Chapter Twenty Travis
Chapter Twenty
Travis
I've never hated my family more than I do right now.
It's Sunday, the day after the story broke, and I'm sitting at Kelly's kitchen table with my laptop open, scrolling through the wreckage.
The story has spread overnight—picked up by more outlets, shared on social media, commented on by people who don't know either of us and never will.
Kelly's name is trending in certain corners of the internet.
There are threads dissecting her social media presence, her old work history, her connection to me.
She's in the shower. I told her I'd handle the research, figure out how bad it was, so she didn't have to look at it anymore. But I'm starting to wish I hadn't offered. Every headline makes me angrier. Every comment section makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
Gold digger Kelly Dawson living her best life on Travis Howe's dime.
Classic case of a woman taking advantage of a vulnerable man.
That last one makes me close the laptop before I do something I'll regret.
This is my fault. All of it. If Kelly had never met me, she'd be in that house right now, writing her book in peace, anonymous and unbothered.
Instead she's trending on Twitter and getting hate from strangers because she made the mistake of falling for someone with a toxic family and a complicated past.
I should have warned her better. I should have cut my family off completely, years ago, before they had the chance to do something like this. I should have—
"Stop."
I look up. Kelly's standing in the doorway, hair still damp, wearing sweatpants and one of my t-shirts that she stole last week. She looks tired, but her eyes are clear.
"Stop what?"
"Spiraling. I can hear you thinking from the bathroom." She crosses to the table and sits down across from me. "What did you find?"
"Nothing good."
"Specifics."
I take a breath. "The story's been picked up by about a dozen more outlets. Most of them are just rehashing the same quotes, but a few have added their own commentary. Your social media is being picked apart. Someone found your LinkedIn and is speculating about why you quit your job."
"Lovely."
"There's also—" I hesitate. "There's a thread on Reddit. People discussing whether you're really a gold digger or just naive. I didn't read the whole thing."
"Probably for the best." She reaches across the table and closes the laptop. "Okay. We've seen the damage. Now we figure out what to do about it."
I stare at her. "You're being very calm about this."
"I screamed into a pillow for about ten minutes while I was in the shower. Got it out of my system." She pulls her legs up onto the chair, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Now I'm in problem-solving mode. What are our options?"
This is what I love about her. The steadiness, the practicality, the refusal to let things knock her down for long. She fell apart yesterday—I saw it, held her through it—but she's already putting herself back together. Already thinking about next steps.
"Option one," I say. "We do nothing. Let the story die on its own. Most news cycles move fast—in a week or two, they'll be onto something else."
"And in the meantime, my name stays attached to gold digger forever. It'll be the first thing that comes up when anyone googles me."
"Yeah. That's the downside."
"What's option two?"
"We issue a statement. Through my agent, probably. Something that pushes back on the narrative, sets the record straight."
"Would that work?"
"Maybe. It would at least get our side of the story out there. But it also draws more attention. Could make things worse before they get better."
Kelly nods slowly, thinking. "What about option three?"
"What's option three?"
"We go public. Really public. Stop hiding, stop being defensive, just... own it." She meets my eyes. "The narrative right now is that I'm some shadowy woman who trapped you and cut you off from your family. What if we showed people that's not true? What if we let them see us—the real us?"
"You mean like... social media? Interviews?"
"I don't know. Maybe." She shrugs. "I'm just thinking out loud. The story has power because it's the only story. What if we gave them a different one?"
I sit back, considering. Going public goes against every instinct I have. For months I've been hiding, staying off social media, avoiding cameras. The idea of putting myself out there again—putting us out there—makes my skin crawl.
But Kelly has a point. The vacuum of information is what let my family control the narrative. If we don't speak for ourselves, they'll keep speaking for us.
"It's risky," I say.
"Everything is risky. Doing nothing is risky too." She leans forward. "Think about it, Travis. Right now, the only voices in this story are anonymous sources who hate us. Your family gets to define who I am, who we are, without any pushback. That's not fair. And it's not true."
"I know it's not true."
"But nobody else does. All they have is the story your family is telling.
The calculating gold digger. The controlling girlfriend.
The vulnerable athlete being manipulated.
" She shakes her head. "That's not us. Anyone who actually knows us would laugh at that narrative.
But no one who actually knows us is talking. "
"Because I asked them not to." I think about Jaxson, about Dave, about the handful of people who know the real story. "I wanted to protect you. Protect us. I thought staying quiet was the safest option."
"It might have been, before. But now our silence is being used against us." She reaches across the table and takes my hand. "At least if we go public, we're controlling the story. We're the ones deciding what people see."
"What would that even look like?"
"I don't know. Maybe we start small. Post something on your Instagram—you do have Instagram, right?"
"I have one. I haven't used it in months."
