Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

50. Chapter Fifty

I sink into the couch, my body melting into the cushions as the faint sound of music hums in the distance. The sports rally is still in full swing but I volunteered to bring Axel home early. He wasn’t the only one starting to zone out, the boys tearing across the court seeming to suck the energy from the crowd’s cheering. Despite the call of joining Axel in bed, I thought I’d steal myself some time to wind down.

Twirling the spoon in my hand, I lick off the last bit of ice cream and lean my head back, eyes half-closed. The air smells like vanilla, the scent emanating from the candle I lit to accompany my unhealthy late night snack. A rare moment of peace I’ve created for myself.

Tonight’s sports event is something I’ve never experienced before. The hustle and bustle, the noise, the sheer amount of people. And for once, I didn’t shy away or look for the nearest escape. I thrived in it, cheering on my men. Pride doesn’t even come close to how I felt watching them dominate the court, with Axel huddled into my side for warmth and comfort.

However, now it’s time for calm. I’m fully peopled out. A small sense of fulfillment tugs at my chest as I scroll through my phone, aimlessly flicking through some of the photos I took. Most are blurred, action shots, the flood lights smearing across mine and Axel’s selfie smiles. I’ve been getting better at remembering to capture odd moments.

Heading further back into my camera roll, I find the random images I’ve collected over the weeks. Garrett enjoying an overly large hot dog more than anyone should, Dax reading quietly in the bath. There’s a picture of Huxley that I took from the upstairs window while he was working out in the yard, and another of Axel enjoying a face mask with cucumber over his eyes. I giggle at that one.

I stop on a photo of Wyatt. It’s not one I took, but that I stole from Garrett’s phone. The image fills my screen of Wyatt from a few years ago, mid-laugh, his green eyes wild and alive. He seems so happy. I can’t help but stare at it longer than I should, tracing the outline of his face with my gaze. Despite the dam we’ve broken through, he still doesn’t smile for me like that. No, all I get are dark looks that promise death by cock and asphyxiation apparently.

I shake the thought away, setting my phone down as I stretch, feeling that wonderful ache in my muscles. The ache of dancing on the sidelines and throwing my arms in the air every time Huxley flashed his abs at me. We weren’t haunted by the whispers on campus or the pressure of keeping it all together. We could just be ourselves, laughing and playful.

Settling in to watch the candle flicker, I find a smile working its way onto my face. Just me and the quiet hum of the world outside. The moment feels fragile, like glass that could shatter with the smallest touch. And then, of course, it does.

My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me, the screen lighting up with a text from an unknown number. Not what I expected. I left Meg six voicemails yesterday, wanting to check in. I get the distinct impression she’s avoiding me, but I want to arrange a meet-up soon. My heart aches without her. Lifting the device, I swipe to unlock it casually, the words barely registering.

Avery. I thought you should know your debt has been paid and I’m relenting. You’re a lucky girl. Wyatt sure cares for you. All the best, Dad.

Signed with an emoji of a rose.

I blink a few times, rereading the sentences in different orders until I shoot upright. My spoon clambers to the ground but I’m on my feet, my hand trembling around the phone. Not even Nixon calls himself ‘Dad’. My legs are suddenly moving, propelling me up the stairs two at a time. That delicious burn I felt from dancing quickly becomes a burden, slowing me as I skid down the hallway and let myself straight into Wyatt’s room.

He’s in there, freshly showered and hunched over his desk in deep thought, pen in hand. A scowl is cemented into his features, shadows clinging to his eyes. He opted out of the sport’s event, but he sure as shit hasn’t slept either. Upon seeing me, Wyatt bursts out of his seat, putting himself between me and the desk.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” he asks, his voice missing its usual sharpness. It was more of a whine. I don’t care for his fatigue as I storm forward.

“What the fuck is this?” My heart thunders in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins as I shove my phone in Wyatt’s face, my hand trembling. My rational side is screaming to take a breath, slow down and gather all the facts, but the betrayal surging through me is louder.

Wyatt squints, quickly absorbing the words before his posture sags. For a split second, he just stands there, looking utterly defeated.

"Ahh fuck," he mutters beneath his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. Ahh fuck is right. I can't hold back the rage rising inside me.

“What have you done?” I demand, refusing to let him look away from the phone. The evidence is in black and white, and I dare him to try to talk his way out of it. Wyatt exhales, turning away from me as if he can avoid this confrontation by sheer force of will.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” My voice cracks, and I hate how weak I sound. I don’t feel weak. I feel like a bomb ready to detonate. Wyatt presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he can block out reality for just a moment longer. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, controlled, but there’s a tremor beneath it, like he’s struggling for the words.

