Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

46. Chapter Forty Six

S tepping out onto the front porch, I still to simply inhale. The crispness of winter expands my lungs, sharp and biting, reminding me of the coldness I’m trying to fight off. They merge into one, welcoming me into the evening. I hold on for a moment longer, listening for any signs of life within the frat house. Any hint of Garrett shuffling around for a late night snack or Huxley’s irritating questions asking me what I’m doing, anything that might suggest someone knows I’ve left. But the house is silent, the guys either passed out in Axel’s super king size bed or glued to whatever screen is holding their attention. Good. I pushed them harder at practice today for a reason.

I pull the door closed with a soft click, careful not to let it creak. The moon is my only witness as I slip down the steps, hands shoved deep into the pockets of my hoodie. I probably look sketchy as hell, slinking through the shadows like this, but I can’t risk any of them knowing where I’m headed. Not yet at least.

The path leading away from the frat house crunches beneath my shoes, and I wince at the noise. I force myself to slow down, even though my heartbeat is racing ahead of me. The air nips at my exposed skin, pinching at my cheeks and ears. I tug my hood up over my hair, breathing a thick puff of cloud around me. I’m shivering before I’ve even made it to the end of the street, but the cold is a relief. It keeps me grounded.

I walk for about ten minutes before the streetlights fade into the distance, and I’m left in the quiet of the back streets. No one heads this far off campus at night, especially not in this weather. Perfect . My Uber is ready and waiting, a short ride of being asked standard questions and me responding in clipped grunts. Pulling up at my destination, the driver slips down in his seat and pulls out his phone. It’s the same guy who’s been picking me up for the past couple of weeks, so he knows the deal. Wait until I get back and I’ll pay him for the entire day.

Standing tall, I glance around again, checking we haven’t been followed. The temperature is dropping by the second but I couldn’t care less. Now I’m so close, there’s no slowing my long strides. I pick up the pace, feeling the familiar pull toward the one place where I don’t have to explain myself or put on a front. A few more turns, and the faint glow of the building comes into view, flickering like a beacon drawing me in. I slip in through the side gate, having done this multiple times now, rounding the corner to almost flatten an aged woman with wiry, white hair.

“Careful, Wyatt!” she gasps, clutching at the cardboard box in her arms. I mutter my apology, pulling my hood down. Jules looks me over, a knowing tilt to her faint brow. “Cutting it fine tonight. I was about to lock up.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t settle.” I take the box from her arms and walk with her towards the supply shed. Jules directs me to the shelves where there is an open space labeled ‘brushes’. Slotting the box in place, I wait for her to secure the padlock, rocking on my heels with my frozen hands in my pockets. “So, is he still awake?” I ask when I can’t wait any longer. Turning back to me, Jules rolls her eyes.

“Here,” she offers me the huge set of keys. “I have a spare set at home. Lock up when you’re done.” I exhale, thankful I’m not too late. Thanking her profusely, Jules huffs a small laugh and leaves via the side gate. I push into the building’s main entrance, not bothering to switch any lights on. I know the way. Two hallways later, I enter a long room alive with the distinctive sound of whining and scratching. Indoor pens sit side by side, and I pass every single one until I reach the end where the longtime residents are kept. The dogs no one’s interested in, the ones too scruffy, too old, or just plain overlooked.

Unhooking the latch, I let myself in. The warm smell of hay and wet fur greets me. Baxter is in his bed, his fur a mess of brown and gray, like he’s been through too many harsh winters. Too many days on the streets where there’s no mercy to be found for a mutt like him. His head lifts when he sees me, those tired eyes lighting up just a little, and damn, it hits me every time.

“Hey, old boy,” I whisper, crouching down next to him. There’s a dull thud of his thin tail hitting the wall as Baxter shifts closer, his body pressing into my side, and I run my hand through his coarse fur. It’s rough under my fingers, but there’s a comfort in it.

I have to admit, when I stumbled across this place whilst jogging and losing my way a few weeks ago, the appeal of stroking some cute, fluffy puppies initially spiked my interest. I may be many things, but who can’t find solace in puppies? However, it was Baxter who caught my attention. He doesn’t beg and whine like the others. He’s resolute that he’ll die here, alone and unclaimed. Hence, we seem to have an understanding.

I sit on the cold floor of the kennel, my back against the wall, and Baxter rests his head in my lap, sighing like he’s been waiting all day for this. Maybe he has. I gently stroke the scruff of his neck, my fingers threading through the tangled mess there, and finally feel the tightness in my chest ease up. Being this far from Rachel and still on the backfoot of the Shadowed Soul’s new dynamic with Avery, there’s not many places I feel like I belong anymore. But here, I don’t need to pretend I’m okay. I can just be.

Dozing off, his tail lowers as we share warmth. I sit for a long time, as always, just running my fingers through Baxter’s fur, my breath matching his slow, steady rhythm. There’s peace here in the quiet, in the way this old dog’s weight leans into my thigh as if he trusts me not to let him down.

I used to feel the same way when my brothers leaned on me for support, whether it was through securing us a place to live, keeping Garrett well-fed, having a mutual understanding of Huxley’s rich kid problems, helping Dax through his exams or sitting by Axel during therapy. I chose each one of them for a reason, building a family around myself when I didn’t have another to fall back on. The Hughes said they loved me, but I always knew it wasn’t quite true. They needed me to keep up their facade. They used me in the same way I’m using Baxter to push my responsibilities aside for a while.

