Chapter 34
HE’S ABOUT TO FINALLY TELL ME SOMETHING THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING … #WORSTTIMING
AXEL
I stared at the amber liquid in my glass, watching it catch the low light of my penthouse as I swirled it. The ice clinked against crystal—a sound that still reminded me of my mother’s nervous habit of fidgeting with her jewelry when my father started yelling.
Dakota sat on the sofa, her strawberry-blonde hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders.
The woman who’d driven me crazy for years was looking at me with genuine curiosity rather than the carefully curated sympathy she used for her followers.
She’d asked why. Why I hated her meticulously constructed online persona so much.
It was a fair question. One I’d been avoiding since this fake engagement began.
I downed the whiskey in one burning gulp, buying myself a few more seconds.
“In public, we were the perfect family.” I set the empty glass down with more force than necessary. “My mom never had a hair out of place. She always had crimson-red lipstick on. Always. Never left the house without it. Not even to go to the mailbox.”
Dakota remained silent, her gaze steady on mine.
“You’d never see a wrinkle in her clothes or a chip in her nails.” I pushed up the sleeve of my shirt an inch, absently tracing one of the tattoos that crawled up my forearm. Ink that had been my first act of rebellion against that perfect image.
“Everyone aspired to be like us, at least in our circle.” The muscles along my spine went rigid. “They were always commenting about wishing they had this or they had that.”
I sat down, put my glass on the coffee table, and put my elbows on my knees. “I hated when they said that because it made it so hard to keep my mouth shut. And that was rule number one.” I tapped my finger against the coffee table. “You never showed anybody your weaknesses.”
Dakota’s expression softened, and she reached out like she might touch my hand, but pulled back at the last second. Smart woman. I wasn’t sure I could handle her touch right now.
“Behind closed doors,” I continued, my voice dropping to nearly a whisper, forcing her to lean in, “we were an absolute train wreck.”
I stood abruptly, needing to move, to put distance between us. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the Chicago skyline, twinkling like a promise that never delivered. I pressed my palm against the cool glass.
“My dad cheated often and was quick to anger. My mom hated him.” I stared at my reflection, superimposed over the city lights. “But most of all, they loved fighting. I think they loved fighting more than they loved me.”
When I turned back, Dakota had tears in her eyes. That was the problem with real emotions. They were messy, unpredictable. Nothing like the perfect selfies we all posted.
“I was never abused,” I clarified quickly, shrugging one shoulder.
“Axel …” she started, but I cut her off with a sharp gesture.
“Aside from that,” I continued, “it was a house of horrors. Broken glasses and dinner plates being thrown across the wall.” I closed my eyes briefly, could still hear the crystal shatter, followed by my mother’s perfect, practiced laugh when the neighbors called to check if everything was okay.
“Just a clumsy moment. Everything’s fine here!”
“It’s one of the reasons that when I left that all behind, I didn’t care who saw me for who I really was.
” I ran a hand through my hair, messing it up in a way that would have horrified my mother.
“I was somebody that had no interest in long-term relationships, and I wasn’t going to pretend like I wanted one. ”
I returned to the couch, but didn’t sit, instead bracing my hands on the back of it, needing the physical barrier.
“In fact, I leaned into it. Authenticity and all that, I guess.” My lips curved into a bitter smile. “I never set out to create this image of myself as a playboy. I was just being young and unattached and not afraid to show the truth.”
Dakota nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. “And then the next thing you knew, people were taking photos and putting them online.”
“Exactly.” I nodded. “Maybe it was an act of rebellion, leaning into it. Maybe I enjoyed when my parents would get upset, seeing their son destroying their perfect image.”
The admission cost me, each word feeling like it was being ripped from somewhere deep and private. “Church-going, pearl-clutching, country-club perfection,” I spat. “I don’t know. I suppose it was a way of rebelling while also just being true to myself.”
I fidgeted with my watch.
“That’s why I hated the social media side of your business so much,” I admitted, finally looking directly into her eyes. “Every perfect post, every flawless photo … it reminded me of my mother’s crimson lipstick. Beautiful on the surface, hiding something broken underneath.”
Dakota’s breath caught audibly. “You thought I was like her.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“I did.” Past tense. I let that hang between us, an admission of its own.
Her hand found mine in the space between us, her touch tentative but warm. “And now?” she whispered.
The question lingered, dangerous and full of possibility.
“Now I know you’re not,” I answered.
She swallowed, her shoulders relaxing like this took a tremendous weight off of them. “How did I not know this before?”
Which was fair. She was, after all, Knox’s sister.
And she was friends with Scarlett, who was dating Jace.
Jace, someone in my inner circle, who knew my demons.
But I’d been clear with the guys I considered brothers long ago that my business was my own, and it meant a lot to me that they hadn’t shared my past with anyone.
“Because like you, I don’t like people to see what I keep hidden.”
She seemed to consider this, her beautiful eyes dancing in the orange light of the fire. I knew what she was waiting for: for me to continue with the hardest part to admit.
“My mom started drinking to cope with my father’s verbal cruelty,” I continued. “The constant criticism, the cutting remarks, the way he’d tear her down. I didn’t see that her drinking had become an issue. Not right away at least.” But I should have. “Once I did, I begged her to get help.”
My stomach clenched at the memory of that night. The crystal tumbler in her trembling hand. The way her perfect lipstick had smeared slightly at the corner. The first crack in her flawless facade I’d seen in years.
“Please, Mom.” My voice broke like I was still seventeen instead of a grown man. “I’ll do anything. Please.”
Her eyes, once the same color as mine, were now bloodshot and glassy. They darted toward the window like the neighbors might be watching. Even drunk, even falling apart, she was still performing.
