face and wondering what’s going on with them two. Although, I’ve already made up my mind to help my brother when he needs me and place the flour down on the counter, gesturing for him to continue.
“He said he should be
