by Shade, S. M.
His nightmares. He’s talking about the source of his nightmares. “Axton, what did you see? What was behind the door?”
A few long silent moments make me think he may have fallen asleep, but he gives me four more words before passing out.
“The woman I killed.”
* * *
Those four words haunt my night until almost dawn. What was he talking about? There’s not a trace of me that believes he killed anyone, but the guilt he feels is very real.
Dani told me Axton had lost someone and that he hadn’t been the same since, but that’s all I know. So many questions I know I can’t ask.
I’m just an employee after all.
After hearing Axton repeat the things his father poisoned him with, I understand his refusal to have anything to do with him, even his death. That doesn’t mean I don’t sympathize with Dani and her desire to give him a memorial. He was her father and she’s doing what she thinks is right. I’ll do my best to be there for both of them, but it’s going to be a challenge not to get caught in the middle. Grief can bring out the worst in people.
One question does nag at me. Does Dani also blame Axton for their mother’s abandonment? Because she has to know her father does.
Axton is still asleep where I left him on the couch in the music room when Dani’s phone call wakes me a little past ten. “How are you doing?” I ask.
Her voice is steadier than it was yesterday. “I’m okay. How is Ax?”
“He’s still asleep. Do you want me to go with you to make funeral arrangements?” I remember how hard it was to deal with all that alone after my mother’s death.
“Clara and Brysen are going with me, but thanks. I guess there’s no point in asking Ax. He won’t change his mind.”
“No, I don’t think he will.”
She sighs into the phone. “When he wakes, will you see if I can keep Caden here with me another night? Taking care of him is a good distraction and he’s having a good time with Clara and Brysen’s little girl. Jude and Elliot have been around too and just being here with everyone…it helps.”
“Yes, I’m glad you have that support. I’m sorry I can’t, you know, be two places at once.”
“Clara has invited me to stay for a while. I just…can’t be around Ax right now. I’m afraid one of us will say things we can’t take back. If he’s okay with Caden spending another night, I’ll bring him home tomorrow afternoon.”
My heart aches for both of them. They’re being pulled apart by things they have no control over. “I understand. Do what you need to do to get through this. I know how hard it is. Please, try not to be too angry at Axton. It may be different for him, but he’s hurting too, and I know he’s worried about you.”
Her voice cracks as she asks, “Did he talk to you?”
“A little. He was pretty drunk. He’s struggling.”
“Fuck,” she breathes.
“Listen, just take care of yourself, take a few days with your friends, get through the funeral. I promise I’ll let you know if Ax…if things get too bad. I can handle him.”
“I know you can.” She sniffs.
Once we hang up, I grab a bottle of water and head to the music room to wake Axton. When I enter, he’s sitting on the edge of the couch, his head propped in his hands.
Bloodshot eyes glance up at me and he croaks, “What?”
I place the bottle of water on the table in front of him. “I thought you could use this.”
He grunts out something resembling the word thanks, and guzzles almost the entire bottle before looking up at me again.
“Dani called. She said Caden is having a good time with Clara’s daughter. She wants to know if she can keep him there with her another night, bring him home tomorrow afternoon.” After a few seconds, I add. “Clara and Brysen are helping her with the arrangements. I think having Caden there is helping her deal.”
“Fine, as long as security remains with them.”
“Okay.” An uncomfortable silence expands between us. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Leave me alone.” The despondent reply squeezes my heart, and I want to talk to him, to tell him all the horrible things his father said aren’t true, but it isn’t the time.
Instead, I do as he asks, and retreat to the kitchen to text Dani.
With Caden gone and Axton closed up in his music room all day, I’m not sure what to do with myself. It makes me realize how isolated I’ve become here. Paige has stopped speaking to me, and even unfriended me on social media. That really hurts when I take even a moment to think about it. We’ve been friends for years. I wonder how badly I fucked her life up. Has she found a new job yet? Is she doing okay?
It’s not good for me to spend all my time with only a baby for company, and Dani to chat with occasionally, but I’m not sure what remedy there is for it right now. I can’t exactly run out and make friends with security in tow. And how do adults meet people anyway, when it isn’t through work?
I end up spending most of the day in the sunroom with a new book, followed by a long nap. Axton emerges from the music room in the evening and barely looks at me as he grabs something to eat. I’m torn between trying to talk to him and giving him space. It’s hard to judge what he needs, but he said to leave him alone, and I do as he asked until nightfall.
The house has been stone quiet all day, but I hear music burst through the silence and filter down the hall. I need to check on him.
He’s not in his music room this time but sitting on the end of the couch in the living room, his feet propped up on the coffee table, another bottle between his legs. He’s clearly decided alcohol is the answer.
The lights are off. Drinking in the dark isn’t a good sign, especially not two nights in a row.
“Axton.”
His eyebrows raise slightly as he turns his head in my direction.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect.” He takes a drink.
“You’re drinking.”
“Nothing gets past you.” His words are sarcastic, but unlike last night—and so many other times—there’s no anger behind them. He sounds tired.
