AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This was the back she’d wanted to explore earlier in the day, connected to a man she barely knew, with a past she’d never uncovered. She had asked Tristan about him, of course, in between sips of wine on the Victory Tower.
“All you need to know about Dixon can be summed up by one sentence,” he’d replied, bitterness clouding his mirth. “Dixon Leclair has the most beautiful voice in the world.”
She’d looked up, startled and confused.
“He and I grew up together, you know. Whenever Dixon sang, everyone around him stopped. The notes held you like a spell. The notes made you stupid. They made you forget the bad and cling to the good, or they made you forget the good and cling to the bad. He played all who listened, depending on the song, and people followed him for it. He didn’t need the notes, though. He could make you believe you could fly with just a few well-chosen words.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Few do. I’d give my right hand if I could hear him sing again. He doesn’t need a tongue for it, but he won’t, not since they hurt him. He won’t even hum. Assholes knew exactly what they were doing.”
Tristan wouldn’t say more about it, not that night or any night after.
Lila took off her hood. Dixon turned, cocking his head in confusion, a puzzled little smile on his face.
“Sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”
Dixon’s bare feet slapped across the wood floor as he crossed the room, sandwich perched lazily in his hand. Cheetah-print boxer briefs clung to his swimmer’s body.
Lila gulped and tried not to look down.
Dixon took a big bite of his sandwich and stared at her expectantly, sticking his finger in his mouth to move the food under his teeth.
“Avocado and bananas with hot sauce?” she asked, sniffing the air.
Dixon nodded.
“Really? Is it good?”
He grinned and nodded again, pointing at his throat. He had explained once that he could only taste food in his throat and on the little tip of his tongue he had left. He favored strange food combinations, but Tristan had told her once that he’d always been a bit odd about food. That time it had been cream cheese, raisins, pickles, and tuna.
She pointed to his boxer briefs. “They were a gift?”
Dixon shook his head and snapped the waistband. Lila looked down at exactly the wrong moment for a peek.
Or the right one.
Oracle’s light, she was hungry.
Dixon winked.
“Sometimes I just don’t know about you.” She unwound her scarf. It was hot in the room, for the heater had been turned on full blast, rattling between the couches. “May I wait here for Tristan to get back from whatever stupidity he’s up to right now? We could talk or something.”
Lila could think of several things she’d rather do than talk. She wondered if he’d be up for any of them.
Dixon licked his fingers and picked up a pillow from one of the couches, then launched it at Tristan’s closed bedroom door. It landed with a dull thump.
The door opened in a rush. “Damn it, Dixon, what—”
Tristan turned his head, realizing too late that Lila was in the room. He looked down at his black boxer briefs, the only stitch of clothing he wore, revealing a form very much like Dixon’s without the scars. “Didn’t hear you come in,” he grumbled, and slammed the door shut again.
A moment later, he emerged in a pair of black cargo pants and a gray t-shirt. “Turn the damn heater down, Dixon. I’m roasting.”
Dixon shook his head.
“Ass,” Tristan spat, turning off the heater himself. His gaze tracked to Lila. “What are you doing here?”
Dixon scribbled furiously on his notepad. Seconds later he held it up.
