Novels by BlixenIX

Bryson’s POVA week. A full week of complete radio silence, and I was losing my mind.I'd tried everything. But every single time, she’d shut me down without even looking my way. I'd even decided to approach her at lunch yesterday.Before I’d even sat down, she'd taken one look at me, stood up, and walked away. Threw her entire lunch in the trash without a word.That's when I knew I was screwed.The respectful approach wasn't working. Hell, the disrespectful approach wasn't working either. Nothing was working, and I was running out of time before I did something really stupid.Like what I was doing right now.I stood at the edge of the Whitmores' backyard, hidden behind the old oak tree that used to be our secret meeting spot when we were kids. The pool glowed blue in the late afternoon light, and I could hear the rhythmic sound of someone swimming laps.This was insane. Completely insane. If her parents caught me, if any of the neighbors saw me, if she called the cops...But I'd bee

Avery’s POVThe front door closed behind me harder than I intended, and I immediately heard my parents' conversation stop dead in the kitchen.Crap.I dropped my backpack and pressed my back against the door, trying to get my breathing under control.The hallway whispers had followed me all the way home, echoing in my head like a broken record.Can't believe she came back... after what happened... wonder if she thinks people forgot..."Avery?" Mom's voice, carefully neutral. "How was school, honey?"I could hear them both holding their breath, waiting for me to either break down or lie to their faces. The same dance we'd been doing for two years."Fine," I called back, hating how my voice cracked slightly on the word.Dad appeared in the doorway, still in his work shirt but with his sleeves rolled up. His eyes did that quick scan thing checking for tears, for signs that I was falling apart again."Just fine?" he asked, and I could hear all the questions he wasn't asking.Do you want t

Bryson's POV"Gray! What the hell was that?"Coach Williams' voice boomed across the practice field, and I realized I'd just let what should have been an easy completion slip right through my fingers.Again."Sorry, Coach," I called back, jogging to retrieve the ball from where it had bounced harmlessly into the end zone."Sorry doesn't win games against North Ridge!" he barked. "Get your head in the game or get off my field!"I gritted my teeth and got back into position. Third time I'd fucked up a simple throw in the last twenty minutes.My timing was off, my focus was shot, and everyone could tell."Dude, what's going on with you today?" Mason asked as we huddled up for the next play. "You're playing like you've never seen a football before.""I'm fine," I muttered, avoiding his eyes.But I wasn't.Every time I tried to focus on the play call or read the defense, my mind wandered back to that moment in the chemistry hallway. The way Avery had looked at me, really looked at me, for

Avery’s POVI'd forgotten just how loud Westfield High hallways could be.The cacophony of slamming locker doors, overlapping conversations, and sneakers squeaking against linoleum hit me like a wave as I walked through the front doors. For a moment, I almost turned around and walked right back out.But I didn't come back here to run away again.I lifted my chin and kept walking, focusing on the steady rhythm of my breathing like Dr. Martinez had taught me. In for four counts, hold for four, out for four.It was a technique that had gotten me through panic attacks and sleepless nights and the first day at my new school second semester sophomore year when everything felt impossible.I could handle this."...is that really her?""...thought she moved away...""...looks so different..."The whispers followed me down the hallway like ghosts.I kept my expression neutral, my pace steady, my eyes forward. I'd learned how to do this. I’d learned how to walk through a crowd like their stares

Bryson’s POVThe rest of the morning dragged by like torture.I sat through Civics trying to focus on Mr. Gardener's lecture about the electoral college, but all I could think about was the way Avery had looked right through me in the hallway.Like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.By lunch, I was wound so tight I could barely sit still."Dude, what's your deal today?" Cooper asked as I stabbed my pizza with probably more violence than necessary. "You've been weird since this morning.""He's probably just thinking about the game coming up," Brooke said, sliding into the seat next to me and pressing a kiss to my cheek. Her strawberry lip gloss left a sticky residue that I had to resist wiping off immediately. "You know how he gets."She was wearing her cheerleading uniform, all crisp pleats and school colors, her brunette hair pulled back in a perfect ponytail.Everything about Brooke was perfect, put together, exactly what everyone expected the quarterback's girlfriend to look like

First Grade - SeptemberThe new boy sat by himself at the reading carpet, clutching a worn dinosaur backpack and looking like he might cry.Avery noticed him right away because she noticed everything like how she noticed that Mrs. Peterson always wore the same purple earrings on Mondays, or how Tommy Dillard picked his nose when he thought nobody was looking.But this boy looked sad, and Avery didn't like when people were sad.She abandoned her spot next to Jessica and plopped down cross-legged beside him, her rainbow socks peeking out from under her denim overalls."Hi!" she said brightly, adjusting her glasses that were always sliding down her nose. "I'm Avery.""Av-ee," he tried to repeat her name, which came out sounding like "Avy.""No silly!" Avery giggled. "It's Av-er-y.""Avy," he said again, still not quite getting it right. “Av-eeey.”Avery giggled again."You know what? I like Avy!" she decided, bouncing a little. "It sounds nice so you can call me Avy instead. But only you,

