Chapter Eighteen
Stretching out, I mourn the loss of Aiden. He kept his promise until I was forced to renege. Exhausted and sated, he took me to bed, where we lay wrapped in each other. His slowly cooling spot on the mattress counts the minutes since he slunk out to shower. I’d have been upset by his sneakiness if I hadn’t known it was only to let me sleep in for a change. His sense of respect and hands-off approach are things that I love about him, something that separates him from Dax. Where Dax commands and fights to control every scenario, Aiden observes, waits, reacts, and gives others permission to do the same. The contrast between the two speaks volumes about the differences in their lives pre-Trevainne. Dax and I are cut from the same cloth. Our pasts have left us with the need to micromanage everything and everyone around us, but Aiden’s laid-back approach brings a new way of being, one I’m happy to learn from.
My first lesson is giving myself permission to slow down by spending another ten minutes of peace in bed. I grab Aiden’s pillowand slam it over my eyes, blocking out the light streaming into the apartment. Though there are no windows on the mezzanine floor, all the light and sound creeps up and over the half wall. The pillow doesn’t quite block it all out but for ten minutes, I can cope.
What I can’t cope with is knowing Dax remembered me and didn’t say anything. I’ve been hinting at it since we met: The coleslaw on the sandwich, telling him wekeepsaving each other, calling him Dean instead of Dax, because I’ve only ever known him by the name he left me on those library cards before met in the Tower.
He said nothing.
And all his hang ups with not being good enough, is that really Vale guilt or is it the fate thing? Does he feel guilty because he thinks I belong with Tom? It’s ridiculous and yet something I can totally see him struggle with.
What am I supposed to do now? Aiden might have told me the truth, but do we tell Dax? Do I wait to see if he’ll say anything? Ugh. More secrets. More bullshit.
So much for ten more minutes of peace.
The whirring of the elevator rumbles through the apartment, silencing my thoughts. There are no other occupied apartments in the building, so whoever it is, they’re here to see us. Aiden ducks into the room, dropping the towel from his waist and grabbing his jeans. He spots me watching from the bed and grins.
“Stay here for now. I’d like to talk to Dax first. Give him a heads up on us.”
“It’s definitely him, then?”
“No one else has the code to the door,” Aiden confirms.
“Okay. Will he be annoyed or…?”
“He’ll be fine. I just wanted to give him the courtesy of being the one to tell him. You’ve probably already noticed his default mode is to stick his foot firmly in his mouth.” My laughter is the only response Aiden needs. “He’ll say something stupid before hegets his head on straight. It’s his way of handling shit.”
“That’s fine. After the other day, I’m not sure I have a clue what to say to him anyway.”
“Yeah, that’s another thing I’d like to talk with him about,” Aiden grumbles, and I sense a fight brewing. Still, I get the sense that this is more of athemconversation than ameconversation, so I’m happy to avoid it.
“Okay. Go do your thing. I might just spend the morning in bed. Coffee would be good when you come back up, though.”
“Demanding little tiger,” he grumbles good-naturedly as he drifts down the spiral stair to greet Dax, who sounds like he’s already warming the coffee machine.
For all the romantic novelty of a mezzanine bedroom, the gurgle of the machine is so loud it might as well be at the bottom of the bed. I drag the pillow back over my head to block out the worst of it, but even that doesn’t work. Nor does it stop their voices drifting up to me.
“How’s Sylvie?” Aiden asks first.
“She’s barely spoken. She gave the team five minutes and then had a complete meltdown. She’s not okay,” Dax admits.
“Did she say anything useful? Anything we can act on?”
“No, not yet.” The sound of a cup hitting the counter punctuates Dax’s frustration.
A quiet moment stretches then Aiden asks, “And the one you took in for questioning?”
Dax snorts. “He’s not speaking. Grins like he’s enjoying himself but hasn’t spoken a word.”
“Fucker.”
Another long moment stretches before Dax cuts through it. His voice is tentative. “Is Jules…” He trails off, unable to formulate the question.
“She’s fine. She took the situation in stride. Took you and your bullshit in her stride, too. Not that she should have to,” Aidensharply rebukes.
“I didn’t mean…”
“You did,” Aiden snaps, calling Dax out on his bullshit. “You lashed out and blamed Jules’s presence at the compound for Sylvie’s abduction, but Sylvie’s constant disappearing tricks put her in that vulnerable position. This has been coming, with or without Jules. Why else do you assign bodyguards to her? And for the record, own your guilt instead of projecting it. You think she doesn’t feel guilty already? Do you think she doesn’t blame herself for all this bullshit?” Aiden growls.
