It makes me question him for the first time in my life. The legitimacy of our friendship.
His motives.
Everything.
I didn’t think I’d make it after Mitch died, but Dax was my rock, even from hundreds of miles away.
Now, our whole friendship is at risk.
I refuse to accept this. This whole situation—it’s too much for me.
I leap toward him, beating against his chest, lightly at first, then harder. I hit him faster, the tears uncontrollable as my thoughts spiral out of control.
He doesn’t stop me.
He lets me take out my frustration on him.
“I called every connection.” Punch. “Pulled every string.” Punch. “Gave you financial support. I did everything I could fucking think of,” he says over my cries, wrapping his arms around me to finally slow the punches. “Don’t you know I wish I could save everyone? But it’s not up to me, who lives or dies.” He pauses, and his pain radiates off him, mixing with my own. “It’s not up to me,” he rasps.
I nod, burying my face in my hands against his strong chest, ashamed that we’re having this conversation.
But I’m hurt.
Confused.
I take a deep breath, my knees buckling, and I fall.
Dax falls with me, holding me tightly.
Once again, he’s here for me. Even though I don’t deserve it, it’s exactly what I need—the unconditional comfort and safety only Dax provides is what I need.
I don’t know how long we stay like this, intertwined on the floor of his living room. The silence is deafening as the very foundation of our friendship cracks.
As the world I thought I knew crumbles.
My hand fists his shirt.
I let my eyes rest.
After a moment, I faintly realize we’re moving. I’m in Dax’s arms, then surrounded by cushions and soft blankets. With a warm and lingering kiss to my temple, I don’t feel him anymore, but my eyelids are too heavy to open and check for him.
As I fade in a pool of my own tears, I dream of simpler times.
Summers in Lake Tahoe.
Skiing in Breckinridge during winter breaks.
And the last image before I nod off, is Mitch.
Sitting up, I rub my eyes, disoriented. I feel like I did when I woke up from surgery after giving birth to Jacob. Groggy with a body ache. My vision is blurry, likely from crying. I blink repeatedly to clear it and notice this isn’t my bed or my house.
The lighting’s dim, and the air smells of… Dax.
His cologne.
I snuggle deeper into his bed, bringing fistfuls of his covers up to my nose, and inhale the woodsy smell. I breathe him in like he’s standing right in front of me.
He smells of everything positive in my life.
Until today, when all I thought I knew turned into a lie with one confession.
The door slowly cracks open, and Dax steps inside like he’s trying not to wake me. He takes small steps like the Grinch stealing Christmas. Instinctively, I smile at the thoughtful gesture because in many ways, he’s still Dax.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey.” He pauses and switches the light on. He stuffs his free hand in his pants pocket, a bottled water in his other.
“I’m sorry for falling asleep. Must’ve been more tired than I thought.” Sitting up, I rub under my eyes for any runaway mascara, then smooth my hair down, peering outside at the night sky. “What time is it?”
“Almost eight.”
I swing my legs out from under the covers and sit on the edge of his bed.
“Your eyes are a little swollen, and your pupils are shrunken.” He leans in front of me, his hands on each of my knees. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”
“Are you asking as Dax or Dr. Pearson?”
“Have you been talking to my sister? She always talks about my two personas.” He lightly chuckles, but the concern quickly returns. His eyes frown in the corners as he squeezes my knees, urging me to answer him.
I gulp. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, to be honest.”
“What’s your routine like before bed?” His voice changes to authoritative. I’m definitely with Dr. Pearson now. “Strenuous exercise chasing Jacob around the house? Drinking wine or anything?”
But the details he gives are definitely Dax. He knows me so well, and his kindness makes me feel even more guilty for the horrible things I said to him.
The way I lashed out at him when he’s been nothing but generous and considerate.
“I just think a lot.” My hands fidget in my lap, not used to this side of him. He’s checked me out before, but I didn’t know about his feelings then. We hadn’t slept together then. It feels different now. Clearing my throat, I continue, trying my best not to focus on his hands gripping my knees. “The days are busy with errands, visiting my mom at the winery, Jacob’s school activities, adjusting to my new job. So, after he goes to sleep, I’m left with my chaotic thoughts.”
“Clara,” he says with so much emotion that my stomach flutters. He drops his hands and peers up at me, his expression conflicted. “One of my friends is the head of psychology. I can try to get you an appointment if you need to talk to someone—it’s no trouble.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stops, his eyebrows furrowed. “What for?”
I rise on trembling legs and stand before him, wanting him to hold me. The emotions from before my short nap come crashing back, pulling the tears from me again, but slower this time. “I’m sorry for blaming you. That wasn’t fair.”
Standing, he reaches out and squeezes my upper arms, his jaw working back and forth like he’s contemplating what to say. He’s indecisive, which isn’t like him, and it makes me sick.
I’ve made him question me too.
“I know you’re hurting. I know you need someone to blame. With my parents’ accident, I blamed the EMTs, doctors, and even the drunk guy in the waiting room. I screamed at the mailman that week too. I even pushed you away for a while. But don’t blame me for this.” His voice cracks. “Don’t make excuses because you’re scared of how I feel about you.”
I hesitate. “That’s not…”
He tilts his head to the side, a sympathetic smile on his lips, but his eyes hold a sadness I’ve never seen before. “It is.” He rubs his hands up and down my arms in comfort. “I wasn’t planning on telling you. I’d gone along with the lie for so long that it became true and automatic. That we were just friends, and we were. But the other night was… everything.”
“And you wanted more this whole time?”
He slowly nods, like he’s letting it sink in.
I blow out a shaky breath, my gaze landing on his lips, and the room feels like it shifts. I’m suddenly very aware that this is Dax’s bedroom.
A large bed.
Soft sheets.
Alone with Dax.
Pain still swirls around us like a desert storm, but there’s something else here—a chemistry I don’t know how to ignore anymore.
Not after I know what it feels like to be touched by him.
But where do we go from here? It was one thing when I thought we slept together in the spur of the moment. If that were the case, we could navigate this new part of our relationship together. But with his feelings now, he’s light years ahead of me. We’re not on the same page. How can I catch up?