Page 43 of Forged By Shadows
“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.”
