Chapter 14 #3
“Hey, I’m a grown man. I made a decision.
And it’s actually nice to have a break from it.
” He meets my eyes. “I’ve been on this mission.
For years. Trying to pay back what he stole.
The victims—the pension funds, the hospital, all those people who trusted him—I’ve been tracking them down.
Sending money when I can. It’s not much.
A few thousand here and there. It’ll never be enough to actually fix anything.
But it’s my constant obsession. It eats away at me.
Since I got on the plane with you, I haven’t been thinking about it as much. ”
“So you traded your dad’s drama for mine?”
“Perhaps.” He laughs bitterly. “But you’re much more fun to look at.”
“Glad to hear it.” I reach up to smooth his hair, pretending like it’s disheveled, but I actually just wanted to see how soft it is. Like silk weaving through my fingers. “Why are you so determined to pay back what your dad stole? Are they coming after you because he’s in prison?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s personal…like…some stupid part of me thinks that if I can undo enough of the damage, maybe he’ll go back to being the person I needed him to be. Maybe I can restore our name. Put our family back together. Maybe this can all end in something other than just…destruction.”
The weight of what he’s carrying settles over me like a physical thing. Years of trying to clean up his father’s mess. Years of hoping for a redemption that might never come. Years of loving someone who keeps disappointing him.
“Hope’s not stupid. Hope is all we have. And a son fighting for his dad is such an honorable thing.”
He doesn’t respond for a long moment. When he does, his voice is a murmur that’s soft and rough at the same time.
“Is it though? He hasn’t apologized once. He doesn’t regret taking the money, just getting caught. Money turns him into this cold reptilian. Sometimes I think…” He trails off, the sentence hanging unfinished between us.
“That he might actually be a bad person?”
Taio doesn’t confirm or deny. He just sits there in the warm glow of the flameless candles, looking more lost than I’ve ever seen him. “I don’t know. But someone has to take responsibility for the pain he caused. If not him, then…me.”
“What’s the total?” I ask gently. “The debt. What does he still owe?”
Taio’s head snaps up, his expression shifting instantly from vulnerable to guarded. The walls slam back into place so fast I can almost hear them.
“Charlie, don’t.”
“I’m just asking. Maybe I could help. I have resources, and—”
“No,” he says, sharp enough to make Black Cat lift his head and blink in sleepy irritation. Taio takes a breath, visibly forcing himself to soften. “Please. Don’t ever go there.”
“I wouldn’t think anything of it.” I reach for his hand, wrapping my fingers around his.
“Taio, most of my relationships are transactional, that’s how my world works.
People do things for me, I compensate them.
It’s not personal. It’s not charity. It’s just how things operate at this level.
” I squeeze gently. “You’ve basically been keeping me sane this entire time.
You saved my tour. You should be rewarded for that.
Let me help with this humongous burden you’re carrying. ”
“Rewarded.” He scoffs, like the word left a bad taste in his mouth. “Charlie, no. I’m not going to take your money. I’m not going to let you pay off my father’s debts like I’m some project you’ve decided to fix.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Every other relationship in your life can be transactional. Fine. That’s your world, and I get it.” His hand tightens around mine, his grip almost desperate. “But not this. This part is honest. I need that. I think you do, too.”
My heart is so full I’m not sure how it’s still fitting inside my chest.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thank you.”
We sit in the quiet for a spell, letting the intensity of the conversation slowly dissipate.
Black Cat has resumed his Goldfish theft, crunching contentedly between us like he hasn’t just witnessed a significant emotional moment.
The LED candles flicker. Outside, distantly, I can hear the hum of the central air, the sounds of the massive house settling around us.
That’s when I notice it.
A book, tucked into the corner of the fort near Taio’s knee. Worn cover, soft pink, spine cracked from multiple readings. I know for a fact it’s not mine—I read all my self-help books on my Kindle, and I definitely don’t read anything with a cover that involves two people in a dramatic clinch.
“What’s that?” I point.
Something fascinating goes on with his face. A flush creeps up his neck, splashing across his cheekbones and making him look suddenly, endearingly boyish.
“Nothing.”
“Really? Because it looks like a very loved book with a very pink cover.” I’m already reaching for it before he can stop me. “Is that…is that a romance book?”
“Charlie—”
Too late. I’ve got it in my hands now, turning it over to examine the cover. Two figures locked in an embrace—a woman with windswept hair, a man with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. The title is in gold embossed letters. The tagline promises passion, heartbreak, and a love that conquers all.
I’m grinning so wide my face hurts. “Taio Wilkes. Do you read smut, as the kids these days call it?”
“The kids these days? You are the ‘kids these days.’”
“True but I have the soul of a sixty-year-old.”
He makes a grab for the book but I twist away, clutching the book to my chest. “Hey, whoa, stop.”
“Give me my book, you animal.”
“No way. This is my new favorite thing about you. Screw cheese dip. You read romance for fun?”
His face has gone fully red now, which only makes me more delighted. “Lots of people read romance. It’s the highest-selling genre in publishing. There are statistics.”
“I’m not making fun of you!” I protest, though I’m definitely still grinning. “I think it’s sweet. Really. I think it’s the sweetest thing ever.” I soften slightly, clutching the book to my chest. “Why romance?”