Baxter shifts in his sleep, his nose twitching as if chasing some dream, and I smile softly. The shadows around us inch closer, the one I cling to ever-present. It hangs over my shoulder, always just out of reach in my peripheral vision. I wonder if Ray liked dogs. I’ll have to ask Rachel next time I call. That smile slowly fades, a deep sigh rattling my chest. Baxter jerks, shaking his head further into my abdomen as if he senses the shift within me.

How did it come to this? Imagining my dead father’s presence whilst sneaking out at night to sit with an old mutt the world forgot about? I’m supposed to have everything. Money, status, a future laid out in front of me like a red carpet. I’m supposed to feel invincible. But lately, none of it feels right. Not the fake smiles I put on, not the endless pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations. Definitely whatever is brewing between me and Avery.

I wince, thinking about her. Avery and I, whatever the hell is happening there, we’re on unfamiliar ground. She’s stopped pushing me away, but instead, seems to find every reason to draw me in. It won’t end well, like we’re both standing on a cliff’s edge, waiting to see who’s going to fall first. Every time I look at her, I feel this pull, this ache. And every time I look away, it’s like a punch to the gut. She’s got me twisted up, and I can’t get untangled, no matter how hard I try. So I don’t. I let it fester, like everything else.

But here, with Baxter, none of that matters. He doesn’t care about the mess I’m in, the lies I tell, or the front I keep up around everyone else. He just lies there, his chest rising and falling against my leg, content to just be. It’s enough for now.

Eventually, I know I’ve stayed longer than I should. As much as I wish I could stay here, I have to get back. If there was another attack without me present, I don’t even want to think about what could happen. I give Baxter one last scratch behind the ears before standing up. He looks at me with those longing eyes of his. “I’m sorry,” I frown, not fully believing that I’m apologizing to a dog. The old version of myself, who paraded around proud and cocky, wouldn’t recognize the man I’ve become. He couldn’t have known what would transpire since Cathy’s death.

I lock up the pen and make my way out, my steps lighter than when I arrived. It’s like Baxter soaked up all the anxiety, all the things I can’t say to anyone else. All that’s left is the sinking guilt that I’ve taken what I need and left him behind until the overwhelming weight of stress returns, and I’ll come back to do it again. I can’t offer him a home, no solace in whatever time he has left. I’m not here to save him. Hell, I think he’s the one saving me.

Stepping back into the freezing air and pulling my hood up, I catch a glimpse of my Uber driver, still slouched in his seat, waiting. The keys jingle loudly in my pocket as I jog over, about to slide into the passenger seat when someone calls my name. A short snap that couldn’t have come from Jules or anyone else I know.

I freeze, one hand on the door handle, my eyes snapping up to search the dim street. A figure steps out of the shadows, lingering under the weak glow of a streetlamp. Large and imposing, dressed all in black, his silhouette cuts a sharp contrast against the soft haze of light. From laced boots to broad shoulders, the guy looks like he was built to intimidate. But he doesn’t move any closer, giving me just enough space to decide whether I want to approach or pretend I didn’t hear him.

I clench my jaw, every instinct telling me to get in the car and go. But something about the way he’s just standing there and watching me feels deliberate.

“I’ll be right back,” I mutter to the driver, closing the door with a soft thud. My breath hangs in the cold air as I step around the car, cautiously walking closer but keeping my shoulders square. “Can I help you?”

From beneath a hood of his own, the man doesn’t smile, doesn’t even shift. Just stares me down with calculating eyes. His silence lingers long enough to make me shift, a twinge of trepidation running the length of my spine.

“My boss would like a word.” The calmness in his voice is unsettling, too casual. Like watching and waiting for me to leave the shelter is just another part of his day. I narrow my eyes, my fingers twitching to ball into fists. It’s that fight or flight response kicking in, and my knack of self-sabotage is ready to take option one.

“And who would that be?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent, but I can feel my pulse drumming in my ears. The man reaches into his jacket. I instinctively take a step back but all he pulls out is a small card, holding it between two fingers.

“Text him a time and location,” the man says, his voice flat and leaving no room for negotiation. “He has a proposition you’re going to want to hear.”

My stomach twists. This immediately feels like the kind of thing I don’t want to get mixed up in, but at the same time, I reckon I’m already mixed up in it. The way he said it, the way he’s looking at me. He’s all too familiar with who I am, yet I have no point of reference for him. I take the card from him, but I don’t look at the typed text. Not yet.

“And if I don’t?” His lips twitch, maybe the closest thing to a smile I’ll get.

“You will.” The guy turns and walks away, disappearing into the shadows like he was never there. I’m left standing under the streetlamp, cold seeping into my bones as I stare down at the card in my hand. All it has is a name and number on it, one that fills me with dread. Fredrick Walters.

For a second, I debate burning it on the spot. Maybe I could head back inside and feed it to the dogs, but something stops me. I slide the card into my pocket and head back to the car. The driver barely glances at me as I settle into the seat, my mind racing.

That guy, or rather, that goon knew exactly where to find me, what my routine is. He would have had no issue sneaking up behind me, brandishing a gun in my face or putting me in a hole six feet under. But he didn’t. That can only mean Fredrick Walters wants my attention, and I’m ashamed to say he’s got it.