9. Chapter 9
The notification banner slides down my screen just as I'm crossing the quad toward the Summers building.
Asher: Dude. Your dad just got the transfer notice. I was at the golf course with him when it came through.
My stomach drops.
Asher: He threw his phone into the sand trap. Had to fish it out while everyone pretended not to stare.
Asher: It was honestly kind of entertaining. But also terrifying. Like watching a volcano realize it's about to erupt.
I slow my pace, reading the messages twice. Part of me wants to feel guilty—the part that spent eighteen years trying to be the son they wanted. The other part, the part that's been slowly waking up since I found those documents at sixteen, feels nothing but relief.
Another text comes through, but this one's not from Asher.
Father: You've made your choice. Don't expect me to clean up the mess when this little rebellion of yours implodes.
Father: And stay away from those girls. This is your last warning before things get really nasty.
My jaw clenches as I read it again. Those girls. Like Tiff and Ella are props in some game. He’s treating them as though they're obstacles to be removed rather than people I—
The truth hits me before I can finish the thought.
People I care about. People I want to know. People who deserve better than what my family put them through.
I delete the message without responding and shove my phone into my pocket.
No more playing by his rules. No more letting him dictate my life. I walked away from everything for this—for the chance to be someone different.
Someone worthy of the girl waiting for me on the other side of campus.
My heart's hammering against my ribs, a nervous energy I can't shake. This is it. My one shot to explain everything. To make her understand that I'm not the enemy, even if my last name says otherwise.
Students pass by in clusters, laughing and talking, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire world is about to either crack open or shatter completely.
And then I see her.
For a moment, I just stand there, watching Tiff from a distance.
She's beautiful in the most unassuming way—no makeup, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, wearing jeans and a faded sweatshirt that's probably seen better days.
She's sitting on a bench, looking through a textbook, her brow furrowed in concentration, completely unaware of my presence.
This is my chance, to explain everything. To make her understand why my parents are coming after Ella. To give her a reason to trust me, even just a little.
I approach slowly, not wanting to startle her. She looks up when I'm a few feet away, her expression instantly guarded.
“Hey,” I say softly as I approach.
She looks up, closing her textbook but keeps her finger between the pages to mark her place. “You're on time. I'm surprised.”
“I can be punctual when it matters.” I hover awkwardly, not sure if I should sit. “Thanks for texting me.”
She gestures to the space beside her. “Sit. I want to talk to you.”
I settle on the bench, careful to leave space between us. Her expression is guarded, but she asked me to come, which has to mean something.
“Where's Ella today?” I ask, hoping to start with something neutral.
Her posture stiffens immediately. “None of your business.”
That wasn’t fucking neutral, you idiot.
“Right. Sorry.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Her lips are pursed as she glares at me.
Am I sweating? I certainly feel like I am.
Fuck, this is worse than talking to Honey. I need to get my shit together.
“Tiff,” I start, clearing my throat. “I know you have no reason to trust me. I get it. I was an asshole four years ago, and my family has been nothing but a nightmare for you ever since.”
She says nothing, but her silence feels like confirmation.
“But there's something you need to know,” I continue. “About my parents. About why they're so hell-bent on getting rid of Ella.”
That gets her attention. Her head turns sharply toward me, eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. The words sit on my tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, waiting to be spoken for the first time. “Ella is an issue for them because she’s not a Nicks.”
Tiff lets out an annoyed breath. “Well, I certainly didn’t make her on my own.” She shakes her head in annoyance and looks away. “You don’t think I don’t already know they don’t recognize her?”
I shake my head, annoyed that I’m fumbling this so badly. “No. You’re right. I didn’t mean that. I meant the DNA test—”
“Proves she’s yours.” Tiff’s voice is shaky; her eyes are dark and unrelenting. I can feel it. She’s ready to take me down if she needs to, and fuck, it’s kind of sexy. Not that I should be thinking about that right now. “She’s one hundred percent your child.”
“You’re right.” I meet her gaze directly. “She's mine, but I’m not theirs. At least not biologically.”
Her expression shifts from confusion to disbelief. “What?”
I close my eyes, drag in air like it will make this easier. Then I drop it. “I'm adopted, Tiff.”
Silence. The word hangs between us as I let the repercussions sink in.
Funny, I expected to feel shame and embarrassment over the admission.
I’ve never told anyone else, but I don’t feel shame.
I almost feel relief that finally someone is willing to listen to me.
“I was never supposed to know. They burned the paper trail and buried every shred of proof I needed to confirm it.”
She stares at me, and for the first time today, I see something other than hardness. Sorrow, or maybe I’m projecting. It’s probably just confusion.
“B—but that makes no sense.”
“It does when you realize my grandfather is a nutjob who gave my father an ultimatum. Produce a son before thirty and keep the empire.” My voice is emotionless, but my knuckles are white on my knees. “My father’s infertile. They still wanted the money, so they bought me a last name.”
“They bought you,” Tiff spits out before sucking in a breath as though that will take back what she said. Her gaze diverts to her own hands, then she adds quietly, “You make it sound like a transaction.”
“It was,” I say, hating how bitter this makes me sound.
Did I have a bad childhood? No. I was brought up with everything I could ever ask for, but I always felt like there was something missing.
Like maybe there was something more to my life than just marrying Honey and taking over the law firm.
I never asked questions; I just supported everything my father wanted because that’s what I thought a good son would do.
It was only after I found the one piece of paper left—my real birth certificate—that I realized the truth.
