Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

22. Chapter Twenty Two

“ G arrett! What the hell-” Avery’s voice cuts through the usual beach house noise. I tilt my head back on the sofa, unable to see her or Garrett.

“I’m sorry, Peach, but I’m going to need you to step aside. I know exactly what I’m doing,” Garrett fires back, his tone all smug confidence.

“Clearly not!” Avery retorts. “You can’t just stuff it all in like that.”

My brows shoot up, interest piqued. Putting down the magazine Hux picked up on his last supply run, I drape my arm over the backrest. I’ve always been more of a gossip column kind of guy, the newspaper is full of depressing shit that I don’t need spoiling my morning.

“It’s the way I’ve always done it. I’ve never had any complaints before,” Garrett counters, voice muffled slightly by the sound of him wrestling something into submission. I snort. In fact, I have complained about Garrett’s habit of steam rolling ahead with no prep work, but he chooses not to listen.

“I’m telling you,” Avery grumbles, “that load is way too heavy. It’s not going to fit.”

“I’ll make it fit,” Garrett grunts back. There’s a metallic bang, the floor shudders slightly, and I start to wonder if I should intervene. “Just hold still, it’s almost in-”

“Here, just give it to me, I’ll do it,” Avery insists, her voice taking on a no-nonsense tone which will have absolutely no effect on Garrett.

“No, I’m fine. I’ve got this,” Garrett grinds out, clearly in the middle of another epic struggle. A loud clatter follows, and then comes Avery’s shriek.

“Ew, Garrett! It’s everywhere! Ugh, and I just washed my hair!”

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I haul myself off the couch. Rounding the corner, I spot the chaos. Avery and Garrett kneeling on the floor of what we generously call a laundry room. It’s really just an alcove with a washer and dryer, and right now, it’s also a warzone. The smell of fabric softener hits me first, the liquid spilt all over the floor and splattered over Avery’s face as if she lost a tug of war battle. Between them, Garrett is trying to force a couple kilos of washing into the machine while Avery is fighting to drag it back out.

“Erm, do you, um, need any help?” I ask, trying to sound casual but failing to hide my grin.

“Tell him he’s going to break the washer, and we’re all going to suffer for it!” Avery angrily wipes at the softener on her cheek and uses her huge eyes to plead with me. Garrett tilts his head, lips pursed as if to say, don’t bother telling me shit. I lean against the doorway, crossing my arms, a smirk tugging at my lips.

“Avery does have a point. If you break that washer, none of us are going to enjoy living in our own filth. Especially you, if you have to walk around naked.” I give him a knowing look now, hitting home that he above all others would feel the repercussions the most. Garrett glares at me, beads of sweat dotting his forehead.

Garrett stills for a second, sighing as if the weight of laundry is suddenly the most dramatic obstacle he’s ever faced. “Fine,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling some of the clothes back out. Avery exhales in relief, flashing me a quick, thankful smile. I wink back.

“I’ll grab the mop.” Avery stands and steps aside, her eyes roving over my arms and shoulders as I clean the floor.

“Honestly, how does he survive?”

“He has us,” I say with a shrug. Avery giggles, swiping more of the gloopy liquid off her neck. Garrett puts an acceptable amount of clothes into the washer and switches it on.

“There,” she says, glancing at Garrett. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I’ll give you hard,” he mutters under his breath. Grabbing his laundry basket, he attempts to leave when I block him with the mop’s handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I cock a brow. An instant shift happens in Garrett’s features, his eyes brightening at my tone. He acts like he prefers being the Dom out of the two of us, but he loves it even more when I turn the tables on him. “Our girl needs another shower. You made the mess, you need to help clean it up.” I gesture to her hair, sticky and tangled. Garrett grins, grabbing a towel and holding it out to her.

“You heard the man, Peach. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

We make it all the way to our private bathroom before the reality of what he’s agreed to hits. I watch Garrett hesitate, torn between wanting to walk away and realizing that he’s cornered. He lets out a resigned sigh and reluctantly moves into the bathroom, the towel slung over his shoulder. Avery follows after him, wringing out some of the softener in her hair.

I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms crossed, curious about how this is going to play out. The dynamic between the two of them changes. Garrett, usually so cocky and brash, suddenly seems completely out of his element. Avery, on the other hand, seems unfazed by it all, not noticing the turmoil taking place behind Garrett’s dark eyes. I see it, but then again, I know where to look. She tugs at her shirt and sweatpants, baring herself to both of us.

Garrett clears his throat, avoiding her eyes as he grabs the showerhead, turning on the water. Avery raises a brow at his gym shorts and white T-shirt.

“Are you not coming in?”

Garrett doesn’t answer, too focused on adjusting the water temperature and busying himself with unnecessary tasks. I can’t help but chuckle under my breath. I rarely get to see him flustered, and if I was a better man, I might offer to shower with Avery to save him the trouble. Alas, I’m enjoying this far too much.

Once the water is at the right temperature, Garrett indicates that Avery should step into the shower. She does, waiting for Garrett to hose her down like a prized pig before she turns on him. Grabbing his shoulders, she yanks him into the cubicle. There’s a struggle with the shower head, resulting in Garrett’s front becoming soaked before he can grapple back some control.

