The Stripper And The Anxiety-riddled Dork

The Gentle Timbre Cracks

Chapter 52

Dallas blinked when she had caught sight of Dax sitting atop of Codi's childhood bed. He didn't bother to look up from the old and ragged stuffed tiger he was holding between his hands, it's left eye having been replaced with a bright red button.

"Dax." Dallas greeted quietly, her husband simply running a thumb down the tiger's snout.

She shifted slightly at the tense silence, it having been between them since Codi had cut them out of her life.

"Tigers." Dax finally spoke to his wife, Dallas's brows rising slightly at the word.

The first time he's spoken to her in a near month and he says 'Tigers'?

"What about Tigers?" She asked, Dax tapping the plushie's button-eye.

"Those are her favorite animal. Tigers." He answered as he waved a hand to gesture at the room. Dallas roamed her gaze over the unused room, her throat bobbing slightly when she saw the several tiger plushies that were in it.

A burnt orange one being on Codi's old dresser, a large brown-orange one sitting atop of the window seat to the right of the room with a smaller rainbow-colored one inbetween the larger one's front legs, and finally a white tiger bobblehead resting atop of Codi's desk.

A noticeable layer of dust was on the bobblehead along with the rest of the desk.

"5 years, Dallas. 5 years that we hadn't seen our daughter..." He spoke. His voice was soft.

Dallas had never heard his voice rise in anger. Something she had been glad Codi had seemed to inherit from her father.

That soft voice.

So calming.

So charming.

Such a gentle timbre.

One that seemingly could never fall to rage or sorrow no matter the circumstances.

Oh how wrong she was.

It was simply a voice that had a higher tolerance for the bullshittery that life could come up with.

And for Codi, her tolerance had ran out that day at the hotel.

And for Dax...Well, Dallas wasn't sure but she felt that the limit was finally approaching.

"...We never bothered to go over there. To America. We expected her to come to us. Why is that?" Dax continued, his grip on the worn plushie tightening.

Dallas stayed quiet.

She knew these questions were rhetorical.

"Why did we expect her to come to us? Why did we expect our daughter to put in all of the effort?" His voice grew rough.

That soft tone starting to become jagged.

"We barely know a thing about her." The jaggedness became sharper. His hand tightened even more, the plushie started to seem like a stress-ball now.

"Why did you hit her."

Razor. Sharp.

No more softness.

No malleable edges.

Dax's soft voice was gone now. Completely evaporated.

And in its place stood a blade. One so sharp even God would fear it.

Dallas licked her lips as she looked away from her husband, his glare focused on her profile.

"I...I don't-"