by Abigail Cole
Throwing my weight into his body as he lines up to shoot, I knock the ball from his hands and shove him to the ground. Jumping up on my feet, Gare pulls my shorts down and darts off laughing loudly. I pull them up and set my sights on Hux who now has the ball. Wyatt smacks the ball straight out of his hands and dunks it into the hoop with a ‘woop’. A glimpse of blonde outside of the court distracts me.
“Time,” I shout, alerting everyone else to her presence as well. Wyatt’s playful demeanour drops instantly, a scowl pulling at his features as he crosses his arms impatiently. Laying a foam mat onto the manicured lawn by the pool, Avery stretches her arms above her head before doubling over to touch her toes. Her legs are bare in tiny pink shorts, which seems odd since her top half is completely covered with a long-sleeved sweatshirt.
“Can you fuck off? We are playing ball out here.” Wyatt growls at the blonde, causing her to flinch like she hadn’t even noticed we were out here.
“I have a yoga session,” she seethes back, her eyes quickly roaming over our heaving bared chests and taut muscles. An older woman walks out of the house to join her, with long silver hair and a rolled mat under her arm. Avery turns her back on us and proceeds with her stretches at the instruction of her teacher.
“Let’s finish this, I’m starving.” Gare snatches the ball from the ground and starts to run for the hoop. We all turn and dive at him in unison, yanking him down from various points on his body. Axel boots the ball from his hands and dives after it, aiming his shot before Wyatt knocks the ball from his grip too. His gaze darts to Avery in warrior pose which is all I needed to swipe his legs out from under him. Plucking the ball from his grasp, Hux tackles me roughly which causes my hold on the ball to loosen. Gare scoops it up and throws it’s directly into the hoop with a whoosh.
“Now let’s eat!” He cheers himself, practically skipping towards the house while Hux gives me a hand up. Axel’s arm lands across my shoulders as the four of us leave the court commenting on the good game we’ve just had. I try not to notice Avery’s downward-facing dog as we pass, her hair spilling onto the floor and rounded ass high in the air. A low whistle from Hux says he noticed it too, gaining him a punch to the chest from Wyatt. This guard business would be so much easier if Avery weren’t so easy on the eye, and flexible too apparently.
Avery
I wake to my alarm, rolling onto my back as I briefly forget about the scabbing tattoo covering my back. Lurching upright with a hiss, I grab the tub of hydrating aftercare cream I purchased at the studio from my bedside cabinet and walk into my bathroom. Remembering to lock the opposite door, I strip off my pyjama top to see it has been ruined by excess ink bleeding into the fabric. Twisting as much as possible, I apply a thick layer of cream over the Phoenix, which is a fitting image considering how much the healing process of it is burning.
Walking back into my room topless, I lie on my bed for a while to let the cream soak in before dressing in a usual baggy hoodie and cropped Lycra pants. I overdid it in yoga last night, so I’ll have to be careful with my ballet class this afternoon not to overstretch my healing tattoo.
Combing the tangles out of my hair, I brush my teeth and unlock the door to the guest bedroom. The blonde bed head I’ve come to learn as Huxley bursts into the bathroom, nearly knocking me flying. He rushes to the toilet and starts to relieve himself with a groan before I’ve even left the room.
“Oh ew!” I complain, slamming closed the door between us. Shaking my head, I still briefly as I thought I saw a darkened figure standing amongst the bushes across the lawns beyond my window. Walking onto the balcony, I can’t see anything unusual so I pass it off as a trick of my mind and head for the kitchen to eat before my piano teacher arrives. I’ve missed my classes these past few weeks, needing the distraction for my grief. Academic studies are on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with extracurricular activities on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sliding onto the bar stool, Susie plates up hash browns and creamy scrambled eggs before handing it to me alongside a perfectly brewed cup of tea.
The cook has worked for the Hughes for 14 years, as she keeps reminding me. A lovely woman with ebony skin and a beautiful smile. Her hair is always changing, currently sporting a slick long ponytail of hazel extensions. Other than her, there’s always a guard by the main gate, an on-call driver and cleaners that visit every weekday.