Seeming satisfied, Avery gives him her back, arching so that he can rinse the fabric softener from her hair. The water cascades over her head, dripping down her stunning body. Shifting her hair aside, Garrett’s fingers trail the arrow tattooed at the top of her back, causing her to shudder.

His own discomfort becomes more apparent as his drenched T-shirt sticks to his frame, and nothing he does helps. In the end, he glances at me, giving the best puppy dog eyes. I slowly shake my head.

“This is good for you,” I clarify. I’m right here, a few feet away. This is a safe space and until Garrett is put in situations that he can’t back out of, he’ll never start to heal. So much focus is spent on me fighting my demons while he’s happy to ignore his, but I won’t let him anymore. Garrett’s throat bobs as he looks down at the fabric molded to his body, outlining the tattoos inked across his chest and abdomen.

Avery’s attention shifts at the same time, turning back to face him. She assesses the wet material. “What’s that one?” She points to a tattoo on his chest, just above his heart.

Garrett stiffens, glancing down at where she’s gesturing. “It’s a rabbit’s foot,” he mumbles, his tone suddenly shy.

“For luck?” Avery tilts her head, water droplets gathered on her lashes. Garrett releases a harsh bark of laughter.

“None of my tattoos have any meaning, Peach.” Her eyes flick back up to his face but she doesn’t remove her finger from prodding his chest.

“So what’s the point of them?”

“To hide me,” Garrett answers immediately. He’s unusually devoid of all emotion, standing statue still and holding the shower head over Avery’s shoulders to keep her warm. “They’re just illustrations I picked off a wall. Once, I donated my legs to a bunch of students, letting them do whatever they wanted. It’s not about the images, it’s about the coverage.” Avery glances at me and I nod.

I was with him for that entire weekend. Some of the artists were more promising than others, and anything that the tattoo shop owner didn’t deem up to quality was offered a free cover up. Gare never took the offer. He doesn’t care about being a walking piece of art or his skin telling a story. Garrett simply wants to disappear beneath the ink.

To her credit, Avery doesn’t pursue the conversation that could have followed. She doesn’t tell him that’s stupid or try to give compliments he would have refused to hear. Instead, her finger trails lower.

“What’s this?”

“A paper bag of daisies.”

“What’s that?” Avery squints, shifting her face closer to Garrett’s ribs. He sucks in a breath, going even more rigid before looking down.

“A naked woman in a scuba mask walking a fish on a leash.”

“And this one?” She points lower, just above his hip, where another tattoo peeks out from beneath his soaked shirt.

“That’s Bart Simpson’s butt with ‘Eat My Shorts’ written across it.” Avery snorts a laugh. She’s smiling wide, and soon enough, so is he. It’s a beautiful sight, something I’m thankful I got to witness as an outsider. Avery is helping Garrett in ways he can’t fully comprehend.

Reaching for the shampoo, Avery busies her hands working up a lather and massaging it into her scalp, her eyes still appraising Garrett’s muscles. “Do you think you’ll ever get a tattoo that has meaning behind it?” Garrett pauses, the vulnerability flashing across his face as he answers.

“I’m contemplating it.” Avery misses the longing look he gives her, too busy washing her hair and peering through the material at the rest of his artwork. His body is fascinating, and this is the closest she’s ever got to fully seeing it.

“I like them,” she says quietly, her hands dropping to her side. “They suit you.”

Garrett lets out a breath he’d probably been holding. “Thanks.” The tension between them shifts, becoming more intimate. Garrett slowly turns her to finish washing out the shampoo, his movements gentler now, more focused. Avery closes her eyes, leaning into the sensation of his hands working through her tangled strands.

I stay quiet, watching from my spot by the door, not wanting to break the spell they’re under. Garrett, for all his bravado, isn’t used to being seen like this; exposed, vulnerable. He doesn’t even like me pressing him too hard to open up. But with Avery, it’s different. She doesn’t judge him, doesn’t pry too hard, but she sees him. Really sees him.

The water runs clear, and Garrett shuts off the shower. “You’re done,” he says, his voice softer than before. He reaches for the towel and drapes it over her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her skin for a brief moment before he pulls away.

Avery looks up at him, smiling softly. “Thanks, Garrett.”

He nods, his usual cockiness muted. “Yeah. No problem.” As Avery stands, wringing out her hair with the towel, Garrett steps back, giving her space. His shirt clings to him, outlining every muscle and tattoo, but he doesn’t seem to care as much. Maybe he’s starting to get comfortable in his own skin around her. Around both of us.

Avery looks over her shoulder, her voice, light and teasing. “You know, you should really wear your tattoos with pride, Garrett. They’re kind of hot.” I grin, knowing that comment is going to stick with him for a while. Garrett finally laughs, coming back to himself.

“What do you mean, kind of?” he nudges her, a smirk dancing across his lips.

“Come let me dry your hair for you, Beautiful,” I hold out my arm. “A Princess deserves pampering after all.” Instead of giving me shit for that princess comment, Avery approaches me, shooting back the wink I gave her earlier.

Turning us both towards the bedroom, I slowly and silently clap for a job well done. She’s a sneaky one, even if she doesn’t know the extent in which she just helped Garrett through multiple demons he faces alone. Just letting her scratch the surface of his trauma is a feat that took me years.

But maybe that’s because Garrett doesn’t realize he’s already falling for her. It’s just a matter of time before he admits it to himself.