Page 18 of Riot Reunion
Back in New Hampshire, I saw the residents of Riot House interact in many different ways. Pax, Wren and Dash baited each other constantly. They argued and bickered like siblings. They scuffled and threw punches from time to time, too, but throughout their posturing and bravado, they were never really serious. This is the first time I've ever seen genuine hurt on Pax’s face.
I think Wren realizes that his friend is actually upset the moment I do. He hangs his head, letting out a deep breath. “You're right. That was a shitty thing to say. I apologize.”
Pax draws his greatcoat around him, driving his hands angrily into his pockets. He works his jaw, before shrugging abruptly and sagging back down onto the couch. “Whatever, man. I wanna talk to your girl. If that's all right with you.”
“Uh, I'm right here? Shouldn't you be askingmeif you can talk to me?”
Wren snorts, rocking on his heels. “She's right. I'm not her keeper.”
“Maybe not. But you make for a pretty aggressive bodyguard,” Pax argues. “I wouldn't dare address her directly without your permission first. You might tear my goddamn throat out.”
“Fuck’s sake! I just apologized, didn't I?”
“Enough.” I hurry over to the table by the window, grabbing Wren’s leather jacket from the back of the chair where he left it yesterday. He might not have needed it earlier when we went to the new place, but he’ll definitely need it now that the sun’s gone down. I hand it to him, thrusting it into his chest. “Go and sign the paperwork. We'll get no peace until he’s said whatever he needs to say. You standing here sniping back and forth with him isn't going to move this along any quicker. Maybe practice those grocery shopping skills we talked about earlier, so we have a stocked fridge.”
Pax snorts, then quickly marshals his face into a blank expression, pointedly gazing around the hotel room—anywhere but directly at Wren.
“Also, grab us a bottle of wine or something,” I add.
“All right. Fine. I’ll be back soon.You’dbetter not make a nuisance of yourself,” Wren says, frowning at Pax.
“Fuck, dude! D’you think I'm gonnahurther? I wanna talk to her about Presley. You wanna stay and listen to me gripe about my love life, please be my fucking guest. Otherwise, go grab your girlfriend a bottle of wine. I’ll behave myself, I promise.”
Wren blanches at the suggestion that he stay and engage in such a conversation. Hastily, he shoves his arms into his jacket and tugs it on, patting down his pockets, checking for his keys, phone and wallet. “I'll be back in half an hour,” he mutters.
“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Pax mutters.
***
HavePax and I ever been alone together? Like, stuck in a room, within four enclosed walls, behind a closed door? No Wren? No Presley? No Carrie? I can't for the life of me think that we have. Once upon a time, the prospect would have been terrifying; he was irascible and straight-up vile when I first met him. I’ve watched him change, though. He’d never admit it, but I saw him soften when things ramped up between him and Presley. He became infinitely more likable. And that speech he gave at graduation? That shit actually made melikehim a little.
It's strange seeing him here, in these unlikely surroundings, though. And after not seeing him for months, with my life and my sole attention revolving around Harvard and Wren, I can't say that I know what the fuck to do with the brooding presence of Pax Davis anymore.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees, covering his mouth with his hands for a second. His breath rushes out between his fingers; the sound makes him less infuriating and a touch more human. He winces when he looks up at me, and I get the impression that this is just as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. He wouldnotbe here unless he really had to be. “I s’pose I should start at the beginning or something?” he offers.
“Probably be a good idea, yeah.”
“Aren't you gonna sit down or something?”
I'm hovering; I haven't really known what to do withmyself, either. “I s’pose that’d be a good idea, too,” I mutter under my breath. Pax relaxes a little once I've taken a seat in the armchair on the opposite side of the coffee table, but his relief only appears to last a moment. He scowls darkly, scrubbing his hands over the top of his shaved head, frustration ebbing out of him in waves.
“This was a stupid fucking idea. I don't know what I was thinking. I should go.” He coils in on himself, folding his massive frame over, and I know that he's about to launch himself up and fly out of the hotel room. Much as I would like Wren to come back and for us to spend the rest of our afternoon in bed together, this issue Pax has, whatever it is, must be important. He wouldn't be struggling like this if it wasn't. And Presley’s my friend. If this has something to do with her, then I would be a complete piece of shit if I didn't hear him out.
“Stop overthinking. Just spit it out. You’ll only be back here later on tonight, once you've convinced yourself it's a good idea to talk again. I'd rather get this out of the way now rather than go back and forth.”
Pax’s scowl deepens. “I hope you aren’t planning on becoming a doctor. Your bedside manner’s fucking terrible.”
“Nope. Not a doctor. I hadn't planned on a career as a psychotherapist, either, but it seems like I’m supposed to pretend I’m one tonight. Can we move this along, please? Is it your internship with that photographer?”
He pulls a disgusted face. “I am not anintern. I’m Cross’s understudy. And no, that’s all going fine. He cut me loose until after Thanksgiving. He wants me to go to Japan with him after that, but I told him no.”
“How come? Japan would be cool.”
“I’ve been a thousand times. And it’d mean six months away—whatever, it doesn’t fucking matter.”
“Is it your mom, then? Has the cancer come back?”
“No, she’s healthy as fuck now. I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came to talk about Chase.”
