Earning the Cut (Riding the Line Series, Prequel) (5 page)

***

“Dax!”

“Huh?”

Trish sounded totally exasperated. “You seem like you’re a million miles away lately.”

“Sorry.” He was starting to feel like nothing he did pleased her anymore.

Trish changed her tone, perhaps picking up on his growing sense of detachment. “Look, I know things have been crazy lately…”

He looked at her, a silent challenge in his eyes. “Crazy? I guess you could call it that.”

“Well, what would you call it?”

He shrugged.

“Dax, what’s bugging you? Just tell me! You-you’re not the same lately.”

“Not the same, or not turning into the guy you want me to be fast enough?” The words just spilled out of his mouth even though he had been afraid to address this particular topic. Dax could hear the hurt lacing his own voice as he watched the surprise and defensiveness flash across Trish’s face.

“That’s not fair! I want you to be happy…”

“I’d be happy if we didn’t have to sneak around all the time.”

Trish sighed, her hand dropping to her sides. “Dax, you know my parents are super strict…”

“We’ve been together almost a year, Trish, and you still haven’t told them about us.”

“Look, things will be different soon! I’ll be able to do what I want once I’m out of that house, you know that, Dax!”

He shrugged. “I want to be with you, darlin’. You know that I do. It just seems like we are going in opposite directions. I don’t know if I’m the right guy for you…or your family.” Oddly, images of that biker bar flashed in his brain, mingling with a memories o a faded photo of his father…

Family was important. If he had one like Trish’s, he sure as hell wouldn’t jeopardize it. He couldn’t expect her to just drop them the minute she went off to college, and he knew that no matter what he achieved or became, her daddy wouldn’t ever accept him. He had seen Mr. Wagner a few times since that fateful evening outside the library, and each time, the man had been polite but the disdainful look that he tried to hide didn’t escape Dax. He had seen that look before. Wagner despised him.

Trish looked so dejected, standing there, chewing on her bottom lip. He noted that she didn’t argue with him about not being right for her and it hurt. A lot. He tried to affect a nonchalant attitude. “Later, darlin’.” He kissed her on the mouth, intending a short but sweet peck. The same thing happened that always did when he put his mouth on her. Desire, hot and heavy, exploded in his veins, and he pulled her hard against his chest.

“Dax!” she gasped, arching into him like her life depended on his touch. His hands were under her shirt, tugging at her nipples just the way she liked it. Her hands slipped inside his jeans, stroking him to full erection right there behind the building. They wrapped up in each other, oblivious to their surroundings, when the teacher on duty poked her head around the corner and let out a loud, shocked gasp.

***

Busted. In every sense of the word. It was Dax’s second strike. Bodecker wasn’t happy but to his credit, the man didn’t even raise his voice. His foster father worked at a steel mill, and Dax knew that the man wasn’t about to take the afternoon off to deal with his wayward fake kid. He’d have to explain himself when he got home, and the chores would be layered on thick. That was the drill. No big deal. Not so for Trish. Before Maxwell had finished lecturing them, her father showed up in a suit and tie, his face red with anger. Dax watched as the principal overtly tried to placate the man. Dax bristled with tension as Trish’s dad tossed a few lawsuit threats at Maxwell for failing to ensure that the school had adequate supervision. When Mr. Wagner roughly grabbed Trish by the arm, Dax couldn’t stop himself from standing up after she squeaked from the rough handling.

“Sir, please. This is my fault.”

“Well that’s pretty obvious, Mr. Jamison. Now, get out of my way, and stay away from my daughter.”

“Daddy…”

“Don’t you start in Trishelle. Do you think this is how I wanted to spend my day? Having my business luncheon interrupted to pick up my daughter for acting like a whore in school?!”

Dax stiffened. “Don’t talk to her like that. This isn’t her fault…”

Mr. Wagner turned, staring into Dax’s eyes, as though he was willing him to back down. Dax didn’t. Instead, he felt a surge of dominant fire running through him, heating his blood. He felt himself swelling up with competitive male aggression. It didn’t occur to him that he was a kid and Wagner was an older man. Dax’s eyes fixated on the hand that gripped Trish so brutally and his jaw tensed. Unbeknownst to him, although he didn’t really move, the corded muscles beneath Dax’s tee shirt had started to bulge, his stance had shifted slightly, and his eyes had narrowed. He took a step towards Wagner, his posture emphasizing that while the man had years on him, Dax had height. And rage.

