If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(61)

There is a loud sigh on the other end.

“I’ve always been afraid of this day,” Paul admits and he sounds distant and sad. “I’ve never known what to do, how to prevent it.”

“You can’t prevent it,” I tell him incredulously. “Pax saw something tragic and devastating. He should have dealt with it years ago with the help of a therapist. To allow him to suppress it was unforgivable. I’m sorry. I don’t know you and I’m sorry to judge, but I know him. And he didn’t deserve this. Any of this.”

There is a long silence. Finally Paul speaks again.

“You don’t understand. After Susanna died, Pax refused to speak of it. I did hire a therapist and Pax refused to speak to him. He had nightmares, but he would never describe them or tell me what they were about. I couldn’t help him because he wouldn’t let me.”

“He wouldn’t talk about it because the man who killed your wife threatened Pax. He told him that he would hunt him down and kill him, that if he spoke of it to anyone, that Pax would go to jail for killing his own mother. As you can imagine, he’s not dealing with it well. At all.”

“Do you think I should come?” Paul sounds hesitant. I am appalled and shocked. If it was me and Pax was my child, I would be here immediately. I wouldn’t ask, I wouldn’t take no for an answer. But Paul Tate is hesitating. I can’t believe it.

“You do whatever you feel you need to,” I tell him angrily before I hang up on him. I know I didn’t make the best first impression with Pax’s father, but I don’t care. How can he be so selfish?

As I gather my wits, I hear a thumping sound, loud and frequent.

Whump.

Whump.

Whump.

I crane my ears and follow the noise. It’s coming from downstairs in the basement. Curious, I pad lightly down the wooden stairs and find Pax in his underwear, punching a punching bag that is hanging from a ceiling beam. I didn’t even know it was down here. But then, I’ve never had a reason to be down here before.

He’s sweaty and his muscles bulge and flex as he repeatedly punches at the bag. Over and over, with all of his strength. He doesn’t even notice that I’m standing here watching him. He’s focused solely in front of him.

Whump.

Whump.

Whump.

My heart feels shredded and I suck in a breath. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him. I tiptoe back up the stairs and slide to the floor, sitting against the wall. I can hear him still, punching. Over and over and over. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself, or tear a muscle. But I know he won’t stop, not even if I ask him.

I sit for at least another hour, my elbows on my knees, my face in my hands. And then the pounding finally stops. There is silence and then there are footsteps on the stairs.

I look up just as Pax emerges.

He looks down at me, then bends down and scoops me up.

He’s sweaty, but I don’t care. I lean my face against his chest.

Wordlessly, he carries me up the stairs and into the bedroom where he strips off his underwear and reaches for me. I’m surprised, but I fold into his arms. If this is the way he needs comforted, then so be it. I’ll do anything to take the hurt off of his face.

His lips crush mine, hard. I kiss him back, but I quickly realize that this isn’t going to be our normal sex. This is hard and primal. Anguished. He bends me onto the bed, and slides into me from behind with no foreplay. I wince just a bit, but it doesn’t take long until I am wet.

He slides in and out; hard, rough, fast.

He grips my ass and thrusts harder.

My hands grip the comforter on the bed and I stare at it. Pax isn’t really here with me. This isn’t him. This is just him trying to block everything out. I know that, even if he isn’t telling me.

It doesn’t take long before he shudders against me; straining, pushing.

He falls with me to the bed and when I look at him, for just a second, it is Pax again. His eyes are open and wide.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me softly, clutching me. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

I don’t know who he is really apologizing to, me or maybe even his mom. I just don’t know. But I don’t care. I stroke his back as he shakes until he finally is still. He lies there for the longest time before he climbs out of bed and closes the bedroom door behind him.

I don’t follow. I know he wants to be alone. And for the life of me, I don’t know how to help him.




[page]
Chapter Twenty-One


Pax



Hours turn into days.

I don’t know how many and I don’t give a f*ck. All I know is that I can’t turn the emotions off and I can’t un-see the memories that are in my head now.

My father tries to call, but I don’t speak with him. Mila answers and turns to me but I look away. I don’t want to hear from him. Fuck him.

Dr. Tyler tries to call. But I won’t speak with him, either. Mila asks, then she turns away, speaking softly to the doctor. But I don’t give a f*ck about that, either. They can say what they want.

And Mila.

Fuck.

My stomach clenches at the thought of Mila. I’m causing her pain, too. Because I can’t be the person she needs me to be right now. I can’t drive back to the doctor’s and sit with her while we discuss my feelings. Instead, I’m an *. Because that’s who I am. That’s what I do best. There for a while, I tried to pretend that I wasn’t, but my true colors are showing now.