“I don’t want anyone to find out!” She pressed her manicured hand to her mouth like she could stuff the sound back in.
“Who gives a damn what people think, Mom? You need help!” I reached for the glass, but she clutched it tighter.
“I care!” She recoiled. “I don’t want people to see me as a mess. Do you know what the neighbors would say? People at church? We’re the family they aspire to be, Axel.”
My heart shattered. Even now, even like this, it was about the image.
“You’re not a mess, Mom. You have a disease.” I tried to keep my voice gentle, but desperation bled through every word. “A treatable disease.”
She laughed. Bitter, broken. “Do you know what they’d say? Poor Richard. His wife is one of those people. They’d look at your father with pity. They’d whisper about us at church.”
“They’ll see you’re human, Mom. They’ll be proud. I’ll be proud that you took the brave step to seek help.” I moved closer, close enough to smell the vodka on her breath. “Please. I need you here. I can’t sit back and watch something happen to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” She reached for the bottle.
“Please,” I begged, and I felt the tears start, hot and desperate. “If you’re worried what people will think, we can find a discreet treatment facility. We can tell everyone you went on vacation or something. A spa retreat. Whatever story you want.”
Terror filled her eyes. “They’ll find out, Axel. They always do. They gossip, and someone always talks.”
My chest felt like it was caving in. “And that’s more important than me? Than being here for your son?”
The question suspended between us like a guillotine. She looked at me—really looked at me—for the first time in months. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d gotten through.
Then she straightened her shoulders, smoothed her hair, and became the perfect society wife again. “Axel,” she chided, like I was being dramatic, like I was the problem, “nothing’s going to happen.”
I blinked away the memory, forcing myself back to the present, to Dakota’s pain-filled face.
“That was the last thing she ever said to me.” My voice came out raw, scraped hollow.
“Not I love you. Not please forgive me for putting our public image above your needs. Just … ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’ ”
Dakota’s hand flew to her mouth. “Axel …”
“She got behind the wheel that night. Wrapped her car around a tree.” I stared into the fire, watching the flames dance. “The police said she was doing sixty in a thirty-five zone. No skid marks. No attempt to brake.”
The air seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken understanding.
“I replay that conversation almost every day of my life. Wondering if I’d said something different, could I have saved her?”
Dakota stood and crossed to me, her hand settling on my arm. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe if I hadn’t gone along with her compulsive need to continually live a lie …” I let the sentence die. There was no point in finishing it.
And as the silence stretched between us again, Dakota let my profession sink even deeper into her heart, realizing something.
“I had no idea this fake engagement was this hard for you,” she whispered. “No wonder you were so angry with me in the beginning.”
“I was being a jackass.”
“With good reason,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m surprised you went along with it.”
I was too. “I almost backed out on more than one occasion.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My business,” I reminded her. “The employees depending on keeping their jobs. As ex-cons, they’d have a damn hard time finding another. Not to mention the thousands of people they help across the country with reentry services so they can actually rebuild their lives after prison.”
Dakota’s eyes stayed fixed on my face, in awe and fascination. “Was your business inspired by Knox?”
I allowed several seconds to pass. “My mother died because she was too ashamed to get help for her addiction. Society told her that perfect people don’t have problems like that.
” My voice lowered. “Meanwhile, guys like Knox get written off the moment they make one mistake. I built this company for everyone society has decided isn’t worth saving. ”
She shifted, as if the weight of all of this was heavy on her heart. “Still, you must have hated everything about this fake engagement.”
I swept a stray hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her skin, and decided if I was being honest, then I needed to tell her the truth.
“I didn’t hate the idea of spending time with you.”
She smiled slightly, but then her expression fell, her eyes darting to the ground, as if she was processing something profound. It took her several seconds to say it, and when she did, her voice was low, like she was talking to herself more than me.
“This is what I’m personifying.” Dakota’s voice was laced with disgust. “I’m the kind of person who makes your family think they have to be perfect.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is,” she insisted. “But that’s not who I want to be.”
“Sunshine …” I drew my knuckles along her jaw. Her skin was impossibly soft. “Makeup, designer dresses, and good lighting don’t make you responsible for other people’s choices. I’m sorry I ever made you feel like that.”
I could tell she didn’t agree with me, that something fundamental had shifted in her eyes, but to her strong, brave credit, she didn’t belabor the point. I suspected it was because she didn’t want to make this moment about her.
“Everyone is guilty of showing their best side for the cameras, Dakota. Some people just do it more than others.”
She looked to the ground, shaking her head. “No wonder you never wanted real relationships. After watching your parents’ ‘perfect’ marriage destroy itself, who would want that?”
I stilled.
Tell her. I’d told her everything else, and if I was going to be honest with Dakota, I needed to come clean about this too.
Hell, I was being a hypocrite if I didn’t tell her. She’d been hiding her imperfect family from the public because she thought it made her unlovable. And now I was afraid to tell her about another chapter in my imperfect past because I was scared it would drive her away.
But as I looked at her, at this beautiful woman who’d just trusted me with her deepest wounds, the words stuck in my throat.
It didn’t help that Dakota took a step closer to me, that my gaze was wandering all over her face, neck, and shoulders. That with her heat this close to my skin, I was wondering what she’d do if I pressed her against the wall and kissed her all over her body.
“Dakota,” I murmured.
Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up, and I saw my own desperate need reflected there.
“You make me want to stop being afraid of being seen,” she whispered.
For the first time in my life, I was with someone who knew what it felt like to carry the burden of other people’s expectations. Someone who understood the suffocating weight of always having to be perfect.
And maybe this was selfish of me, but I wanted to hold on to this moment for just a moment longer before risking it with a truth that might send her running.
I leaned closer, and she didn’t pull away.