“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.