“Take your fucking hands off of her.” Each word was enunciated in a carefully controlled manner, but inside, Dax battled a violent, red haze that threatened to take him over, that incited him to do some very bad things.

Mr. Wagner stopped in his tracks, a grim smile on his face. “Are you threatening me, you little pissant? You’re just some gutter trash throwaway, not fit to lick my fucking boots. Now listen, and listen good. Stay the fuck away from my daughter, or you’ll be sorry.”

The red tide bubbled up and over. His hands clenched into fists by his sides and his jaw twitched dangerously. Dax took another measured step forward, imagining his hands wrapping around Wagner’s throat, squeezing until he shut the fuck up permanently. There was a dull roaring in his ears, blotting out most of the sound in the room. Dimly, he heard Trish’s voice. Like a siren song cutting through the mist, her desperate plea reached him, lured him, and gave him pause for one brief second-a second that most likely prevented him from ruining the rest of his life.

“Dax! No!” She sounded so sweetly haunted. His vision cleared momentarily and he saw that her father had released her arm, stepping in front of Trish to face Dax.

Then, the principal stepped between them, becoming a wholly unexpected ally. Maxwell pushed Dax into his office and hastily kicked the door shut with his foot. “Don’t do it, kid!” he hissed. “That man has more money than half the town. He’ll have you thrown in a cell somewhere and you won’t get out for a decade. Daxter! Are you listening to me?”

Dax was disoriented and full of an aggressive, angry energy that literally compelled him to violence. He whirled involuntarily, putting his fist clear through the thin wall of Maxwell’s office. The shock jolted him back to reality. His vision cleared more when a searing pain shot down his wrist. He pulled his hand from the hole in the wall and turned to Maxwell, who suddenly seemed so much smaller, and weaker than before. The principal put his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Calm down, kid.” His voice was steady, confident that Dax would obey his command to relax. He seemed to know not to touch Dax-that the contact would send him into a spiral of adrenaline and violence. Instead Maxwell gestured to the chair opposite his desk and then took a seat himself, waiting for Dax to gain control of himself.

Breathing hard, Dax pushed his uninjured hand into his hair as a painful throb began to beat in his right fist.
What the fuck just happened?!
He had lost control. Big time. Even as he struggled to rein in his turbulent, raw emotions, Dax knew instinctively that he needed to learn to keep himself in check. He had been holding things in for so long and that was dangerous. Dax shook his head, trying to clear the remaining fog from his brain.
Goddamn it.
I am so fucked now.

***

It was nothing short of a miracle that he wasn’t expelled. For some inexplicable reason, Maxwell seemed to take his side. He didn’t even get in trouble for the busted wall. Dax gathered that Maxwell didn’t like Mr. Wagner very much. The Wagners were privileged. Trish’s dad came from old money and he had an entitled attitude where he just expected everyone to do what he wanted. It was pretty obvious that he wanted Dax kicked out. But, Maxwell stood his ground, citing that although his behavior with Trish had certainly been inappropriate, Dax hadn’t violated any of the school’s rules. By a hair. If Maxwell hadn’t intervened, Dax would have ripped Wagner’s throat out and all three of the men involved in the altercation knew that.

Dax was grateful that he had been given a pass so he tried to play by the rules. He went to class, but his attention and interest waned sharply when Trish didn’t show up at school. She didn’t call. She just…disappeared. At home, Mr. Bodecker gave him a ridiculous, bullshit lecture about abstinence and hormones.
Just because you ain’t getting laid, don’t mean I gotta be a freaking monk!

Still, he managed to hold himself in check. It was like his own personal quest to reign himself in to prove to himself that he could do it. A few weeks went by. He was going crazy with his need to see her. Dax also wrestled with his own concern. He knew that most kids didn’t go through what he had endured as a child, but Mr. Wagner had been really angry at Trish…because of him. Would her father yell at her? Hit her? Worse? Dax was having trouble sleeping at night. Each day at school, he waited with a growing desperation to see with his own two eyes and assure himself that she was okay. She was out of school for a week, and then the weeks became a month.

