Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

38. Chapter Thirty Eight

A cold wind nips at my cheeks as I make the short journey across campus, tugging my cardigan tighter around my leotard and leggings. The bag slung over my back holds my ballet slippers and compression socks, and Dax holds my hand. He gives me a small smile every time I look up at him, wondering how he’s unaffected by the sudden winter clinging to Waversea. We were lucky that Nixon’s safe house was in a warmer climate, and I completely took it for granted.

But nothing can lessen the excited tremors building in my chest as we near the dance studio. My first class back. I’m practically giddy with the thought of being a normal university student again, cementing my decision. I needed to return to my life, to take back control.

There’s not too many students around this early, none as visibly eager to get back into a routine as I am, but those who pass throw us curious looks. I suppose a lot has changed in the last few weeks, and Dax’s claim on me is clear.

Crossing the uneven mound of frosted grass, we take a shortcut to the studio where he openly kisses me goodbye, wishing me a good day. The smile on my face is touching ear to ear when I push open the heavy door to the familiar room of wood and glass. Warmth and brightness hits me all at once. The smell of rosin, wood, and sweat feel like a familiar friend, welcoming me back.

As I make my way inside, there’s a chorus of hushed voices. I pull up short at the expression on many of the dancer’s faces. A mixture of disgust and jealousy hits me, reflected in each of the mirrors circling the room. Madam Nightingale crosses the dance floor on light feet, a long white skirt floating around toned legs and a smile on her face that shows she’s the only one pleased to see me.

“Avery! How was your festive break?” She air-kisses my cheek, her hands clasping my frozen ones. Those at her back return to their warmups, but are no less evident in their eavesdropping.

“It was good, thank you. And yours?” I respond, barely aware I’m speaking. My attention is on my peers, actively ignoring my presence whilst lingering close by. Madam Nightingale waves me off, whisking me towards the rear door where the dressing and storage rooms linger. She leads me into a dim office, the blind half-mast and paperwork strewn across an aged desk. My chest tightens. “Am I…in trouble?” I frown, thrown into a spin of confusion. Madam Nightingale rifles through her paperwork, blinking up as if she doesn’t understand my question.

“You tell me. These are letters I received over the holidays on your behalf.” Cocking her brow, she holds out the folded papers, totally unaware that my heart just fell out of my ass.

Letters? Here? It wouldn’t be the first time Mr. XO approached me at the studio. Perhaps he wasn’t aware I’d left for the holidays, and when he did find out, he tracked me to the safe house. But that doesn’t make sense. If he could find me, surely Fredrick Walters could too. Growing impatient by my stalling, Madam Nightingale rounds the desk and plants the folded papers into my hands.

I quickly scan the typed words, latching onto the formality of the language. The breath I didn’t know I was holding rushes through my lips. They’re acceptance letters into some of the country’s most prestigious ballet schools, offers from agents to represent me and some are simply commendations from well-known names in the business, stating that they will be keeping an eye out for what I do in the future.

“The showcase was a huge hit! You can take your pick of schools, of careers. You’re going to be a star, and don’t forget who gave you the small push into dancing publicly,” Madam Nightingale breaks her usually strict character to wink at me. She’s gushing, her eyes alight with possibilities. Suddenly, the looks when I entered the studio all make sense now.

Placing the letters back onto her desk, I smile warmly and take a step back towards the door. “Thank you, Madam. I’m flattered you saw potential in me, but I’m happy where I am. I’d like to just stay here and dance for you.”

The shift in the senior dancer’s demeanor is sharp, bordering vicious. All joy is erased from her face, leaving only the stern lines and sharp stare behind. No longer floating around on air, Madam Nightingale stands painfully straight, her lips pursed tightly.

“Avery, listen to me. You’ve had the best private tutors, been given the best shot at making a name for yourself beyond just being a Hughes’ heiress. These are opportunities any other dancer would die for. Please don’t squander this because of some boys.”

I recoil another step towards the door. What does she know of my connection with the Shadowed Souls? Regardless, the protective streak within is quick to respond. They aren’t just some boys. They’re men. My beautifully damaged men who have seen the light in me. Not because I’m good at dancing or because of whatever claim to money I have. They’ve seen the version of me who was bursting to break free of her cage. And besides, they are no one’s business but mine.

“Like I said, I’m finally happy and settled here. I won’t be pushed out by any fancy offers, agents or otherwise. I just want to dance.” I leave the tiny, barely-used office with a deflated, yet aggravated sigh.

Why does no one get it? Ambition is the death of passion. As soon as I start giving my craft to the world, it will no longer belong to me. Endless hours of practice, of pain, of pushing myself to the next extreme height and taking no joy for myself. I might as well hand myself back to Fredrick if the people’s puppet is all I’m destined for.

