Page 51 of Forged By Shadows
“Pops died of cancer when I was fourteen. My mom whored me out to pay for her luxurious lifestyle.” Axel rushes out his words, as if that wasn’t the worst two sentences to have ever been muttered. Sighing deeply, he fidgets with the tablecloth. “Wyatt was the first to notice, and banned me from going home in the holidays. In all my times of weakness, he always remained the strong, stoic one.”
I wish I had the guts to lean forward and read Wyatt’s expression right now. As it stands, I’m ramrod straight, frozen in my seat and it appears to be Garrett’s turn.
“My parents were travel enthusiasts,” Garrett carves a pattern through his soup with his spoon. For the first time that I’ve seen, there’s food in front of him and he’s not devouring it. “They loved traveling so much, sometimes they were gone for months. Sometimes they forgot they’d left their son at home to fend for himself.”
My stomach turns to lead. Garrett without a smile and a joke at the ready is a travesty, but his expression right now is enough to convince me he’s never truly laughed before. The sharp lines of his face are taunt, his brown gaze haunted. Garrett lets the curtain on his dark hair fall forward to avoid looking at me.
“When the money they’d left ran out, I grew too weak to go to school. That’s when people started to ask the right questions and the police came to visit. I was removed from my home that day and I haven’t seen my parents since.”
“You’ve never wanted to confront them?” Dax asks, joining the conversation. I presume this isn’t a usual discussion for the five of them. Garrett rolls his neck until it cracks, further stressing that he’s uncomfortable.
“I won’t waste a minute of my life on those people. They’re getting what they deserve, locked up behind bars.” Spearing his forgotten bread roll with a steak knife, Garrett’s smile returns as he looks at Wyatt, but there’s no kindness behind it. “Nothing that a couple years of the best therapy money can buy to heal paternal trauma, right Riot?” Tipping his glass towards Wyatt’s, Garrett downs his wine in one gulp. I read between the lines.
“I see there’s an interlinking theme in all of this,” I breathe to myself. Our conversation is paused by the arrival of our food, the plates lowered in complete, stale silence. Garrett picks up his fork but pauses, staring at his salmon. Whatever caused him to hesitate passes within a second, his boyish grin finding me across the tableware.
“Bon Appetit,” he winks and dives in. Personally, I’ve lost my appetite but I try to smile back. Axel’s attention is elsewhere, aimed at the far window. Meg has yet to move, her skeptical eyes watching the only person present that I can’t see.
“And you, Wyatt?” she asks, twisting her lips. I know that look, she’s re-evaluating. “What did you need the Shadowed Souls for?” His answer comes immediately, with the same pissed-off tone I’m used to hearing.
“My family replaced me, so I created one that wouldn’t.”
Beneath the table, I briefly grip Dax’s hand harder. I need strength. After everything I’ve just heard, of how Wyatt was everyone’s saving grace except mine, a cold tendril of misery carves through my chest. If only he accepted me, our lives could have been so different. In another universe, he could have been a rock for me to lean on too. Puffing out my cheeks, I try to dislodge this overwhelming feeling that will inevitably make me cry.
“For what it’s worth,” I angle my head around Dax, “I am sorry.” I see Wyatt’s outline shrug and his fork clatters against his plate.
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t trade the men at this table for the world.” Garrett’s smile turns genuine at this, like a puppy who’s just been praised. It’s too cute not to enjoy, but Wyatt isn’t done yet. “I never would have tried to run away from them like you did.”
Meg’s eyes snap to mine like a laser, all-too-knowing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Huxley queries first, his legs tensing as he sits upright.
“Our dinner with Nixon. Avery was begging to leave Waversea.”
“You want to leave Waversea?” Axel asks, his presence back with us at the table. I try not to wriggle under his hazel gaze, although inside, I’m scrambling for the words.
“No. I mean, I want to go home, yes. I never wanted to leave Hughes manor in the first place, but it’s not as black and white as Wyatt is making it sound.”
“Her actual words were that she wanted to be alone again. That there are too many distractions at Waversea.”
“Distractions,” Dax murmurs to himself. He retracts his hand from my thigh. I wasn’t prepared for how deeply such a simple act could cut, but it hurts. The ache in my chest is amplified when he pushes away from the table and leaves. Now Wyatt is in my eyeline, and I would give anything to wipe the smug smirk off his face. He was looking for a way to get his friends to turn on me, he’s been biding his time, and here it is. Huxley’s eyes are full of pity as he skids his chair back too.
“I’ll go after him.” Garrett is next, but not because of Wyatt’s revelation. He’s simply finished eating and gestures for Axel to follow him. I try to reason with myself that he just needs some time, that discussing his childhood is a sore spot that he needs Axel to soothe away again. That leaves myself, Meg and the asshole glaring at me as if this was all my fault.
“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I scrunch a napkin in my hand and toss it at him. Without waiting around for what is sure to be another dig at my personality, I storm away. Taking the stairs two at a time, my chest heaves. Why is Wyatt so convinced I’m the villain in his mind? He’s created a version of me that doesn’t exist, and twists everything to fit his narrative.
Turning a corner, I skid to a stop, realizing I have no idea where I’m going. Shadows move within a room down the hall, the door just ajar. I sigh heavily, hoping to catch Dax before Wyatt appears to hammer the final nail in the coffin. He wants me gone, and this is the closest he’s come to succeeding so far.
Tentatively, I push the door open. My breath catches in my throat.
Chapter Thirty Six
Ifeel her there before I see the door shift. Regardless, I don’t stop. Relaxing my jaw, I take Garrett deep, relishing in the velvety feel of him in the back of my throat. He’s too lost to his pleasure, head thrown back on the armchair and a hand pressing firmly on my shaven head. I massage his balls, pulling back, then lowering down again, taking as much of him as I can. It’s a slow sensual torture, my tongue swirling around the head of his cock in between. There’s no more movement at the door and I’m sure Avery has left. It’s for the best. Garrett doesn’t discuss his past for a reason, and now he needs to forget again. Something I understand all too well.
Garrett’s mewl makes me smirk around his shaft. He stiffens, but doesn’t come yet. I won’t let him. Whenever I wake from a nightmare, he’s always there, nudging my legs apart. In those moments of fear and confusion, it’s not the climax I need, but the grapple on reality. That’s exactly what Garrett needs right now - to remember who he is, and what he has to live for. It’s become a dependency for both of us, blurring the lines between trauma and pleasure.
The sound of knees dropping onto the wood floor next to me is enough to break my rhythm and I gag. Garrett curses as he grabs my head again, but it’s too late. I cough and sputter, pulling back with haste. Avery’s large blue eyes are blinking innocently, a question in her knitted brows. She’s shed her blazer and shoes, having discarded them on the way over. Slowly, her hand wraps around mine at the base of Garrett’s cock. He’s roused, staring down at us with dazed eyes. His hair is a dark mess from dragging his hands through it.
“You have no fucking idea how perfect the two of you look kneeling in front of me.” Garrett eases further down the armchair, widening his legs to permit us both access. Avery’s attention is focused on me, her movements tentative as if she’s waiting for permission.
