Page 138

CHAPTER 138

A FRIENDLY FACE

MARGAUX

D ex arrives at Sunset Cay just after noon, his presence impossible to miss. He strides out of the airport with a leather jacket slung over his shoulder, tattoos curling up his arms and disappearing under the fabric. His long brown hair is tied back in a messy man bun, and his sharp green-and-hazel eyes scan the arrivals area until they land on me.

My breath catches. He’s even hotter than I remembered—or imagined. His outdated social media photos don’t do him justice. He radiates a quiet confidence, and an intensity that makes my pulse quicken.

“Margaux,” he says, his voice low and warm, and suddenly, every feeling I’ve been trying to suppress comes rushing back.

“Dex,” I manage, my voice small and shaky.

He pulls me into a hug—brief but firm, grounding. “It’s so good to see you,” he says, pulling back to look at me. His gaze is filled with concern, and I can’t help but avert mine, afraid of what he might see if he looks too closely.

We don’t say much as we drive back to the apartment. Dex doesn’t push, doesn’t ask questions I’m not ready to answer. He’s just here. Solid. A quiet, protective presence that feels like a shield against the lingering chaos.

Later, Dex checks into a hotel nearby, giving me space without even needing to be asked. It’s considerate, just like him.

But as the evening wears on, the fear creeps back in. I haven’t received official word that Timmy has left the Cay yet, and every creak of the apartment feels like a harbinger of his return.

I text Dex.

Me:

Can you come stay in the spare room?

His reply is immediate.

Dex:

Of course. Be there in ten.

When he arrives, he’s carrying his duffel bag and wearing a loose tank top that shows off even more tattoos. He doesn’t comment on the nervous energy radiating from me. He just gives me a small smile and heads to the spare room without hesitation.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he says, and the reassurance in his voice feels like a warm blanket.

For days, I avoid looking directly at Dex for too long. His intense, searching gaze is unnerving, like he can see through all the walls I’ve carefully built around myself—every time he’s glanced at me, I’ve looked away.

Scared of what I’ll find if I look too deeply, because I trusted the kindness in Timmy’s eyes, and look where that got me.

But tonight, as we sit on the mattress that serves as my bed and couch, surrounded by the remnants of my old life—items to be packed, donated, or trashed—I finally meet his eyes. I see him fully for the first time, and I’m ready for him to see me—all of me—no matter what that means.

Even if he can’t handle my darkness, I’m willing to risk it all.

His gaze doesn’t waver, either. It’s steady, calm, but full of something I can’t quite name.

Not pity.

Not judgment.

Just… understanding.

I swallow hard. “I need to tell you everything,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he says simply, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m here. Take your time.”

The words pour out of me, more descriptive than before, seventeen months of pain and fear spilling into the quiet space between us.

I tell him about the insults, the violence, the isolation.

Every dark detail that I’ve kept locked away.

There are moments when I falter, when the shame threatens to choke me. “I’m sorry I keep talking about it,” I say, tears streaming down my face.

“Don’t be sorry,” he replies, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re perfect just the way you are. You can tell me anything, and I’ll always be here to listen.”

His words wrap around me like armor, shielding me from the weight of my own memories.

The next morning, I’m heading to the bathroom when I catch Dex walking out of the back room, a towel slung low around his hips. His torso is a masterpiece—defined muscles, tattoos that tell stories I’d love to know. My face flushes, and I immediately look away.

“Morning,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusts the towel.

“Morning,” I mumble, rushing past him before I embarrass myself further.

The heat in my cheeks lingers for hours.

We spend the next few days tackling the apartment. Dex doesn’t complain once, even when we’re hauling heavy boxes or sorting through piles of junk. His humor lightens the mood, and for the first time in months, I find myself laughing without it being tinged by nervousness.

The truck, unsurprisingly, isn’t worth anything. After a few failed attempts to sell it, we end up donating it. “One less thing to worry about,” Dex says, patting the hood as we walk away.

Thank god I never have to look at that ugly thing again.

The day of our flight arrives, and the apartment is empty now, stripped of everything that made it mine. As I stand in the doorway for the last time, memories flood back—both good and bad.

The nights I spent laughing with Timmy, believing in the illusion he created.

The mornings I woke up terrified, the swoosh of the door signaling another fight.

The times I doubted myself, wondering if I was the problem.

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away. I’m not that person anymore. I’m stronger now.

Dex steps up beside me, his hand brushing mine. “Ready?”

I nod, taking one last look before turning away. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

As we walk to the car, Sabre nestled safely in his carrier, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. This horrific phase of my life is over, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited to see what comes next.

And maybe Dex will be part of my next chapter.