Shovelling down my food, aware I’m running slightly late, I thank Susie for breakfast and ignore the looks of the boys entering the kitchen as I barge my way out. Heading over to the grand piano Nixon had bought for me the first Christmas I was here, I prop up the lid and slide onto the velvet covered bench. Pressing a few keys to check the tuning, I wait patiently for Adam to arrive with his binder of music sheets we’ve been practising. Wyatt strolls past so I ignore him, looking anywhere he isn’t.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” he stops further into the living room and turning back to face me with a cunning smile. “I cancelled all of your lessons for the foreseeable future.” My mouth gapes open.
“Why would you do that?” I say in a quiet voice, shock and panic fleeting through me. My routine is what keeps me levelled, without it I won’t know what to do with myself.
“How can I protect you if you aren’t always by my side?” He says loudly, touching his chest in fake concern. Moving closer, he bends to whisper in my ear. “You’ve had enough luxury out of this family. If I have to be stuck in hell, so do you.” His warm breath over my ear makes me shudder, giving him the impression I’m scared judging by his cruel chuckle. Beginning to walk away, I shoot up from the stool to confront him.
“Well if I don’t have tutors, who’s going to teach me?” I smack my hands against my sides in exasperation.
“I can teach you a few things,” Huxley passes through the room, bobbing his eyebrows at me and earning himself a well-deserved smack around the back of the head from Wyatt. Without giving me a real answer, the pair continue into the kitchen, grabbing some water bottles and fruit.
“Okay fine.” I shout over to Wyatt, “I’ll play along, but some parts of my schedule are not up for negotiation.” My stern voice forces him return to the living room. Cocking his eyebrow, he folds his arms and waits for me to continue. “I have therapy at three and self-defence at four on Thursdays, and Meg stays over every Friday to Sunday night.” I’m sure it wasn’t coincidence Nixon scheduled an hour of pummelling a punching bag straight after my therapy sessions, allowing me to physically vent my emotions after Elena has worked on bringing them to the surface.
“You can have your therapy and sleepovers. We will handle your self-defence classes.” The rest of his pack leaves the kitchen on cue to stand behind him, each one with the look on menace in their eyes.
Refusing to be rattled, I fake a curtsey. “What shall I do now then, oh great one?”
“We are setting up in the study. Bring your laptop and leave your sarcasm.” The group pass me as a unit, following the corridor beside the piano towards the back of the mansion. Holding my groan in until they are far enough away to not hear it, I hang my head in defeat. The study is one of my favourite rooms, and they are going to ruin it for me.
Appearing in the doorway a short while later with my laptop, textbooks and pencil case in my arms, I take in the recent additions to the room. The long Maplewood table that lines the centre has various armchairs from around the house surrounding it. Protein shake bottles and snacks line the sideboard on the left, its rich colour matching the exposed wooden panels on the walls. A huge bay window at the back of the room lets the sunlight flood in to illuminate the group studying in silence.
To the right, there’s a winding staircase leading to the upper level where the back wall holds floor to ceiling bookshelves. A full-length purple beanbag bed is just visible against the railing that lines the balcony, enticing me to spread eagle on it with a book and ignore the dipshits below.
Taking one of the chairs instead, a cream cushioned seat with deep wooden flourishes lining th
e back, I switch on my laptop. Emails immediately ping through as I log in, supplying me with weeks’ worth of work. One email from Adam begins ‘Dear Miss Hughes, I am sorry to hear about your unfortunate relapse. Mourning is a long and painful process which I understand very well.’ Wyatt clearly forgot to mention he has been conjuring a backstory for my sudden cancellations. Finding sheet music attached to the email, I click to print from the wireless printer in Nixon’s office next door.
Deciding to start with English Literature, I send a quick message to Meg’s Facebook messenger, reminding her to pick me up at four and open my textbook to the requested page. Studying a poem by Thomas Hardy, I work through the tasks set whilst trying to ignore the males around me.
