Continuing without him, I link my arm through Huxley’s and attempt to stroll down the sidewalk like an ordinary couple in search of breakfast. Well, ordinary if Huxley’s job were to act as a human punching bag and I was a schizophrenic, scared of my own shadow but ready to squeeze the life out of my former stepbrother. How did my life become this fucked? The scent of warm pancakes and sweet honey sail to me on the breeze, dragging me onwards by my senses.
Reaching for the café’s glass door, I luckily see Dax’s reflection walk up behind me or I would have screamed as his hand slips beneath my hair. I want to wriggle away from the light brush of his fingers on my nape and run a thousand miles in the other direction, but the dangerous curiosity in me wants to see where he’s going with this. He twists the golden strands in his hand, giving his full attention into coiling them onto the back of my head before placing a black cap over the top. The edge hangs low over my eyes, disguising me even from myself. His arm reaches over my shoulder to grip the handle for me, the familiar warmth causing my body to automatically lean into his before I give myself a mental slap. I grunt in thanks and walk into the sweet-smelling shop before I do something stupid like forgive him.
Selecting a booth hiding in the back corner, far away from the windows, I slump down and order three coffees from a passing waitress. Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I can’t hold in a groan. My head is swimming with panic and fleeting thoughts, floating away before I can fully grasp what it was. I don’t know where to start searching for Meg, and I don’t have my cell to try to contact Nixon, even if I thought he might answer. The only thing I can do at the moment is sort myself out and get to the hospital to check on Axel. I pray Axel pulls through; nothing will be the same without his amber eyes and kind-hearted nature in the world.
The sound of a throat being cleared has me lifting my head to see a waitress placing our coffees down and flicking open a notepad to take our order. Her tightly curled blonde hair bobs with each movement of her head, her eyes torn between the two guys opposite me. Ignoring the fact I’m so tired, I feel physically sick, I pluck the menu from its wooden stand and point at the first item on the menu – ‘The Big Boy Breakfast’. Dax and Huxley order the same without paying her much attention, although it doesn’t stop the fluttering of eyelashes and cleavage squeeze she aims in their direction before slinking off.
No words are exchanged between the three of us, nothing needing to be said. We’ve all got someone we care deeply about with their life on the line, a part of our family in need and equally – we are all completely helpless. Huxley’s foot hooks mine beneath the table, secretively soothing me as I glance into his chocolate eyes. I was worried about the affects this latest attack would have on him, considering he was still pulling through the previous one but by the look he’s giving me, I can see he’s going to be okay. The resolve in his expression, the determination in his gaze are from the man I knew before and lord knows, the one I need right now.
Our breakfasts arrive, huge plates heaped with everything fried and a side plate stacked with toast. Garrett would be in heaven; I think to myself and suddenly lose my appetite as tears begin to swim in my eyes. Pulling the cap lower so all I can see is my plate, I start to force food into my mouth and swallow it past the lump stuck in my throat. Come on Avery, you need your strength. You need to buck the fuck up and save your family.
Surprisingly, I manage to eat well over half and by the time I push my cap back up, Huxley has also made a sizeable dent in his. I offer him a genuine smirk, a wordless argument passing between us to push through together so we can be in best form for the others. Dax is slumped back against the aged red leather, inspecting his nails over his empty plate. I don’t want to notice the stress lines beneath his eyes or the tic in his tensed jaw, telling myself he doesn’t deserve to feel the same strain as us. Huxley got the shit beaten out of him for fuck’s sake, and even though I was trapped by his muscles, I fought to help. My knight in shining armour has suddenly tarnished in my mind’s eye.
Ripping the cap from my head and not bothering to fix my hair that is flying in all directions, I throw it down in the centre of table and slide out of the booth, stomping into the single bathroom and locking the door behind me. Leaning over the sink, I glare at my reflection with all the rage I feel for Wyatt, Dax, myself, even Nixon. My blue eyes are blazing, my skin turning red as my fury shows itself on the outside. So much for a calm existence, hiding away from the world and the pain it causes. I stupidly thought I’d already had my share of suffering, but no one can escape the endless spin cycle of shit we’re all stuck in, waiting it out until we’re rung dry, discarded, faded and wrinkled.
Well it ends now, no more