He’s quiet for a moment, the flush slowly fading from his cheeks as he realizes I’m genuinely asking. When he speaks, he sounds almost shy.
“I like the happy endings.”
I pump my brows at him before shooting him a wink and clicking my jaw. “Happy endings. Got it.”
“I’m not talking about seedy massage parlors, Charlie. I mean actual happily-ever-afters. I find them cathartic.”
The simplicity of the answer catches me off guard.
“I haven’t had a lot of control over how my life turned out,” he continues, not quite meeting my eyes.
“My parents’ marriage. My career. My dad’s mess.
My family’s reputation. None of it ended the way it was supposed to.
But in books like this…” He indicates said paperback still clutched to my chest. “…the good guys win. People find each other despite impossible odds. Love is enough to overcome all the obstacles and mistakes and misunderstandings. It’s nice to believe that’s possible, even if it’s just for a few hundred pages at a time. ”
My heart clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t make a wheezing sound.
“I sing songs like that,” I hear myself say. “The ones I love most are all about the experiences I’ve never had. Love that lasts forever. Being chosen. Finding someone who sees all the broken parts of you and decides to stay anyway.” I hand him back the book. “I guess we’re two peas.”
“Two peas in a delusional pod.”
“The best kind of pod.”
He’s smiling now—really smiling, not the guarded half smile or the professional pleasant expression he usually defaults to. It transforms his whole face, softens all the hard edges, makes him look younger and more open and achingly, stunningly beautiful.
“What’s this one about?” I nod toward the book now resting in his lap.
And his dark eyes alight. He starts talking about the plot—a second-chance romance between two people who fell in love young, were torn apart by circumstances beyond their control, and find each other again ten years later—and I watch him transform into someone I’ve never seen before.
His hands move as he describes the characters.
His voice gets animated when he explains the tension, the miscommunications, the moment when they finally admit what they’ve been feeling all along.
He’s passionate about this in a way he hasn’t been passionate about anything else in my presence.
“And the thing is,” he’s saying, leaning forward with enthusiasm, “they both think the other person moved on. They both spent ten years convinced they were the only one still holding on to something. And when they finally talk—really talk, not just the surface stuff—it all comes out. Every assumption, every fear, every reason they stayed away. And you realize the only thing keeping them apart was their own inability to be honest.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It’s excruciating. But in the best way.” He grins. “I’m about three-quarters through. The grovel scene is coming up.”
“The grovel scene?”
“When one of them has to apologize. Make amends. Prove they’ve changed.” His eyes are practically sparkling. “It’s the best part of any romance. The emotional climax before the actual climax. There’s something about a man begging on his knees, you know?”
I’m charmed beyond words. This giant man with his tragic backstory and his walls and his complicated relationship with physical intimacy, geeking out about fictional love stories like a kid discussing their favorite superhero.
It’s the most attractive he’s ever been.
“Will you read some to me?” I ask, before I can think better of it.
He pauses mid-sentence, the enthusiasm dimming slightly into surprise. “What?”
“Read to me. Just a little bit.” I’m already repositioning myself, shifting closer to him on the cushions. “I want to hear the grovel scene. I want to know if they get their happy ending.”
“Read to you? I thought we were trying to get you to sleep. This is riveting stuff,” he teases.
“I will sleep. This will help me.” I curl against his side, resting my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear—strong and rhythmic, like a drum keeping time. “Please? Just until I drift off?”
I feel him hesitate. Feel the moment when he could pull away, establish distance, be the gentleman he keeps insisting he wants to be. The responsible choice. The safe choice.
Instead, his arm comes around me. His hand smooths back my slightly damp hair, fingers gentle as they work through the tangles.
“All right,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my ear. “But if you hate it, lie, because this is one of my favorites.”
“I promise to lie so good,” I say sincerely.
He chuckles. “If only you were capable of it. You couldn’t lie to me to save your life. You know what? That is my favorite thing about you.”
“You seem to have a lot of favorites.”
He taps my nose before holding out his hand for the book. It opens with a soft crack of well-worn spine. He clears his throat.
And then he starts to read.
His voice is low and warm, wrapping around the words like they’re something precious.
He does different voices for different characters—subtle shifts in tone and cadence that bring the story to life in ways I didn’t expect.
The heroine is sharp-tongued and stubborn, wounded but hiding it beneath layers of sarcasm.
The hero is gruff and guarded, protecting his heart behind the barricade of professional distance.
It sounds…familiar, somehow.
I let my eyes drift closed.
The candles flicker against my eyelids, painting the darkness in warm orange tones.
Black Cat migrated to my feet at some point, his warm weight a comforting pressure against my ankles, his purr a melodic background hum.
Taio’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek in a slow, steady rhythm.
His hand continues to stroke my hair—absent, soothing, the kind of casual intimacy that feels more significant than any kiss.
The story washes over me. Tender moments. Heated glances. The slow, inevitable pull of two people who can’t stay away from each other no matter how hard they try.
I don’t remember falling asleep.
But I know, in the last moment before consciousness faded, I’d never felt safer in my entire life. The world felt so small and manageable, just me, Taio, and our definitely-not-for-keeps cat.
It all seemed…
So simple.
So peaceful.