Finally, Dax couldn’t take it anymore. He had been on his best behavior for what seemed like an eternity. One night when the moon was ominously full, he crept down the trellis and biked up the long hill that led to her house. His legs pumped like pistons, and his chest heaved with the effort, but he didn’t stop until he was sweating like a gorilla right outside Trish’s window. Her light was the only one illuminating the mansion she lived in.

Recalling the silky strands of long, blond hair that he had run his fingers through so many times, Dax was reminded of Rapunzel and her tower. Rapunzel’s tower was different from Trish’s however. While Rapunzel had no way to get in or out of her prison, Trish’s had a strong lattice of ivy that stretched from the ground to the balcony supporting the very window she studied beneath. He could see her silhouette as she bent low over her textbook. Dax took a deep breath, and then began to climb.

***

“Dax! You shouldn’t be here!” Trish looked nervously over her shoulder as though she expected the cavalry to burst in at any moment.

“I had to see you. Are you okay?” He pulled her to him, running his hands over her back, her ribcage, inspecting her face, in a way that may have seemed tender but in reality he was checking her for signs of abuse. Dax nearly sighed with relief when he found no evidence of tender spots or bruises.

Trish shivered under his perusal. “I’m fine.”

“Where have you been?”

She looked away. “Home study. My dad pulled me out of school.”

“For how long?”

She looked away. “Until graduation.”

“What the fuck? Are you serious?”

“Shhh! My parents’ room is just down the hall!”

Dax tried to tug her into his arms. He wanted, no
needed
the reaffirmation that her touch always provided. Trish pulled away, jerking out of his grasp as though his touch burned her. Her rejection cut him deep—much deeper than he cared to admit. He released her immediately, feeling bereft. “You don’t want me to touch you?” His voice was hushed and somewhat accusatory. The low volume partially disguised the anxiety he was unable to hide quite successfully.

Trish was visibly anxious; the tension rolled from her in waves that seemed to reach up and slap him right in the face. Dax was young and inexperienced with the kinds of decisions people with choices and opportunities made. Even though he couldn’t quite see how he fit in her life, he still wanted her. He knew what she was going to say before she said it. He also knew why, but her words still hurt him. Hurt was not something he allowed himself to feel for very long.

“I just need a little more time, Dax. I think it’s best if we don’t see each other right now.”

“What the fuck does that mean? We’re done?” Now he was angry. Anger was better than pain. He could tell Trish was upset too, torn maybe. Still, s
he
was the one throwing away what they had. She had no right to be angry.

Trish’s shoulders sagged. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. There was a long silence. “I don’t want to be done.” When she finally looked at him, her eyes were filled with tears. “But, I don’t have a choice. At least, not right now.”

He was pissed off and utterly confused. “Why?”

He could hear the hurt and betrayal in his own voice, and he was more angered by that than he was at the fact that she was throwing him away. Just like everyone else had. Dax realized that he had never totally opened up to Trish. In retrospect, he supposed that there was an emotional barrier of some kind in place that prevented him from doing so. Now he was glad he hadn’t made himself vulnerable to more hurt. It may have been the fact that she could never understand, it may have been his own muddled sense of worth and blurry self-identity, but whatever it was had stopped him from telling her about his childhood. She didn’t-
couldn’t
-know how much her behavior felt like a betrayal.

“It’s either you or school, Dax. If I…if I see you again, my dad won’t help me. Med school is expensive. It’s my dream. You know that…” she trailed off as he turned away and made for the open window.

“Dax!”

He paused. “There’s nothing left to say. I won’t stand in the way of your dreams.”

“Dax…” he could hear the sorrow in her voice and it gave him pause.

He hesitated only a minute before stiffening his spine and slipping back out the open window, hearing her breath catch in a stifled sob before he ghosted down the trellis.
Wrong choice, darlin’.
It hurt, being kicked to the side of her future like so much trash. But, somewhere within Dax, he knew he would never feel right about holding the girl back. Trish was smart and she had options. She was meant for more than a small town life. Her daddy was right. He was just some gutter trash masquerading as a fucking frat boy wannabe. It wasn’t him. It had never been him. And it never would be.