“No one would look twice at my little rust-bucket.”
She’s probably right but I’m not about to tell her the contents in this bag are almost as expensive as my college fees for an entire term. Leaving them in the car would be akin to leaving my wallet, passwords, pin numbers, and any other precious thing I might own.
Thankfully she doesn’t press matters when the elevator doors open onto the nineteenth floor. The guards who wait there are unfamiliar faces, but Sylvie appears to recognise them and vice versa. She rushes down the corridor to Tom’s room. They nod politely at her approach. I linger in the hallway. Blood bursts across my tongue. I release my gnawed lip and run my tongue over the bite.
I don’t want to see him, but I do. I don’t want to intrude, but I don’t want to be the outsider. Will he even remember me? Maybe or maybe not. I can’t go in. Not if everyone is there. Times like theseare for families, not strangers.
I wait outside. Not daring to venture any closer than the window beside the door. The blinds are open, the slats of washed-out blue provide a glimpse of their reunion.
Dax leans against the wall on the far side of the room, one knee bent, and his arms folded casually across his chest. He wears an indulgent smile as he watches Sylvie fuss over Tom. She perches at the base of his bed, blocking him from my view.
I hear her clearly from the hallway. She alternates between shouting at him for getting shot and bemoaning how much she’s missed having him around the house to entertain her. “You scared me, Tom. I thought I’d lost you.” Her right hand comes up and swipes at her face. “Never do that to me again, okay?”
“I’m sorry, munchkin. It wasn’t planned, I swear.” He laughs and coughs, the sound bringing back my memories of that night, as though I’m experiencing it all over again. A chill washes over me and I force myself to remember that he is okay, he’s here, alive, and soon to be well.
Dax relaxes his arms and drops a hand into his pocket, removing his phone. The fact that I notice him, only cements that I’m low-key obsessed. Forget the fuss Sylvie makes or the heartfelt reunion, only Dax keeps me so riveted that no infinitesimal movement goes unnoticed.
The familiar buzz of my phone jolts me from my thoughts of him. Of the taste of his mouth, the skill of his tongue, of how close we came to knowing more of each other.
Are you coming in or do you plan to spend the evening in the corridor?
Not sure.
Why not?
This is family time, Dax.
You are family now. You saved him. He wouldn’t be here if not for you.
Maybe another time.
Get that tidy little butt in this room right now, or I will come out there and bring you in myself!
Oh boy,I’m tempted to make that option a reality, but I don’t get the chance.
“Where’s Jules?” Sylvie spins her head around so fast she lifts herself off the bed in one smooth motion and comes out to fetch me. She snatches the lingerie bag from my hands and pushes me into the room ahead of her.
Both Tom and Dax stare at me. I’m not sure what to say.
“Tom, this is—” Dax begins, but Tom cuts across him, making the introductions irrelevant.
“Jules.” He grins. “I would know that face anywhere. You still have a blush on your cheeks. I can’t have been asleep too long then?” he teases, smiling up at me with warmth and familiarity.
“You look better than when I saw you last. The whole blinking and talking thing looks good on you,” I respond, speaking without thought.
“Still funny too.” He pats a spot on the bed beside him. Sylvie’s fingers flex at my back, the movement is tiny, but I notice. I circle the bed and sit in the chair in front of Dax, allowing Sylvie to take up her bed-top position. I sense Tom’s eyes on me as I sit down, Sylvie’s and Dax’s too. They make me uncomfortable. I told him this was family time. Here I am, making it awkward.
Dax lays his hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. Feeling him there instantly eases the tension in my bones. I relax into his touch and tilt my head back to smile.
“You two seem to have got to know one another?” Tom suggests. He watches us, his eyes riveted to our interaction. Theysettle on Dax’s hand holding me.
“Yes,” Dax responds, giving my shoulder another soft squeeze.
“And is she an angel like I thought, or something more mortal?” The question is pointed. Sharp. His choice of words seems off too, as though he’s baiting Dax. He keeps the smile on his face, but it lacks the warmth he welcomed me with.
I answer, “Mortal, I’m afraid. Flawed and nowhere near asholeyas you.” I nod to the bandage over his chest and grin, but my smile is just as empty of sincerity as his. I’m not sure what is going on, but I’m leery of this new dynamic between us all. Tom laughs politely, but I can tell he’s disappointed his jibe missed its true mark. I’m just not sure why. The silence that follows my flat attempt at humour is awkward.
Sylvie takes a turn at smoothing things over. “We bought clothes,” she said, more to Dax than Tom.
