Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
A stupid smile pulls at my lips, and I’m out the door before I even have a moment to really think about all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. As I reach the grand stairs that lead up to the front door, I glance back at the driver, who gives me an encouraging nod.
Making my way up to the top, I settle in front of the keypad and stare at it as a bundle of nervousness pulses in my stomach. “Ahhh, shit,” I mutter to myself, reaching toward the keypad. My thumb hovers over the numbers, not wanting to get it wrong and set off some kind of silent alarm.
Okay, so common sense would suggest that the front gate code isn’t going to be the same as the front door code, so considering Axel’s birthday didn’t work on the front gate, I start there, only for the keypad to flash red twice.
“Crap.”
My birthday is unlikely. If this were my home, I’d probably make it Ezra’s birthday, but I doubt Axel would have made the same call. Hmmmm . . . Mom.
A smile pulls at my lips as a wave of confidence crashes over me, and without hesitation, I start entering the code—0622. It flashes green, and I hear the soft click of the front door as it unlocks.
I gape at it as my heart races. Holy shit. I had not expected this to become my day, but fuck it. Nothing’s stopping me from going in now.
Pushing the door open, I slip inside what was once Axel’s home, and the most brilliant warmth settles inside of me. The foyer is huge, but the unmistakable scent of musky dust is thick in the air and has my brows furrowing. Maybe someone hasn’t been living here. It smells like a home that’s been locked up for years, with no sign of life. I make my way deeper through the halls, and as I pass what can only be the home office, I take in the floor-to-ceiling print of Demon’s Curse live on stage against the back wall. Ezra and Axel grin at each other like fucking idiots as every last person in the crowd has their hands in the air. The rest of the office is basically a shrine to the band, and the untouched papers scattered across the desk suggest that the very last person to be here was Axel.
Holy shit. This couldn’t be his untouched home, could it? Has someone staged this office to make it some kind of dedication to the great Axel Stone, or has this home really been sitting here empty for all this time?
The thought puts a jump in my step, and I hurry through the property, desperate to see what else is here. The kitchen and living spaces look like any other home and don’t give away much except the blown-up photograph of me, Axel, and Ezra on the wall—a photo I loved with all my heart until the anger in my soul had me delete the only copy I had off my phone.
Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t linger on it, instead, I head upstairs to the second floor, blown away with every new step I take. This home is incredible. And to think I’d been living out of the back of my car when I could have crashed here, especially on those nights that were below freezing.
I pass a room that looks like a home recording studio, and in the adjacent room is the extraordinary collection of guitars. Axel always considered himself a collector. He liked to have fancy things, and while I don’t really understand what I’m looking at, I know every guitar in this collection would have a story behind it, with an even bigger price tag.
There are a bunch of spare rooms and balconies that look over the huge yard and entertaining area. Not to mention, the pool that’s been kept perfect and looks like it was built for a god. In the summertime, I can only imagine the fun the boys would have had here.
Continuing on my journey, I come to a set of double doors at the end of a hallway, and as I grab them and peel them open, I realize this is Axel’s master bedroom.
A lump instantly forms in my throat as I take in his big, oversized bed, still with the blankets pulled back as though he hadn’t had a chance to make it before leaving. Tears well in my eyes, and I continue through the room, taking in the photo of me, Mom, and Ax on his bedside table. His phone charger still dangles from the outlet, and a glass of water still sits half full.
A suitcase is at the end of his bed, as though he’d just come in from his last tour and dumped his things, not bothering to take a moment to put his shit away. Typical Ax.