Ignite (The Disciples #4) - Cassandra Robbins Page 0,87
earlier happiness of being free of all my secrets seems to fade. I’m left with the knowledge that he’s honest—but that’s crap.
Axel is always honest and loyal. He has it on his neck, so it has to be true. Yet somehow I think that’s reserved for his club. So, I can ask, but I need to be ready for his truths. Which is why I don’t. So, he doesn’t have to tell me a lie, or even worse, the truth.
“Open up your gifts.” He sounds aggravated.
“Okay,” I snap, then feel guilty as I sit on the bed and unwrap the large box. Inside are several wrapped presents. As I look up at him, my heart races.
But he’s on his phone, ignoring me, and it’s like I’ve gone back in time. Visions of my dad doing this very thing on too many birthdays haunt me.
Old wounds that stay hidden seem to bubble up this morning. Memories of waking up early and being scolded to train before I can have presents flit through my mind. And then the disappointment that I didn’t dance hard enough. I was too delicate and prone to back spasms, which meant I was weak. I was the reason they had to spend so much money for dresses and shoes and training…
“Antoinette?” he says, bringing my attention back to the room. Blinking, I try to focus on him.
“You okay? What’s going on with you?” He sets down the phone, his gaze seeming to dissect my brain. I want to scream, Good luck, but I need him. He keeps the ghosts away.
Reaching down like a robot, I unwrap the first box. It’s brand new Asics running shoes. All he wanted was to run with me, give me presents, and celebrate my birthday. I want to cry because he’s not mad that I lied to him, and he doesn’t feel sorry for me about my dad murdering my mom.
He accepts me and I’m acting crazy because he has some woman’s initials on his hand. But those initials make me feel insecure and that can lead to all sorts of bad things.
“Thank you,” I say at last.
He’s texting again and looks up, his sapphire eyes almost black. He’s angry.
Perfect.
Flustered, I lift out another present. He’s not talking, so I might as well continue. That way I can feel extra guilty.
Unwrapping it, my eyes fill with tears at the sight—it’s an ornate pink box of my French perfume.
“How?” I blink the tears away or at least try.
“I have my ways.” He leans down and brushes my lips. “Happy birthday, baby. Keep going.”
“Axel.” My voice catches as I grab another. This one is long and rectangular. I slowly unwrap it knowing what it is as soon as I see the shiny black box.
Three pairs of satin pointe ballet shoes spill into my lap. Black, pink, and white, they’re like precious gems. My fingers trace the silky satin. I haven’t had new pointe shoes since the tragedy.
“They’re magnificent.” I nod, sniffing. As I keep my head down, a single, fat teardrop saturates the delicate pink tissue paper.
“You know I don’t dance like this anymore. I’ve lost too many years to be a professional.” I toss my hair back and look up at the ceiling, clearing my eyes before I look at him.
“You want to open the rest later?”
Not able to trust myself to speak over the large lump in my throat, I nod. Ten minutes ago, he was laughing and slapping my ass for a run. Now the room feels uncomfortable because he doesn’t have a clue how to deal with me and my feelings.
“You want to tell me what’s going on with you? I know you think I’m a mind reader, but sometimes even I need you to speak.”
“Would it make a difference to you? Because I would, Axel. I would tell you everything.” I can’t believe I said that.
He frowns as if he’s back to trying to figure me out.
“No answer?” I cock my head so I can see his eyes. “Do you really want my truths?” I wait to see if he dares to speak.
“I’m not going to fight with you, darlin’.”
And that’s it.
“I’m not your darlin’, Axel. I’m not your baby or girl or anything. Why? Because you don’t have those. Everyone knows this. I have been warned multiple times to not upset you.”
I lift my fingers to count off all the things I haven’t said. He bought me incredible, thoughtful gifts and I haven’t even unwrapped half of them.