Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(14)

“Oh…” She hits a few numbers then hits “end.” “No, that’s not it.” Her face screws up again. “Hmmm…six four five eight…” She mumbles to herself until she finally presses the phone to her ear. “Mindy, hey, I’m on Killian’s phone. I left my stuff in your car.” She picks at a loose thread on my bedspread. “Yeah, well that didn’t work out. He was busy entertaining. I mean it was his party. No, I’m not mad. I…” Her eyes dart to mine. “Listen. Since you’re still out and I don’t have my key to get into our place, I’m gonna crash with Kill.”

I can’t hear the questions that Mindy’s asking, but the series of yeses and noes makes me think they’re about me, and Axelle’s trying to answer without letting on. I grab my glasses from my bedside table, grateful for the return of clear vision. I’ve only been wearing contacts for a couple of years now. Cameron was cool enough to include medical insurance when he hired me in my senior year of high school, so I could finally afford them. Still love wearing my glasses though. Never do enjoy sticking my fingers in my eyes.

“You too. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She hits “end” and passes me the phone.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, she ended up ditching the party for this football player she’s been skeezing on. She’s staying with him tonight.”

“You still tired or do you want to watch—?”

“I know what you think of me.” Her mouth is pulled in a tight line, and her spine is straight and rigid. “You don’t have to keep saving me.”

I blink and my brain scatters to figure out how I missed the first part of this conversation, because that just came out of nowhere. “What is it you think I think of you?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes dramatically. “Please, Kill. I’m the world’s most pathetic damsel in distress.”

“You’re wrong. That’s not what I think.”

“You said it yourself. I put myself in unsafe situations, and I’m constantly requiring your white knighthood.”

I push up my glasses, hoping to cover the twitch of my lips. “My white knighthood?”

She glares, but she’s grinning so it doesn’t count. “You know what I mean.”

I scratch my head. “I don’t, but let me fill you in on something while we’re on the topic of what I think about you.”

She sucks in a shaky breath like she’s prepping for a verbal smack down.

“I think you’ve been through more in twenty years of life than most people twice your age. You witnessed your mother being abused, heard her being raped by a man who you thought up until you were sixteen-years-old was your father. Then you find out the man who really is your father took advantage of your mom, knew she got pregnant, and took off anyway.” Her eyes tear up, but I can’t stop now. She needs to hear this. “Things are looking up for you now. You got a great stepdad who’d f*cking kill for you; he loves you so much. You got a baby brother who acts like you’re happiness incarnate, and you get to watch that…”

A soft whimper falls from her lips.

“You get to watch the perfect family you always wanted, and even though you’re a part of it, you still feel like you don’t belong. Like you’re the outsider looking in. And that…” I shrug. “That kills you.”

She nods slowly as a single tear falls down her face.

“I don’t see a damsel in distress in need of saving. I see a woman just trying to make sense of her life, searching for where she fits in it all. I’d like to be there while she does that, make sure she stays in one piece so that when she does finally grab hold of her piece of happiness, she does it alive and healthy enough to enjoy it.”

Her hands cup her face, and her shoulders shake with silent cries.

“Come here.” I pull her down to my chest and wrap her up in my arms. She’s not a big girl, average height and the perfect weight—fit with healthy curves—but in my arms she feels tiny.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her cheek is pressed to my pec and her arm thrown over my gut. “You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”

Friend.

I cringe hard at that word.

Fuck, at this rate, the way I keep shoving myself into the friend zone, it’s all I’ll ever be.





Four





Axelle





I don’t know which woke me up first, the sound of breakfast being made or the smell of bacon and melted butter. Either way the first thing I see when I crack open my eyes is Killian’s back while he works at his tiny stove, mixing up what I hope will be breakfast for two.

I snuggle deeper into the Downey-scented sheets and admire his entire backside: his broad shoulders that pull the thin fabric of a worn T-shirt taut, the mounds of muscle that jump in his back as he moves effortlessly in the small space of his kitchenette, rippling triceps, and the narrow waist that flares into a healthy round ass that holds up his heather-gray sweatpants. God bless squats.

He moves to put something in the fridge and catches me staring. Those whiskey-colored eyes shine behind black-framed glasses, his dark hair falls over his forehead, and the side of his mouth lifts in a crooked grin. “Morning.”