Chapter 23 Koda
TWENTY-THREE
KODA
Time stops completely and the hallway narrows to a tunnel where only Jason exists.
I watch as his face transforms before my eyes, dark and unstoppable, like a storm cloud gathering strength. He looks back and forth from Charlotte’s pregnant belly to my face as he makes the connection I’ve dreaded for months.
The connection that’s going to destroy everything.
When Jason finally speaks, his voice is so quiet I can barely hear it.
“Koda, are you the father of Charlotte’s baby?”
The question I’ve dreaded for months now demands an answer.
I could lie. Could try to talk my way out of this moment, buy time to explain, find some way to make this less catastrophic.
But the time for hiding is over.
I’ve lived with this secret burning a hole in my chest for too long. The weight of the deception has been eating me alive, and now it’s time to face the consequences.
I swallow hard, my mouth desert-dry as I meet Jason’s eyes unflinchingly.
“Yes.”
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Jason stands perfectly still and processes my admission like his brain refuses to accept what his ears just heard. I see a parade of emotions march across his face in quick succession.
Disbelief first. His eyebrows pull together, his mouth opens slightly. He’s a man trying to solve an impossible equation, searching for some other explanation that makes sense.
Then hurt. His face crumples for just a second, vulnerable in a way I’ve only seen once before—the day his mother died. His shoulders drop. His whole body seems to shrink.
Betrayal follows fast. His jaw clenches. The hurt hardens into something uglier, more jagged. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
And finally, rage.
Pure, unchecked rage that transforms his familiar features into something completely unrecognizable. His face flushes dark red. The muscles in his neck stand out like cords. His eyes go flat and cold.
“Dad, please—” Charlotte starts to say.
In that split second before impact, I see his arm pulling back.
My body recognizes the telegraph, the shift of weight, the rotation of his hips. Muscle memory kicks in. Years of boxing training screams at me to slip the punch, to move my head, to protect myself.
I don’t.
I let it come.
Jason’s fist connects with my jaw so hard that it snaps my head sideways.
I taste copper as my teeth cut into the inside of my cheek. Blood pools in my mouth, warm and metallic. Then my vision blurs as the hallway tilts beneath my feet.
“My daughter?” Jason roars, his voice breaking with hurt and fury that cuts through me like a blade. “You fucking touched my daughter?”
Charlotte screams. The sound rips through the hallway, high and desperate, and it tears something inside me. But I can’t look at her. Can’t bear to see her face right now.
The second punch hits my ribs and drives the air from my lungs in a painful whoosh.
I see this one coming too, his left hook swinging wide toward my body. Every instinct tells me to block, to bring my arm down, to twist away.
I don’t move.
The impact is like taking a sledgehammer to the chest.
Something cracks. The pain is immediate and sharp, radiating outward from the point of contact. I stumble back a step but force myself to remain standing.
I deserve this.
I deserve every blow he wants to deliver. I betrayed him in the worst possible way, and this is the price.
“Dad, stop it!” Charlotte screams and moves toward us with tears streaming down her face.
I hold up my hand to keep her away and taste blood with every word.
“Stay back, baby. It’s okay.”
But nothing about this is okay.
Nothing will ever be okay again. The knowledge sits like a stone in my gut as I face the man who has been more brother than friend for most of my life. The man who trusted me with the thing that matters most to him.
His daughter.
“You were supposed to be her protector,” Jason says, his voice dropping to something more terrible than his shouts. The volume decreases but the venom intensifies. Each word is deliberate, cutting. “Not her seducer.”
The accusation hits harder than any physical blow could.
Is that what I did?
The question loops in my mind. Did I really seduce my best friend’s innocent daughter?
The doubt creeps in, corrosive and painful. It eats away at the certainty I’ve clung to these past months. Did I take advantage of her youth, her inexperience, her trust? She’s twenty-one. I’m forty-one. The numbers sit heavy in my gut.
I think back to that first night. Charlotte caught in the storm, soaked through and shivering when I found her.
Me bringing her somewhere safe, offering her warmth and shelter.
Nothing more. But then she asked to cut my hair.
Something so simple, so intimate. Her fingers brushing against my neck, her face close to mine. And I didn’t pull away.
Should I have pulled away?
I was the experienced one. The one who should have known better. Maybe I did manipulate her, even if I didn’t mean to. Maybe I saw something I wanted and convinced myself it was mutual. Maybe—
No.
The thought cuts through the spiral of doubt like a knife.
What Charlotte and I have is real. It’s complicated, unexpected, wrong in so many ways, but it’s real. She came to me of her own free will. She chose this. Chose me. Not because I manipulated her or took advantage, but because of something genuine between us.
The love I feel for her, the way she makes me want to be a better man, the future we’re building together. It’s not predatory or manipulative.
It’s love in its purest form.
Even if the whole world calls it wrong.
“Jason, I’m sorry. I—”
“Sorry?” Jason’s laugh is harsh, bitter, filled with a pain that makes my chest ache. “You got my little girl pregnant behind my back, and you’re sorry?”
His voice cracks on “little girl” and I see Charlotte flinch in my peripheral vision. She’s crying, hands pressed to her mouth, and the sight of her distress is worse than any punch.
His next punch connects with my ribs. The same spot as before. The crack becomes a break. I feel something give way inside me, a sharp snap followed by grinding pain.
The memories flash through my mind as the pain radiates outward.
Jason teaching me how to frame a house when we were nineteen.
I can see it so clearly—both of us shirtless in the July heat, sunburned and covered in sawdust, arguing about the proper way to set a corner post. He was patient, explaining it three different times until I got it right.