I woke to voices drifting through the hallway. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and for a disorienting moment I forgot where I was. Then reality crashed back: the penthouse, the contract, the man who'd upended my life with a marriage document.I fumbled for my phone. 8:57 AM. Three missed calls from work and a text that made my stomach plummet.Lena, consider this your final notice. Don't bother coming in. We'll mail your final check. - RichardFired.I wasn't surprised. Of course. Not with everything that had happened. But still the text hit me harder than I'd expected.Even though I'd hated my job. I mean it had barely paid the bills, and my boss was an ass. Still, it was a part of my life. Another piece that was now gone.A soft knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts. "Mrs. Black?" The voice was crisp, professional, touched with a slight British accent. "I'm Mrs. Carrow. Mr. Black asked me to assist you this morning."I pulled on my robe, fingers fumbling with the belt, and o

My phone buzzed with another text from that same unknown number: Car downstairs. You have five minutes.That was it. No pleasantries, just another command delivered with the same cold efficiency that seemed to define everything about him.I looked around my apartment one last time, my fingers trailing along the chipped counter where I'd eaten countless meals alone. At the peeling paint I'd grown used to, the stack of unpaid bills that would no longer matter, the crossword puzzle still lying unfinished on my table.Twenty-six years of life, and it all fit into two suitcases and a cardboard box.I touched the locket at my throat. It was my mother's silver heart, now warm against my skin. Whatever came next, I'd carry this piece of her with me.The car waiting outside was sleek, black, expensive. The driver took my bags without a word, his movements precise and militant. I settled into leather seats that probably cost more than my entire salary, feeling like an imposter in someone else's

I'd barely slept.The package sat on my nightstand like a ticking bomb, wrapped in innocent brown paper that gave no hint of its contents or importance. Every time I'd closed my eyes, I saw Damien's face. Those cold, merciless eyes that had looked at me like I was already dead if I failed to comply.At 7:30 am, I stood in my tiny bathroom, staring at my reflection. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my hands still trembled slightly as I brushed my teeth. In twelve hours, my entire life had been upended by a man who spoke in commands and owned people like they belonged on chessboards.At 8:15, my phone buzzed. A text from my boss, Richard. Where are you? The Jameson files need to be processed by 10 AM!My stomach fell. I was usually at work by now, deep within the mundane world of insurance claims and deadlines. But now…I typed back: Family emergency. Will be in soon.It wasn't entirely a lie. My family, Alex and Mara, were in danger. That made this an emergency, even if Richard would

Damien Black stepped into my apartment and suddenly the cramped space felt even smaller. His dark eyes swept over the peeling walls and scattered bills with detached assessment before settling on me.I stumbled backward, my back hitting the kitchen counter. My pulse hammered so violently I was sure he could hear it. Up close, he was devastating in a way the magazines hadn't captured.Six-foot-five of controlled danger wrapped in a suit that probably cost more than I made in a year. Every line of his body radiated money and power and the kind of authority that had never been questioned.His gaze dropped to the contract scattered across my floor."You read it.""I—" The words barely made it past my constricted throat. "I — I — Don’t understand. ”“What don’t you understand?”“Why are you threatening me?”Those dark eyes held mine, studying me until I had to resist the urge to fidget under the weight of his attention. "Sign it.”"Sign it?" My voice cracked on the word. "You're threatening

My apartment door was unlocked.I stood in the hallway staring at the handle, keys in my hand, trying to remember if I'd locked it this morning. I must have. I always locked it.….except I'd overslept and had to run out, late for work. Maybe I just forgot then?I pushed the door open slowly, my pulse racing.I checked around the room. The peeling paint. Dripping faucet. Bills stacked on my counter that I could barely afford to pay. The crossword puzzle I'd abandoned last night beside a mug of coffee.Nothing was missing. Nothing looked…different.I shook my head and sighed. See? Paranoid.I took off my coat and shoved the last envelope onto the pile of bills without opening it. Probably another rejection letter from the design firms that had been ignoring my portfolio for months.After the fifteenth, “thank you for your interest, but…” I'd learned to expect disappointment.Still, each letter felt like another door slamming shut on the life I'd dreamed of building.Interior design h