My mind tosses around ideas as I try to think of how to say this without him taking it as me trying to tell him what to do. Tell this man he shouldn’t do something, and he’ll do it twice to make sure you see him. We’re similar in that way.
“So, it’s probably not a great idea right now.”
His gaze locks on mine and he takes another drink. I swear the edge of his lip twitches just a bit, like he’s holding back that infuriating smirk he’s so good at. “Why do you care?”
“Because I do. I know things are hard right now and I want to help.”
“You want to help, Naomi? Stop talking to me like I might explode. Sit down and drink with me.”
His invitation—or order, more like—surprises me. It’s probably the same reason he chose the living room instead of hiding back in his music room again. He doesn’t want to be alone.
I remember how people talked to me after Mom died. Their words tiptoeing softly like I might lose my mind at any moment was infuriating after a while and all I wanted was for people to act normal around me again.
There’s no real normal between me and Axton anymore, but I can try.
Decision made. I grab two glasses of ice from the kitchen, then return to sit beside him. He watches me without speaking while I take the bottle from between his legs and pour a few inches of bourbon into each glass.
“Here, don’t be a Neanderthal.”
His fingers brush over mine as he takes the glass. “This stuff is one hundred and twelve proof,” he warns.
“Do you want me to drink with you or not?”
“There’s wine in the kitchen.”
He watches as I bring the glass to my lips. I’m not a huge drinker, especially hard alcohol, but it’s not like I never drink it. “If you want a drinking buddy tonight, you’ll have to share.”
Gah, the sip burns all the
way down and slams into my stomach like a rock. Fighting not to make a face, I take another drink, then pull my legs up onto the couch to get comfortable.
The bourbon is strong and a pleasant warmth spreads through my body. The next couple of sips go down easier, and I place my empty glass on the table.
Axton turns up the music, swallows the amber liquid without so much as a grimace, then refills the glass. I’m not sure what I’m doing other than following his lead. I don’t know how to help him other than just being here.
He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. It’s my opportunity to look at him and I take advantage of it. I’ve kept myself from ogling him—for obvious reasons—since I returned. It’s easier to pretend you don’t want something you can’t have.
He’s beautiful. The sides of his head are freshly shaved, the long hair on top tied back. He’s grown out his usual stubble a little longer, just short of a beard, and I wonder how it’d feel under my fingertips.
His face is relaxed, lips resting against one another instead of pressed together, his brow smooth. His expression is always so tense, worried, or angry, that it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. I know he’s upset and confused, and probably feeling a hundred other emotions, but the music is his solace.
Music always hits different when you’re drinking, and he isn’t the only one feeling it. The wind brushes the tree branches outside the living room window, making the shadows shift and bounce on the wall across from us where a little light filters in. They seem to dance along with the sultry beat, and it has a calming effect as I watch them. One song fades into another.
Axton’s taste in music has definitely broadened my horizons, especially when it comes to blues, soul, and jazz. Rock has always been my normal, but it’s so clear how much of it was influenced by these classics.
The piano in the song playing now is gorgeous, as is the artist’s powerful voice that I recognize but can’t quite place. As it plays again, I realize he has it on repeat.
“Who is this?” I ask.
One eye opens and he tilts his head, peeking at me. “Nina Simone.” He sits forward, picks up the bottle, refills both of our glasses and makes short work of his. “The song is Sinnerman.” His eyes look dark in the gloom. “Seemed fitting.”
He hasn’t done anything wrong. He was wronged with ideas put into his head that he was too young to fight against. I hate that he can’t see that. “Axton, do you remember much from last night?”
Does he know he told me his father blames him for his mother’s abandonment, that he blames himself? And that last confession I’ve yet to make sense of.
“I don’t blackout and forget when I’m drunk. I say shit I shouldn’t, but I remember.” He takes the empty glass from my hand and gets to his feet. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
With that, he disappears into the kitchen. When he returns with fresh ice in our glasses and refills both, I chuckle as he places mine in my hand. “This is the last for me.”
“Lightweight,” he scoffs, and sits beside me, close enough for our legs to touch.
I’ve felt like a leper around him for too long and it feels good to be close to him, even if it’s only the alcohol making him tolerate me.
“We don’t have to talk. I just want you to know that you aren’t, you know, a sinnerman.”
His deep chuckle is missing the bitterness that’s been present so often now. “I’m not even religious.”
“I know. Neither am I.” Glancing over at him, I add, “We had this discussion. Nihilist rock star.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said it, reminded him, because it was the same night we ended up in his bed. When he said he found joy in me. It seems like a lifetime ago.
The song ends and he picks up his phone to touch the screen and choose another. This one isn’t hard to recognize, and I roll my eyes at him, biting back a grin as The Rolling Stones Sympathy for the Devil begins to play.
Talk fades again and we just sit and listen and drink. My phone buzzes with a text from Dani and I hold it up where Axton can see the picture she sent of Caden and Brynn, curled up asleep together. After I shoot her back a quick text saying how adorable it is, I set my phone on the coffee table.