Said I was the brother he never had. We drank cheap beer after and talked about our futures, convinced we’d conquer the world together.
Jason standing beside me at my father’s funeral, the only person who understood how lost I felt.
He didn’t offer empty platitudes or tell me it would be okay.
He just stood there, solid and silent, one hand gripping my shoulder.
When I finally broke down at the graveside, sobbing like a kid, he didn’t look away.
Didn’t tell me to man up. Just let me fall apart and stayed right there beside me.
Jason handing me a beer the night Vanessa left.
I was sitting in the dark, too numb to even feel angry yet.
He showed up at midnight with a twelve-pack and said nothing.
Just sat with me on the porch until dawn, his presence the only thing keeping me from completely unraveling.
When I finally spoke, voice raw and broken, he just listened.
Never once said I told you so, even though he’d warned me about her from the start.
Each memory is a knife twist. Each one makes the loss cut deeper.
And despite all of this, despite the physical pain and the emotional devastation, despite watching our friendship crumble before my eyes, I know something with absolute certainty.
I wouldn’t change a single thing.
Not one moment with Charlotte. Not one night of holding her in my arms. Not one conversation about our future together.
Yes, I betrayed my best friend. Yes, I crossed a line that should have been sacred. Yes, I’ve caused pain that can never be undone.
But Charlotte is worth it.
She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and our baby represents a future I never thought I’d have. A chance at the family I’ve always wanted, with the woman I love more than my own life.
I would choose Charlotte a thousand times over, even knowing it would lead to this moment.
Even knowing it would cost me everything else.
“You were my brother.” Jason’s voice breaks on the word, pain slicing through his rage.
His fists drop slightly. His breathing is ragged. His eyes fill with tears and for a moment he looks like he might collapse under the weight of his grief. The anger is still there, burning hot, but underneath it is something more devastating.
Heartbreak.
“How could you do this to me?”
The words come out nearly as a sob, raw and broken in a way that cuts deeper than any of his punches.
“I’m sorry,” I manage through swollen lips and know the words are completely inadequate for an unforgivable sin.
Jason’s face twists. The tears spill over and run down his cheeks, mixing with the flush of rage.
He spits his next words like poison. “You think sorry fixes this? You think sorry gives me back—”
His voice breaks completely. He can’t finish the sentence.
Between us, Charlotte sobs. “Daddy, please stop. Please.”
But Jason doesn’t look at her. His eyes stay locked on me, and in them I see everything we’ve lost. Every beer shared, every job completed, every moment of brotherhood. All of it burning to ash.
His next punch catches me in the stomach and doubles me over.
Air whooshes from my lungs. The pain is immediate and total, stealing my breath. My vision tunnels, narrowing to pinpricks of light in growing darkness. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. The world reduces to nothing but pain and the need for oxygen.
My knees finally give way, unable to support my weight any longer.
I slump against the wall, blood dripping onto the white tile floor.
Each breath is a knife between my ribs. Something is definitely broken inside, maybe more than one thing, but I don’t care.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional devastation of watching my best friend’s world fall apart.
Through the haze of pain, I’m aware of Charlotte dropping to her knees beside me.
Her small hands are gentle on my bloodied face.
Her touch is soft, careful, full of love and concern that makes my heart ache.
The protective way she cradles my broken face, the unmistakable curve of her belly beneath her uniform, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
She’s sobbing so hard she can barely breathe. “Koda. Oh no, Koda.”
I try to focus on her face. Try to show her I’m okay, even though I’m not. Even though nothing is okay.
This is what I chose. This is what I’m fighting for.
Jason stands over us, chest heaving with exertion, knuckles raw and bloody. His rage seems to have burned itself out. The fire has consumed all the fuel and left only embers behind. But something colder and more terrible remains in its wake.
His shoulders are slumped. His face is wet with tears. His hands hang at his sides, still clenched but shaking now.
He’s not angry anymore.
He’s broken.
His eyes, so like Charlotte’s in shape if not in color, stare down at me with utter revulsion. And beneath that, devastation so complete it takes my breath away more than any punch could.
For a moment, I think he might say something to Charlotte. Might acknowledge her pain in this moment, recognize that she’s hurting too. His eyes flick to her, just for a second, and something shifts in his expression. Something that might be regret or longing or love.
But then his jaw sets. His face goes hard again.
Instead, his eyes move back to me, cold with finality.
“You’re dead to me.”
He turns away and walks down the hallway without looking back. His footsteps echo in the stillness. Heavy and final. Each one taking him further away from the friendship we built over twenty years.
I watch him go through one eye, the other already swelling shut. The taste of blood fills my mouth, copper and salt mixing with the bitterness of loss.
Charlotte’s sobs break through my stupor. “Dad! Daddy, please!”
But Jason doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn around. He just keeps walking until he rounds the corner and disappears.
Charlotte collapses against me, her whole body shaking with sobs. Her hands tremble as she tries to wipe the blood from my face. Her touch is gentle but every point of contact sends fresh pain radiating through my battered flesh.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” she whispers and reaches for her phone with shaking hands.
I shake my head and immediately regret the movement as pain lances through my skull. “No hospitals.”
“Koda, you’re hurt. Badly. You need medical attention.”
“Not as badly as he is.” I look down the empty hallway where Jason disappeared, my heart breaking for the pain I’ve caused him.
The physical damage to my body will heal. Bones knit back together. Bruises fade. Blood clots and scabs over.
The damage I’ve done to my friendship might never recover.