“I took care of it. I handled it so you wouldn’t have to.”

I stare at him, disbelief and fury warring inside me. “Took care of what? Don’t mess me around on this. What the hell did you do?” He turns back to me then, his green eyes locking onto mine with that dangerous intensity I know too well. Gone is the moment of vulnerability, the shame he was wallowing in.

“I did what I had to. I wasn’t going to let him have a hold over you anymore. I wasn’t going to let him keep using you as leverage. So I made a deal.” I feel the ground shifting beneath me, like the world I’ve been standing on isn’t as solid as I thought.

“What kind of deal? With whom?” I ask, but I already know the answer. I’m holding it in my hand, I just don’t want to believe it. Wyatt’s jaw tightens, and just when I think he’s going to keep stonewalling me, he drops his gaze to the floor, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fredrick Walters.” The name hits me like a slap to the face. I take a step back, the full weight of it crashing down on me.

“You went to him? Wyatt, are you out of your freaking mind?” Wyatt flinches at the accusation, but there’s no denial.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“There is always a choice!” My voice rises, echoing off the walls of his room. “You went behind my back and made decisions on my behalf! And for what? To play the hero? Is this your big redemption?!” I’m shouting and I don’t care. The others will know soon enough when I ask them to help dig a six foot hole with me in the yard.

Wyatt’s face hardens, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “This isn’t about being a hero. This is about protecting you from your father. From the shit he’s done to you.” My eyes blur with angry tears.

“And since when have you actually given a shit?” I toss my phone onto the bed to free up my hands, promptly shoving them into Wyatt’s chest. I don’t even know what he’s done, what he’s sacrificed and I’m already angry about it. This was my fight. “Tell me what you did.”

“I…” Wyatt’s voice cracks with raw emotion. He looks awful, haunted. “I gave him Meg.”

The entire world around me goes silent. My arms fall to my sides, immobilizing my entire body. Wyatt is still talking but no sounds reach me. I gave him Meg. The admission swirls around me, bouncing off the walls of my mind, but I can’t make sense of them. My chest tightens, each breath suddenly harder to take, my vision narrowing as though the room is closing in on me.

“Meg?” I repeat, but the word feels distant. My body moves without permission, stumbling forward, searching for something solid to hold on to. Gripping the edge of Wyatt’s desk, I struggle to remain upright. I’m going to be sick.

Through the stinging behind my eyes, a collection of letters cover the desk. Wyatt snaps into action, rushing to push aside whatever he was hunched over when I entered. A vague recognition toys with my numbed senses and I slam my hand down before he can snatch it away.

“What the fuck…” my voice is raspy, wheezing out of me. The writing, the cursive. I know this writing style. Some of the words stick out, a lengthy apology begging for forgiveness, but nothing is as apparent as the signature at the bottom. XO. “Wyatt?”

The panic I was already struggling against claws harder at my throat, relentless to steal my voice. My skin feels too tight, my lungs too small. I can’t breathe. I back up to the wall, my legs giving out. He’s right there, alarmed green eyes inches from my face. Kneeling in front of me, his hands are everywhere, looking for a way to help when that’s the exact opposite they’re doing. “Don’t touch me,” I squirm away. “I don’t know you. I don’t…I don’t know you,” I repeat over and over.

“Avery, listen to me. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I never wanted you to find out.” His voice cracks, full of guilt and desperation, but it only makes it worse. The edges of my vision blur as I try to suck in air, each breath more shallow than the last. My throat constricts, and I claw at my chest, trying to make room for air, but nothing helps. He realizes what’s happening at the same time I do.

“Fucking hell. Breathe with me.” Wyatt’s voice is more insistent now, his hands finally gripping my shoulders, grounding me just enough to focus on him. “Breathe, Avery. Just breathe.” He presses his forehead to mine, his warmth seeping into my skin. He’s close, too close, but I’m not sure if I can push him away.

“I did it for you,” Wyatt whispers, his breath mingling with mine as he holds me there, not letting go. “I did it to keep you safe.”

I barely hear him over the rush of blood pounding in my ears, the rapid fire of my heart slamming against my ribcage. I draw my knees up to my chest and bury my face in my hands, squeezing my eyes shut, willing this to be a nightmare I wake up from. I want to scream at him, hit him, do something, anything, but my body won’t cooperate. I’m stuck in this loop, spiraling into a void that keeps dragging me down. My head spins, a sickening vertigo pulling me deeper into the panic that takes over, blanketing me in the only way I know how to protect myself.

He traded my life for Meg’s. He gave her to Fredrick.