Chapter Twenty-Five
NITRO
A Week Later
The road blurs beneath me, asphalt and painted lines dissolving into nothing as I push my bike faster than I should. My knuckles are white against the handlebars, hands clenched so tight I feel the leather creaking under my grip.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
Every time I try, I see her face. The way she looked at me in that moment, her eyes full of betrayal and hurt so raw it felt as though she’d reached into my chest and ripped out whatever was left of my heart.
“I trusted you.”
Three words.
That’s all it took to destroy me.
I trusted you.
Past tense.
Like whatever we had, whatever we were building, is already dead and buried.
The desert stretches out on either side of the highway, endless and unforgiving, just like the silence that’s followed me since Marley walked out of our apartment a week ago. Since she took her broken heart and her shattered trust and left me standing there like the fucking coward I am.
I should have told her sooner.
I should have been honest from the start.
But I knew… I knew that if Marley knew the truth, if she knew about Damon Blackwell, the billions, and the lie I’ve been living, she’d look at me differently.
That she’d see the money instead of the man.
Turns out, keeping the secret was worse.
Way-fucking-worse.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket, silent and accusatory. I’ve texted Marley seventeen times in the past week. Called her twenty-three. Each one went unanswered, each message left on read, each call diverted to voicemail.
She’s done with me.
And I don’t blame her.
Not even a little bit.
The exit for Sunset Manor appears ahead, and I take it without thinking, muscle memory guiding me when my brain is too fractured to function.
This is where I always come when the weight gets too heavy.
When club politics, the business empire, and the double life I’m living threaten to crush me under their combined pressure.
I come to Queenie.
Because if anyone can make sense of this mess, it’s her.
The parking lot is nearly empty when I pull in, just a few scattered cars belonging to staff working the evening shift. I kill the engine and sit here for a moment, staring at the building.
I’ve lost her. The thought hits me again, fresh and devastating, like learning it for the first time.
I’ve lost Marley.
And I don’t know how to get her back.
I don’t even know if I deserve to try.
My legs feel heavy as I dismount my hog and walk through the front doors, each step an effort. Paige is at the front desk, and her warm smile falters when she sees my face.
“Nitro?” Her voice is gentle, concerned. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Is Queenie in her room?”
She nods slowly, her eyes tracking over my face as if she is cataloging all the ways I’m falling apart. “She is. Go on up.”
The hallway stretches before me, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of lavender and antiseptic hanging in the air. Residents peek out from doorways as I pass, some offering waves, others watching with curious eyes.
I barely register any of it.
All I can think about is the look on Marley’s face when she realized I’d been lying to her. The way her voice broke when she said my name. The way she gathered her things with shaking hands and walked out without looking back.
I head upstairs, and Queenie’s door is partially open, warm light spilling into the hallway. I knock softly, and her voice calls out immediately.
“Come in, dear!”
I push the door open and step inside.
She’s sitting in her favorite armchair by the window, a book open in her lap, reading glasses perched on her nose. The evening sun streams through the glass, turning her white hair into a halo, and for a moment, she looks exactly like she did when I was a kid, reading to me before bed.
Then she looks up, and the second she sees my face, her expression softens in that way that destroys me.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She closes the book and sets it aside. “What happened?”
That’s all it takes. The dam, already cracked, finally gives.
My knees hit the floor before I consciously decide to move.
The impact jostles through me, but I barely register it.
My back hits the wall, hard, and the sound seems to echo inside my skull.
Then everything starts collapsing inward, the anxiety and panic hitting me with full atomic force.
My breath jerks out of me in a harsh, animal-like sound.
The next inhale is worse, thin and sharp, as if trying to drag air through a straw.
My hands fly to my face, fingers digging into my scalp, because it feels like my skull might split open from the pressure building behind my eyes. My chest tightens so suddenly and viciously, I gasp, clawing at my club cut as though I might be able to tear space enough to breathe.
But I can’t.
I can’t get air.
I can’t think.
I can’t stop shaking.
My heart is jackhammering, too fast, too loud, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. My stomach lurches, flipping so violently that bile claws up my throat.
Sweat floods across my skin, cold, icy, wrong.
My fingers are numb.
My legs tremble uncontrollably.