Wyatt’s wearing a black basketball jersey with yellow lettering, a slight crease in between his eyebrows as he studies his screen. Dax is fiddling with his curly hair with one hand while writing with the other. Solving maths equations with his left, Axel’s right arm is pressed against Huxley’s, whose hair is pulled up into a top knot. Garrett has glasses over his hazel eyes to read his screen, which should look stupid but only makes him hotter in my opinion. These guys aren’t dumb jocks; they are educated as well as drop-dead gorgeous which has my lady parts singing some kind of opera I wasn’t aware she knew.
Vibrations against the table have us all checking our phones, but it’s Wyatt who accepts the call and promptly leaves the room. The rest of his gang decide this is a good time for a snack break, abandoning their work to grab bags of crisps and their shakes. I roll my neck, hiding a yawn in my sleeve as I move onto English Language.
Reading a passage with my cheek leaning on my hand, a Cheeto hits me on the cheek and drops onto my keyboard. Glaring at a laughing Garrett, I pick up the orange snack and eat it. Turning towards him, I open my mouth wide which he plays along with, trying to flick Cheeto’s into my mouth. Huxley joins in, getting a hole in one with a cluster of popcorn. Smiling and chewing, Wyatt storms back in with a face of thunder.
“That was my father. He has to travel to Mexico for business and wants me to collect the ashes from the crematorium. I guess I should clear some space on the fireplace.” His bland tone pisses me off, as if he’s discussing a runner-up prize instead of our mother.
“But mum wanted- “
“She wasn’t your mom! You were just a charity case she took in to boost her reputation.” Wyatt shouts at me, slamming his fist on the table. The other guys refuse to meet my eye, intent on pretending they are all suddenly deaf. Dropping the conversation, sensing it is pointless to argue, I return to my creative writing assignment. Wyatt has only ever seen what he wants to see, but I know the truth. My mum was the main reason I pulled through from my past, she loved me in a way no one else could.
∞∞∞
Rolling up in her pink BMW, I sigh happily at the sight of my best friend after the lack of conversation I’ve had today. Spending the rest of the afternoon in silence was more distracting than helpful, my irritation at losing my daily structure running too high to concentrate. And I get the joys of doing it all over again tomorrow.
Jumping up into her passenger seat, Wyatt magically appears by my window. Rolling it down, I blow a large bubble of gum and let it pop in his face with a smirk. His answering expression is deadly, but I just can’t bring myself to care.
“Where are you going?” he demands. Meg leans over me, her smile sickly sweet and wider than usual.
“We volunteer at a soup kitchen on Tuesday evenings.” His green eyes flick between us, seeming unsure if she is serious. Neither Meg nor I were born into money, so we need to give back, otherwise our fortunes in life seem like a waste. Wyatt moves to the back door and hops into the vehicle, slamming the door loudly.
“Let’s go then,” he taps the back of Meg’s seat. I look at her worriedly as she smooths the car out of the drive and into the streets without having much choice. So much for our girl time. I lean over to crank up the music and slump back in my seat, flinching at the contact on my tender back. I need to stop doing that.
Parking in a shopping mall car park, we leave Meg’s car safely in plain sight of CCTV and walk the rest of the way downtown. Wyatt keeps hot on our tails, his golden chain and leather jacket sticking out like a sore thumb as we journey further into dingy back alleys. Skipping down the stone steps to enter via the kitchen, Maria welcomes us with a group hug. Her eyes fall on Wyatt with interest.
“We brought you some muscle tonight, Maria.” The short, plump woman gushes, barging past us to brazenly stroke Wyatt’s chest despite being in her 40’s. Giggling, Meg and I walk to the lockers on the far right. Removing our hoodies, we place them into a locker along with our bags and phones. I hold my hand out for an approaching Wyatt’s jacket.
“What if someone steals it?” He asks suspiciously. I roll my eyes and drag it from his shoulders. I don’t miss how Meg quickly checks him out before turning away.
“Then they must need it more than we do. You can easily buy another one.” Closing the locker, Maria brings over our aprons and hair nets. Wyatt’s face is so comical, I’m almost enjoying myself. He follows our lead, stretching the net over his perfectly styled quiff and tying the apron around his middle.
