Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I’m not used to Dax being down like this; at least, not showing it. I don’t like it. I want him to tell me everything that’s in his head, not just about what happened with his dad tonight, but everything. Maybe because if I knew what was wrong, I could keep him safe the way I couldn’t keep Mom safe.
Dax is lying in bed, facing away from me. There’s only a few inches between us, and though it’s not like we always have to cuddle, it feels like a much wider distance.
“Dax?”
“What?”
Part of me wants to share things with him, things I don’t talk about with anyone. They’re right there, lingering at the back of my throat. Kind of wondering why it’s coming up now. Maybe if I tell him, he’ll feel it’s safe to share whatever this is with me, so I just follow this impulse within me, say the first thing my body allows me to. “Last year, I didn’t start that fire at Sigma Alpha.”
He’s silent before rolling to face me. His expression is difficult to read. “I believe you.”
I didn’t realize the impact such simple words could have. Maybe because I’m so used to everyone assuming I’m the problem. Hell, I wasn’t even around Sigma Alpha that night, yet everyone assumed the worst of me. It doesn’t surprise me that Dax doesn’t.
He keeps quiet, as though he knows me well enough to know he needs to give me time to get to it.
“It was my buddy Caleb. He was in charge of the prank, and apparently, after getting high, he came up with the bright idea to add fireworks to the glitter bombs, figuring it’d be hilarious. After the fire, he came to me, freaking the hell out because he knew he could go to jail or worse. He’s on scholarship, which he needs to be here, and it could totally screw him.”
“You could have gone to jail,” Dax says.
“I knew it wouldn’t be as bad for me. Dad does all right. He got me a private attorney, smoothed things over. Got a nice plea deal on probation without having to have it on my record once I did my community service. And Dad’s got the pull to get the university to sweep it under the rug. I also didn’t care how Sigma Alphas looked at me over it.”
I notice how stiff my body is as I say that, and Dax presses, “Do you really not care?”
My gaze cuts to him, and now I feel like he’s seen too much. My eyes water, and I start to turn away from him, but he reaches out, resting his hand on mine, and my anxiety subsides. How can his touch have this power over me?
“Maybe a little bit,” I lie, then feel bad for lying to him. “Maybe more than that. People only see me as this loner who doesn’t need anyone, and I know I give that impression, but it’s not that I want to be alone. Someone who wants to be alone doesn’t join a frat, you know? And now I have more people who hate me on campus than I ever imagined would even know my name.” My heartbeat and breath speed up. Maybe tonight will end in breathing exercises. “It’s funny you said you believed me because I tried to tell my dad the truth, and he didn’t want to hear it. He just wanted to deal with it and move on. That’s all he ever wants to do when shit happens.”
I reflect on a moment: I’m a kid, devastated that he just lost his mom, and Dad’s assuring me everything will be all right. The liar.
“Sorry, I didn’t need to tell you all that when you’re having your own issues tonight.”
“It’s okay,” Dax says, releasing my hand. He places it against my neck, pulling me close, resting his forehead against mine. “I want you to share things with me. You can always talk to me.” He presses a kiss to my lips. “Thank you for sharing that. I don’t imagine that was easy.”
“That’s a fucking understatement.”
And for the first time since he got here, he chuckles, bringing me some relief.
“Your dad…does he love you?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Fucked up as it’s all been, I know he cares, but it’s like we can’t figure out how to reach each other after all that’s happened.”
“I hear that. I think that’s what I struggle with sometimes after I see mine. I know he feels responsible for me, but I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like he loves me. I’m a responsibility to him, one he doesn’t necessarily want.”
He says those last words so quietly, as though they’re a deep fear he hasn’t allowed himself to voice, and I pull way, seeing that sadness in his expression. We just sit there, looking at each other, both of us seeing more than we could before tonight.