“Yeah...sorry,” she mutters, without remorse.
Dax no longer rubs circles into my back, but his hand stays in place. I crush the fingers of his other within mine. Did he grab my hand, or did I snatch up his? I’m not sure, but I guess it might have been me. I loosen my death grip. The instant I do, he squeezes reassuringly. I try to sit up, hiding won’t help anything, but when I try to lift my body, I meet with resistance. Dax splays out his hand and presses me down firmly.
“Guys, Jules isn’t doing too well. Can you just give us a minute so she can get her breath back without an audience?”
I don’t hear their response to his request, only the squeaks and clacking of their shoes followed by the crack of the plaster wall and the click of the door closing behind them. Dax waits a moment before lifting his hand from my back and extricating his fingers from mine. I sit up slowly and risk a glance in his direction. He seems pissed.
“I think you’d better explain why you freaked-the-fuck-out when Ben walked in, don’t you?”
Dax paces back and forth across the room. Is pacing an inherited trait? Just like Tom in the stairwell earlier, he takes four steps and then turns on his heel. The swish of the turn squeaks the worn linoleum.
“Are you absolutely sure it was him?”
“Yes. Blue eyes, fair hair, that scar on his chin. I didn’t see him properly at first; he hid on the steps, but he was the one in the corridor and the one I saw reflected in the mirror.” There is no doubt in my mind. Cold eyes and sharp, calculating features. It was him. My heart hammers in my chest; another confirmation that it’s him.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” He slams the side of his fist against the wall as he turns, barely breaking his stride.
“You don’t believe me?” I guess I can’t blame him. He knows that guy. He probably trusts him—and who am I? A stranger from the Vale. A nobody. Still, the truth doesn’t stop his words from stinging. For some reason, it’s important that he believes me. I want him to trust me.
He stops pacing and turns to face me, sucking in air through his nose and huffing it all out before speaking rapidly. “Even if I doubted your memory of events, even if I dismissed it all as shock, there’s no denying your physical reaction to Ben when he walked in. You damn near ripped my hand off.”
“Sorry.”
He steps closer, his shoes touching the end of my sneakers. His hands come down upon my shoulders, his grip gentle. “Don’t apologise.” He speaks softly, encouraging me to look up, read his face and see what he really means. “Do you know why they were there, in the Tower?” He draws the question out, keeping eye contact with me the entire time.
“No.” I shake my head. “I heard them talking. It sounded like they expected trouble. One of them mentioned telling Dax…you…but the other said not to bother you with it.” I was paraphrasing but knew I’d covered the basics. So why did I feel like I was missing something? Something important…
“Did he get a good look at you?”
“Ben?” I ask. Dax nods in response. I watch lines between his brow deepen and realise my response is important.
“I’m not sure. He didn’t see me in the corridor, but they both saw me on the stairs. Just for a second, but that might have been enough.” I only saw him for that moment in a reflection, but I’d recognised him easily enough. My chances aren’t great.
Dax stares over my head. His eyes narrow, his black lashes obscure his eyes. He licks his lips from left to right and gives himself a brief nod. “If he questions you, play dumb. You found Tom when you came back from the store, got it?”
I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but I scrutinise every micro movement and inflection in his voice. I watch it all and know without a doubt he’s formed a plan.
“Sure.”
“You don’t know anything about anything.”
I shrug, bob my head in a casual nod, and curl my lip in a basicsmirk. “Pretty sure I’ve been trying to tell you that all night.”
He chuckles. “Good.”
A moment of sheer silence passes between us. Silences are so rare in my life that I expect them to feel peaceful; brief moments to exhale between the gulping gasps that life forces me to swallow. The silence between Dax and me feels heavy. Burdened. Full. There are words unspoken, secrets, lies, fears, concerns, and a myriad of possibilities in this moment that are too cumbersome to bear, so I hammer through it with a question.
“Are you sending me home now?”
Although his eyes haven’t left my face, my question pulls him back from somewhere else. He shakes his head in a ‘no’ gesture; the opposite of what I expect, and resumes pacing again, though somewhat slower than before.
“I probably should, for your own sake, but I want to see what happens. Will you stay a little longer?”
“You’re giving me the choice?”
“Of course! I know I seem heavy-handed, Jules, but my actions are in your best interest. I’d never force you to do anything.” Doesn’t he realise he makes saying no really difficult? I tried back at Carlo’s bar and instead of listening to me or Aiden, he came down personally to cajole me with his charm.
“Just heavy-handed coercion, huh?” I try to make it sound like a joke, but the words carry too much truth to sound light-hearted.