That’s when it all started to make sense.
The feeling of being alone when I’m surrounded by people, the reason being in this family didn’t come naturally to me…
it was all there on that little piece of paper.
“There was a contract. My adopted mother faked a pregnancy.” I scoff. “She spent a year in Italy and came back with me—their heir. The one thing they needed to ensure they could buy my father’s law firm.” I laugh, but it’s low and ugly because this is far from funny. Ridiculous, yes, but not funny.
Her fingers toy with the corner of her textbook, and she turns the edge, curling it softly. “And that’s why they didn’t want you to know about Ella?”
“Yes.” I turn to face her fully now. “The DNA test proves she’s mine, which in turn proves I’m not theirs. It’s never been about custody. It’s been about control, and the desperate need to stop any of our relatives or my grandfather from finding out the truth.”
Tiff’s mouth opens as though she’s going to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she snaps her textbook shut and presses it to her chest. “You realize how insane this all sounds, right?”
“Yeah.” I lean forward, planting my elbows on my knees. “I know exactly how it sounds. Melodramatic and unbelievable—hell, if you had told me any of this the night before I met you, I would’ve laughed in your face.”
“Before you met me?”
“Yeah. I was… I was in a bad place that night. I’d just found my real birth certificate, which confirmed my parents had been lying to me my entire life, and nothing made sense anymore.
Nothing, except you.” She takes a sharp inhale, but if I’ve learned anything over these past few months, it’s that this might be the only time I can actually say something, so I don’t stop.
“Meeting you was the first thing in a long time that felt real. My world stopped spinning just long enough for me to breathe.”
Her eyes widen a fraction, and she swallows but says nothing.
The silence stretches, and when I realize she’s not going to say anything, I drag a hand through my hair and let my next confession come out. “You were the first girl I cheated on Honey with.”
Tiff scoffs, and her lip curls ever so slightly. I probably just wrecked all the progress I made, but I’m tired of hiding behind someone I’m not. I’m a fucking mess, but I want to be better for her.
“You were gone when I woke up,” I continue, “and I got bitter. Angry, even. Meeting you and being with you made me realize how superficial it all was. Everything was a lie, and I stopped giving a damn about the golden-boy life I was supposed to shoulder. I hurt Honey because it was easier to torch the life my family planned than admit it was already ruined.” I grimace, my stomach turning.
“Fuck, I hurt her so much, and it didn’t make me feel any better. ”
I stare at the ground, at my hands, anywhere but her face. “I hopped from bed to bed, looking for someone—anyone—who could make me feel even half of what I felt with you. No one ever came close.”
I pause, realizing how much I've just unloaded on her. “I know I'm dumping everything on you at once. But I'd rather you know all of it now—the worst of it—than find out later I was still hiding shit. I'm done with lies.”
That takes her by surprise. Her shoulders soften, and she shakes her head.
“You’re telling me I was the first?” Her voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it. “And you expect me to be happy about that?”
“No.” I shift in my seat. “I don’t expect you to be happy about any of it. I expect you to hate me. I hated me. I still do. I blew up everything and hurt people who didn’t deserve it just to try to fill a hole in my chest that won’t go away.”
Her eyes flick over my face, searching for the lie, and whatever she sees there makes her jaw tighten. “Shit, Jamie—” she mutters.
I risk it and tell her more of my truth. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real to me. That night, you broke something open in me, and I’ve been looking for it ever since. I never found it because I think it’s you. I think you’re the family I’ve been missing.”
She’s silent for a beat, and I know I’ve gone too far, but I don’t regret it.
Tiff swallows, her eyes locked on mine.
“I don’t know what to say.”
She looks down for half a second, then back up.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed you to understand where I’m coming from. I’m going to fight for this.”
She doesn’t speak. She just watches me.
“I’m going to fight for you and Ella.” I stop, searching for the right words. “I know what it’s like to feel lost and have no one there to fight for you. I’m never letting you fight alone again.”
Her breath catches, and I feel the air shift between us. It’s heavy and charged now. Her gaze drops to my mouth for a split-second. Then she exhales slowly. I don’t know how it happens, but there’s a moment when she starts to lean in, close enough that her breath brushes against my mouth.
I don’t move; I just watch her and pretend my heart isn’t beating out of my chest.
Is she going to kiss me?
Then she pulls back. Her walls snap back into place, and she clears her throat.
“I’ll let you meet her.”
It takes a second for me to process her words because my head’s still spinning from nearly kissing her again.
“W-what?”
“You want a chance?” She looks down at me, eyes sharp but not unkind. “Then you can come to peewee football tomorrow. You played football with Zach, right?”
I manage a crooked grin, trying to catch my breath. “I think we both know I warmed the bench.”
“Whatever.” She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “You’ll be better than me. That’s the important thing. Show up. Don’t make a fool of yourself, and we’ll see if you’re worth it.”
The simplicity of the offer—this fragile olive branch—nearly knocks me sideways. “I’ll be there,” I promise. “You won’t regret it.”
She tightens her grip on her bag. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jamie. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.”
I nod, the weight of her warning settling in my chest. “No promises. Just actions from now on.”
“Actions,” she echoes. “Starting tomorrow. Four o’clock. Don’t be late.”
I watch her walk away, her steps purposeful, her shoulders straight. Only when she disappears through the quad do I let myself exhale, a mixture of hope and terror swirling in my chest.
One chance. That’s all I have, and this time, I’m going to make it count.