"Post something. A picture of us, a simple caption. Something that shows we're real people in a real relationship, not whatever tabloid villain they've turned me into."
I think about it. A picture of us. A statement without being a statement. Letting people see what my family doesn't want them to see—that Kelly isn't a gold digger, that I'm not being controlled, that we're just two people who found each other.
"We could do that," I say slowly.
"And then we see how it goes. If it helps, we do more. If it makes things worse, we pull back." She squeezes my hand. "The point is, we stop being passive. We stop letting them dictate the terms."
"When did you become a PR strategist?"
"I worked in marketing for six years. I know how narratives work." She smiles, just a little. "Also, I've been stress-reading crisis management articles since yesterday. Apparently there's a whole industry built around this."
I laugh despite myself. "Of course there is."
"The point is, we have options. We're not powerless here." She pulls my hand toward her and presses a kiss to my knuckles. "Whatever we decide, we decide together. Okay?"
"Okay."
We sit there for a moment, the morning light streaming through the windows, the laptop closed between us. The story is still out there, still spreading, but somehow it feels smaller now. More manageable. Like something we can actually fight.
"I should call Dave," I say.
"Your agent?"
"Yeah. He needs to know what's happening. And he might have ideas—contacts in the media, ways to get our side of the story out." I pull out my phone. "He's been dealing with my PR disasters for years. This is just one more."
"Is he good?"
"He's very good. He's also going to be furious that I didn't tell him about you sooner."
"Why?"
"Because he's been trying to get me to do a redemption arc for months. Humanize myself, show the public I'm more than the guy who punched a photographer." I shake my head. "He's going to say you're exactly what I needed. A relationship, a love story. Something positive to shift the narrative."
"That's very calculated."
"That's the business. But it doesn't make it less true." I look at her. "You are what I needed. Just not for the reasons he'll think."
Kelly's expression softens. "Call your agent. Let's see what he says."
I dial Dave's number. He picks up on the first ring.
"Travis. I was wondering when you'd call." His voice is tight. "I assume you've seen the news."
"Yeah. That's why I'm calling."
"I've been getting calls all morning. Outlets wanting comment, wanting to know if the story's true. I've been saying no comment, but that's not sustainable." He pauses. "Is it true? Are you dating this woman?"
"Her name is Kelly. And yes, I'm dating her."
"Jesus, Travis." I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. "You couldn't have mentioned this to me? Given me some warning before I had to find out from a gossip site?"
"I know. I'm sorry. I wanted to keep it private."
"Private doesn't exist for you anymore. You should know that by now." He sighs. "Okay. Okay. We can work with this. A relationship isn't necessarily bad—could actually help your image. But we need to get ahead of the narrative. The gold digger angle is bad. Really bad."
"That's why I'm calling. Kelly and I have been talking about options. She thinks we should go public—control the story instead of letting my family control it."
"She's smart." There's grudging approval in his voice. "What exactly are you thinking?"
I look at Kelly, who nods. "Start small. A post on social media. Something that humanizes us, shows we're real. Then see how it plays."
"That could work. But it needs to be the right post. The right tone." Dave is quiet for a moment, thinking. "Let me make some calls. I know some people who specialize in this kind of thing—reputation management. They can help craft the message."
"Okay."
"And Travis? I'm going to need to talk to Kelly at some point. Get her perspective. Make sure we're all on the same page."
I glance at her again. "She's right here. You can talk to her now."
"Put her on."
I hand the phone to Kelly, who takes it with a raised eyebrow. "Hello?"
I can't hear what Dave is saying, but I watch Kelly's face as she listens. She nods occasionally, asks a few questions, responds with short affirmatives. After a few minutes, she hands the phone back to me.
"He wants to set up a call for tomorrow," she says. "All three of us. To talk strategy."
"Are you okay with that?"
"I'm okay with whatever gets us through this." She stands up and stretches. "I'm going to make more coffee. You want some?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
She pads into the kitchen, and I watch her go, this woman who should be running but isn't. Who could walk away from all of this—the drama, the media, the toxic family—and instead is standing beside me, figuring out how to fight.
I don't deserve her. I've thought that before, but it hits harder now. She's dealing with all of this because of me. Because I couldn't keep my family from reaching her. Because my past keeps bleeding into her present.
But she's still here. She's still choosing this. Choosing me.
I'm going to spend the rest of my life making that choice worth it.
"Hey," Kelly calls from the kitchen. "How do you feel about pancakes?"
"I feel good about pancakes."
"Perfect. Because I need comfort food and you're going to help me make it."
I get up from the table and join her in the kitchen, where she's already pulling ingredients out of cabinets. The laptop stays closed. The story stays out there, doing whatever damage it's going to do. But in here, in this kitchen, in this moment, we're okay.
We're more than okay.
We're a team.