Somewhere far away, too far to reach, I hear Queenie’s chair scrape, hear the soft pat of her slippers on the floor as she kneels as close as she physically can. “Nitro.” Her voice is like a drone, a buzz against my ear, muffled as my head swarms with dizziness.
Her hand finds my shoulder, steady, warm, real, and the contrast against the chaos ripping through me nearly breaks what’s left of my control. “Honey, look at me. Breathe with me.”
But I can’t.
My lungs won’t obey.
Every breath stutters, catches, breaks.
It’s like drowning upright.
Old memories slam into me, uninvited and fucking merciless.
The phone call.
The flashing lights.
The silence afterward that swallowed everything.
I’m that young boy again, alone and falling apart just like this, with Queenie trying to help me in this same suffocating helplessness.
Feeling as though I lost it all.
Feeling as though nothing would ever be the same again.
“I lost her.” The words tear out of me, shredded and jagged. “Queenie, I lost her… Marley, I lost her, and it’s my f-fault.” My voice cracks, it splinters. I sound like that wounded teenager I’ve tried so hard not to be anymore.
I grip my hair, pulling tight enough to hurt, because the physical pain is the only thing grounding me in my own body.
“Shh.” She squeezes my shoulder, her own voice shaking but steady enough to hold me. “You’re not alone. I’ve got you. Just stay with me, Nitro. Stay right here.”
But the panic keeps climbing, squeezing, crushing.
A buzzing fills my ears, white noise, static, drowning out everything else. My hands tremble so violently that I can’t keep them still. My throat feels too tight, my chest too small.
Time unravels.
Seconds feel like hours.
Minutes feel like days.
And Queenie stays right here through all of it, her hand warm and firm on my shoulder, murmuring my name, reminding me I’m here, I’m safe, I’m not lost even though it feels like I am.
Eventually, slowly, painfully, my breathing starts to find a rhythm again. The buzzing fades. My vision sharpens. My heartbeat eases from a frantic pound to something human again.
The world settles back into focus one piece at a time.
Finally, when I can speak without choking, I drag a trembling hand over my face, swallow hard, and slowly look up at my grandmother.
The one constant in my life.
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see me like this.”
Her hand gently caresses my cheek as her opaque eyes meet mine. “Damon, you have taken care of me your entire life, and I love you more than anything in this entire world. I never want you to think you should hide your emotions from me. We’ve been through too much, you and me. You hear me, boy?”
A weak smile finally touches the side of my lips. “I hear you.”
Her hands grip mine, and she inhales sharply. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you, and don’t hold anything back. Because you brought up your parents, and you haven’t talked about their passing in a long time. So, whatever this is, it’s got you all messed up. So, talk to me. Really talk to me.”
Closing my eyes, I let out a long exhale, feeling every ounce of shame hit me again. But Queenie reaches out, gripping my chin, pulling my face toward hers. My eyes open instinctively as she glares at me. “Damon Blackwell, you start talking right now, young man.”
Swallowing a lump down my throat, I nod, and she moves her firm grip from my chin to cup my cheek in a more supportive, tender caress.
“Queenie… I love her. And I think I just lost her because I lied to her,” I say, my voice wrecked.
“About who I am. About the money. About everything that matters. And when she found out, she looked at me like I was a stranger. Like every moment we had together was fake.”
She smiles at me in that way she does when she calls bullshit. “Was it fake, my darling?”
The question catches me off guard. I lift my head, meeting Queenie’s eyes. “Was what fake?”
“Your feelings for her.” Queenie’s gaze is steady, unflinching. “When you were with Marley, pretending to be just Nitro, the Uber driver, were your feelings for her real?”
“Yes.” The answer comes immediately, with absolute certainty. “God, yes. Every second with Marley was real. The way I felt about her, the way she made me feel, it was the most real thing in my life.”
“Then that’s what matters, sweetheart.”
“But I still lied to her.”
“You did,” Queenie agrees. “And that was wrong. But lying about your bank account doesn’t mean you lied about loving her.”
I close my eyes, fresh tears burning behind my lids. “She won’t even talk to me, Queenie. She’s blocked my number. Returned everything I ever gave her. She’s done.”
“That girl loves you, sweetheart.”
I shake my head. “Loved. Past tense.”