“It’s been a turbulent year,” Axton murmurs. I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or just remarking to himself, but I think about all he’s been through. The success and fame. Becoming a father. The kidnapping. My deception, and now his father’s death.
“I’m sorry I added to that turmoil.” My eyes find his. “I can’t put into words how much I regret it.”
My breath catches when his fingers pinch my chin and his gaze bores into mine. “You’ve apologized enough. I don’t need to hear it again.”
It isn’t an I forgive you, but he means it. The tiniest bit of hope—not that I’ll have his love, but that I’ll escape his enmity—seeps into me and my reply comes out in a whisper. “Okay.”
He drains his glass, pours another, and turns the music up. I’m floored when his hand slides into mine and he admits, “I feel bad that I don’t feel bad. I’m glad he’s gone.”
I squeeze his hand and run my thumb over his knuckles. There are times when words don’t help. Sometimes, you just need someone to sit in the dark with you and hold your hand.
Minutes slide away, dragging the hours with them. It’s just us and the night, filled with beautiful music and powerful voices. A pleasant hum buzzes under my skin, and a contentment I haven’t experienced in too long washes over me.
Axton slides his hand out of mine, and he strokes his fingers over my arm. Warning sirens should be blaring in my head, but it feels so good, just that tiny touch from him. I’m always fascinated by his large hands. Those long fingers that are so damn talented on a guitar…and other places. I catch his hand again and run my fingers over his palm and to his fingertips, exploring the rough, calloused skin there.
How can a man’s fingertips be sexy? He shifts to face me and brushes his fingers down my neck with a feather light touch that sends a shiver through me. “Axton…”
There’s more I should be saying. He’s drinking. I’m drinking. He’s hurt and this isn’t what I was trying to achieve tonight. Those words seem to stick in my throat as his soft lips find mine.
What starts as a sweet, soft kiss doesn’t stay that way long. He slides his hand up my neck and into my hair, gripping my head while his tongue dives into my mouth. His taste, the way he fills my senses, overwhelms me and the low groan I make just spurs him on.
Fuck.
“Wait.” I pull back from him, my lips tingling and my heart beating as strong as the sudden throb between my legs. “Axton, you don’t want this. You don’t even like to be around me anymore. You’re drunk and hurting. You’ll be sorry tomorrow, and I don’t want to give you another reason to hate me.”
His hands come up to cup my face and I’m a prisoner in his intense gaze. “Fuck, Naomi. My life would be so much easier if I could hate you.” Another rough kiss takes my breath away. “Or forget about you. If I didn’t have to think about you. So much easier,” he growls, gripping my hair again, and delivering another devastating kiss. He pulls my hair just hard enough to sting, making my head tilt back. A streak of sensation rockets through me when his mouth lands on my neck, sucking hard.
This isn’t the same Axton from our last night together. No, this is the other one, the dominant, fuck your brains out version I met the first time. The time that didn’t end well. I should stop this. For his sake and mine.
Blood beats in my ears as he slides his hand between my legs, gripping me firmly through the thin leggings I have on. He’s all over me, his hands, his lips, his tongue. There’s no grace or romance to this at all, but the way he comes at me like he can’t help himself, feral and out of control wakes something in me. Something just as primal.
The coffee table gets kicked and I hear a glass shatter, but it doesn’t slow us down. Clothes are pulled off and tossed away, until all I feel is warm skin and his we
ight on top of me. Any second thoughts or consequences are wiped away by the vital urge we share.
On my back, I wrap my legs around his waist. “Fuck me.”
His fingers dig into my hips as he drives his cock inside me, making me cry out. “Fuck you, huh?” he growls. “Like this? That what you want?”
His thrusts are hard and deep. Brutal.
It lights up some part of me, the pain triggering an intense need for more. “Yes! Oh.” My body is propelled down the couch with the force of his movements and when my head starts to bump against the arm, he pulls out. There’s no time to even register the emptiness before I’m flipped over and he says, “On your knees. Bend over the arm.”
His tone allows no argument—not that I have one, and I crouch on my knees, gripping the armrest. He drives back into me, keeping a punishing pace. His hands move from my hips to my shoulders, slamming me back against him over and over.
It’s fierce and harsh and amazing. The sensations racing through me, the smell and feel of our sweat, the music pounding in my ears all combine into this mind-altering experience that rivals anything I’ve ever felt before.
“Axton!” His name leaps from my lips as I’m wracked by an orgasm, and his palm delivers a sharp sting on my ass. A second later, he pulls out and comes on my back, one hand holding me down over the armrest.
A moment between songs is filled with our labored breaths as he runs his hands down my sides and over my ass. “Hold still,” he mumbles, and reaches to grab his shirt that ended up on the back of the couch. He wipes off my back, balls it up, and chucks it in the corner.
When he gets up, I expect him to turn the light on so we can find our clothes, but instead he grabs a blanket that’s draped over the loveseat and returns with it. Without another word, he stretches out on the couch, pulls me down beside him, and tosses the cover over our bodies.
Tucked against his side with my head on his chest, I can’t keep a thought in my head. He grabs his phone and turns the music down a little, then tosses it on the table.