Re-entering the studio, there’s a ball of nerves in my gut, festering into a physical stomachache. I don’t waste time with crowd control. Dropping down beside my bag, I pull on the compression socks and slippers, rolling my ankles until warmth seeps through the cotton. Standing at the barre, I fall into the same warmup that the others are leading, figuring the best way to tackle their jealousy is to show I’m not a threat. I’m not the enemy, trying to use them as steppingstones to a higher purpose. Especially Nikko, who’s eye I try to catch but is actively avoiding me.

The tension in my shoulders soon melts away as I move through pliés and tendus, my body remembering exactly what to do. Theo slips in last, setting up at the piano for today’s lesson. He fumbles with his sheet music, red cheeked as if he’s woken up late and ran here. Again, he refuses to acknowledge my presence, but that’s fine. I’m just another student amongst the masses.

Beginning a steady cadence over the piano keys, the soft brush of pointe shoes scrapes against the floor as Madam Nightingale appears. Having composed herself, she gives nothing away in her expression, but her voice cracks through the room like a whip. Oh, she’s pissed.

Snapping orders like a drill sergeant, we’re thrown into a vigorous workout that quickly burns through our muscles, and then some. I try to lose myself in the flow of the music, in the simple joy of moving again, but it’s near impossible when I’m greeted with looks of hatred on either side. They all seem to know this change in attitude is my fault, and I quickly realize I never could have won. Either I accept the offers I received and they despise me for it, or I upset Madam Nightingale and we all pay the price.

We’re forced to pirouette on the spot again and again while Madam hunts for imperfections. No one escapes her narrowed glare, but I seem to get the brunt of her shouting. We work through the combinations being barked our way, repeating the movements until everyone is in sync. She pushes me harder than any other, holding me to a higher standard.

“Miss Hughes!” she shouts, declaring us no longer on first name terms. “Keep up. Correct your posture, extend those hands. My God, what is happening with your alignment? Do put some effort in.” Sweat quickly beads across my forehead, my legs shaky from lack of practice.

I love ballet. I need ballet. I wanted this, I chant in my mind. It’s that mantra alone that sees me through to the end of the lesson. My entire body is aching as I drop down against the mirror, slowly tugging my slippers free of my sore feet. I’m definitely going to need one of Axel’s sport’s therapy massages tonight.

Madam Nightingale leaves first, throwing her hands up like she’s lost the will to live before disappearing out back. Most of the students barge out of the main door as soon as they can, but several remain, lingering around for something. I finish packing my bag when I hear the door open again, and my blond archangel enters. I smile up at Huxley, sighing sweetly at the sight of his handsome, chiseled face.

“Hey.” I reach up for him, wanting to feel his arms banded around me. A little dramatic, I must admit, but Huxley swoops down onto his knees to put my sneakers on. My very own Prince Charming. His basketball jersey and shorts are baggier on his frame than they used to be, although he’s never quite lost the fine definition to his muscle. I watch his arms flex now, as he ties my laces, lost in my own thoughts until a voice penetrates my mind.

“I told you,” a girl nearby, Jenna, scoffs, huddling in with her friends. They mutter amongst themselves but given that the studio has an echo, I catch every word of it. “She’s screwing all of them.”

“Whore, much? Save some for the rest of us,” another twitters back. Nikko leans in, only too happy to encourage the nasty giggling.

“Stacey said she saw her sneaking into the dressing room with Wyatt during the showcase interval. Surely that’s illegal, right?”

“That’s daddy issues for you,” Jenna tilts her head on a small laugh. All fight leaks from my shoulders, my face tinted red. I’m dumbstruck, my mind an empty space where no thoughts formulate. It wasn’t the offers that everyone was hung up on, it was this . This gossip that I can’t even deny.

Huxley’s hands have stilled on my sneaker. A moment of silence passes, thick with the weight of their rumors. I glance at Huxley, his jaw clenched tight, his normally calm demeanor cracking. He rises slowly, his height towering over me now, his brown eyes dark with a protective fire. The other dancers still loitering freeze as his gaze sweeps across the room, landing on Jenna and her whispering entourage.

“You’ve got something to say?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it.

“Hux, just leave it,” I scramble to my feet. Tugging on his arm, he’s unmovable. Jenna’s friends shrink back, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smirks, stands and crosses her arms.

“Just calling it like we see it.”

“Like you think you see it,” he mumbles back, the veins in his throat strained. The rigidness in his back scares me. This isn’t some armed thug threatening to cause us harm, it’s a big-mouthed bitch sticking her nose in my business. I tug on his arm again.

“Come on, they’re not worth it.” I implore him with my eyes, although he’s not focusing on me. An hour ago, I was so hopeful that this was the right decision. Now I’m looking at Huxley, who’s contemplating getting himself thrown out of college and my nails dig into his forearm. I can’t handle the thought of us being separated, not for a day, not for weeks at a time. Eventually, Huxley allows me to drag him closer to the door, although his eyes don’t leave Jenna’s.