“What’s on the menu?” Meg asks as we are directed towards the stainless-steel counter. An open sack of potatoes sits at one end, with chopping boards and peelers scattered beside it.
“Chicken casserole tonight. If you girls don’t mind peeling, I could use you for serving.” Maria says to Wyatt. His shoulders have eased a little and he gives Maria a wink which makes her blush. Linking her arms in his, she pulls him out of the kitchen into the main hall. Meg and I fall into easy chat about the past two days, my best friend particularly desperate for details on the topless basketball match I couldn’t help to drool over from a guest bedroom window. We make plans to stay in this Friday night, knowing my watchdogs won’t let me go to a frat party while they are around. Hopefully, Nixon returns soon so they can leave, and I can resume my usual routine.
Finally finishing with the huge bag of spuds, with only four blue plasters covering my knuckles from where I caught myself with the peeler, we head out in search for Wyatt. Pushing through the door, I find him dishing out casserole with a large ladle into the bowls of the queuing homeless. He smiles and jokes easily, seeming like a regular volunteer.
Meg places a Styrofoam cup of tea into my hands as we move to sit amongst the crowd, hidden from Wyatt’s view. But I can see him. Unable to tear my gaze away, it’s as if I’m actually seeing him for the first time. Joy fills his green eyes, his perfectly straight teeth glinting in the overhead light. Corded shoulder muscles bunch beneath his white t-shirt and his biceps bulge as he lifts the heavy, metal drum with ease to replace it for a fresh one. His eyes search for us through the crowd, a small smile pulling the corner of my mouth up as he finds me. A scowl contorts his features and I instantly hate him again.
Wyatt
A knock on the door distracts me from my work, forcing me to quickly jot down the notes in my mind before they escape and never return. I’m currently working through a theory to prove the success of an algorithm I invented for my final that’s due next week. I’m more pissed about not being able to use the college’s resources than missing the end of year parties, since I’ve spent months working on this and want it to be perfect.
Susie opens the study door, pushing a trolley on wheels into the room with lunch for us all. Glancing at my watch, I realise it’s almost 2pm so she must have given up on waiting for us to come and get it ourselves. Shuffling my papers into a neat pile, I place them inside my laptop before closing it and move it aside to accept the plate being passed down the line to me.
Avery is at the opposite end of the table to me, not having said a word to me since we arrived at the soup kitchen yesterday evening. She hasn’t even looked at me all day, and I don’t know why that annoys me but it sure as shit does. I want her quaking in her boots whenever I’m around, bowing to my
every whim.
The heap of mac ‘n’ cheese topped with crumbled bacon smells heavenly, making my stomach growl with sudden hunger. I decided to forgo the many, many snack breaks the others have been taking all morning, wanting to actually complete my work rather than avoid it.
A ping sounds across the table, drawing Avery’s attention to her phone. Standing and lifting her plate, she says “Nixon wants me to call him,” before leaving the room without waiting for a response. We all dive into our food, the noisy sounds of chewing filling the space.
“Don’t you think it’s weird that she called your mom mom, but she calls your dad Nixon?” Huxley ponders out loud, tapping his fork against his lips thoughtfully.
“Something about her previous father raping her or some shit,” I shrug. Cutlery around the table clatters loudly as it’s dropped, a tense silence following which I ignore and continue to shovel the pasta into my mouth.
“Dude, that’s dark.” Dax breathes. I huff, not giving a shit how she ended up here. Just pissed she did and seems intent on ruining my life. Noticing Axel’s stiffness, I internally kick myself for not thinking before running my mouth like that when he’s in the room.
“Sorry Axe,” I say, feeling shitty. He shakes his head in a ‘no biggie’ kind of way, but the ghosts of his past flicker across his eyes as he’s lost to his thoughts. Placing my fork down, I carry my plate over to take the seat Avery has vacated. Scooting closer, I push my thigh against his while Gare also copies on the other side. Seeming to come back to the present, he continues to eat.
“Enough studying for today. Let’s go out and do something fun.” Hux says, sensing we all need a break. I sift through my mind to think of what I used to like doing around here when I was a child, the perfect place coming to mind.