By the door, so close to freedom, he stops to address the entire studio. I shrink behind his back, not wanting to see their faces. “None of you know a damn thing about Avery. What she’s been through, what she means to us. But keep running your mouths, and you’ll find out exactly what happens to people who disrespect her.”

My heart races and I finally manage to get him out into the cold air. Snapping back to full protective mode, he hastily tugs my cardigan higher up my shoulders and draws me into his side, despite not wearing a jacket himself. Our breaths puff in front of our faces as we hastily walk towards the SUV, parked on a nearby road. Once satisfied I’m safely in the passenger seat with my seat belt clicked in place, he closes the door and rounds to the back. I watch his silhouette in the rear view mirror, how he stalls to collect himself, rolling his neck to and fro. Once ready, he joins me in the driver’s seat.

“Don’t listen to them,” he murmurs, reaching across to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His face is taut, pained somewhat, but there’s also an overriding glimmer of love there. “They don’t know you like we do.” Huxley’s tone sends a jolt of comfort through me. He captures my lips for a quick kiss before twisting the key in the ignition and speeding us down the road.

“Where are we going?” I ask as the campus grows smaller behind us and we turn into the long street of frat houses. I’ve only had one class so far and surely Huxley has places he needs to be. Hux shrugs one shoulder, his mouth finally tilting upwards.

“Garrett sent me to fetch and bring you to the gym. He was whining that he missed you and wanted his little mascot to watch our basketball drills.”

“So, why are we here?” I clarify as we pull up beside the house we share. Huxley leaves the SUV half on the driveway at an angle, twisting in his seat.

“Because Garrett’s not the fucking boss of me,” Huxley states, stubbornness shining in his chocolate brown eyes. He unclips my seatbelt as an indication to follow him out of the car and through the front door, where he promptly smacks my ass. “Get changed, Swan. We’re going out.”

“Hux, it’s the first day back! We can’t ditch class already!” I laugh, smacking his arm lightly, but before I can say anything else, Huxley moves with a familiar, swift grace. In an instant, he sweeps me off my feet, spinning me around effortlessly. I squeal, my giggles bubbling out as he nuzzles my neck, his breath warm and teasing against my skin.

“We’re not ditching. I’ll have you back for English Lit at two-thirty,” he murmurs, voice low and playful, “and I don’t start until tomorrow. Wyatt just wanted to run some drills to get back into form.”

He sets me down gently, but his hands linger, sliding down to my waist. A shiver runs through me, the ache in my toes forgotten the moment his touch electrifies my skin. His fingers tighten slightly, as if he can’t bear to let me go, and I find myself leaning into him, wanting more.

“And you’re defying the big boss man for me?” I tease, batting my lashes and pressing a hand to my chest dramatically. “I’m flattered.” His smirk grows, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“You should be. I don’t make a habit of blowing off basketball for any old chick with daddy issues,” he says, and before I can protest, he’s tickling my ribs. I can’t help but writhe against him, my full belly laugh echoing around the entrance hall as I try to escape his relentless fingers.

“Huxley!” I gasp between laughs, swatting at him, but he just pulls me tighter against him, his playfulness melting into something warmer, deeper.

“I missed this side of you,” I whisper, as the laughter fades and the space between us closes. His forehead rests against mine, and the world narrows down to the feeling of his breath on my lips, his hands gripping me like he’s afraid to let go.

“Me too,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, his brown gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart race. “You’re incredible, Avery. All of those whispers, the rumors—it’s all bullshit. They don’t know you like we do. They don’t see who you really are.”

My throat tightens, my heart swelling. I’d give him anything he wanted in that moment, absolutely anything. “I don’t care what they say,” I breathe, trembling slightly. “As long as I have you. All of you.”

Huxley’s lips curve into a slow, tender smile. “You always will,” he promises, his tone thick with emotion. “I’ll make sure of it.” Without another word, he leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss so soft it feels like a whisper against my soul.

Time stops. All the noise, the chaos, and the doubts vanish. All that remains is the steady rhythm of his heart against mine, the way his fingers curl into my waist, pulling me closer as if he’s afraid I might slip away. His mouth glides over mine sensually, every brush carefully placed to communicate the depths of emotion we’ve yet to speak. Deepening the kiss, Huxley’s tongue dips in to coil with mine, filling me with a need that matches my own, silently vowing to never let me go.

When we finally pull apart, breathless and dazed, Huxley’s eyes search mine, filled with a softness I’ve only ever seen when it’s just the two of us. “We shouldn’t waste any more time. I need to get you out of here before Garrett comes looking for you.”

I smile, nodding as he steps back, but his hand remains on my waist, unwilling to lose contact. As he guides me toward the stairs, I marvel at the man standing before me. The Huxley I fell for, the one who chases away my worst fears and holds me through my darkest nights. He’s back. After everything he’s been through, he’s struggled and suffered and found his way back to me.