“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my ear.
I close my eyes and inhale his scent – it’s so clean and musky. It’s masculine and comforting. I trust Braxton – a thought that makes me laugh since I recall a time in the past when I wouldn’t have trusted him as far as I could throw him. But time, and people, change.
“I never want you to do something you’re not comfortable with,” he adds.
“No, it’s okay,” I respond. “I want to tell you.”
I launch into my story, detailing the day I found out about what my father had done – informed by the FBI agents who burst into my office and started shouting questions at me – all the way to where I am right now. I don’t leave out any details and lay it all out there for him. I finish my story about half an hour later and inwardly cringe, fearing what he might say.
It only dawned on me as I was finishing my story just how much Braxton’s opinion matters to me. I make it a policy to not care what anybody thinks about me. I simply rise above it. But when I think about Braxton thinking I had something to do with it, that he might think I’m as much of a criminal as my father, it feels like a lead weight in my heart. What Braxton thinks about me matters. It matters a lot. And it’s only now that I’m realizing it.
I feel Braxton’s arms squeeze me tighter, pulling me to him, his large, strong body enveloping and engulfing my own smaller frame. The feeling of comfort and – well, love – in that gesture is powerful. It makes my heart swell. A lone tear races down my cheek – one born of grief for what I lost and joy over what I’ve gained.
“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. “It must have been awful – must still be awful.”
I turn my head so I can see his face and give him a small smile. “There have been some redeeming things to come out of it.”
“Redeeming, huh?” he grins.
I nod. “I’d say so.”
Braxton’s expression grows serious as he looks at me for a moment before he leans down and plants a gentle peck on my lips.
“I can’t even begin to imagine how hurt and betrayed you must feel,” he says.
“It’s been pretty difficult to handle,” I admit.
“But you handle it with grace,” he says, running a fingertip along my jawline.
I laugh. “Not so much.”
“But you do.”
“Well, thank you,” I murmur.
We lay like that in silence for a few minutes, and I look at him, waiting for the obvious questions – the ones everybody seems to ask me – but they never come.
“What is it?” he asks, giving me a goofy grin.
“Nothing,” I reply. “It’s just that – everybody who knows has asked me if I was part of it or if I knew about it. You didn’t.”
His laugh is low and wry. “Because I know there’s no way you were involved in any way, shape, or form,” he explains. “Those questions are too stupid to even think about.”
Hearing those words come out of his mouth means more to me than I can even begin to express. I didn’t think it possible, but my heart swells even more, feeling like it’s reaching the point of bursting. I can’t keep the smile off my face. I cup the back of his head and pull him down to me, kissing him with every ounce of emotion I feel for him in that moment. Slowly and reluctantly, I let him go, and he smiles down at me, a sparkle in his eye.
“You always seem to know the right thing to say,” I tell him.
He grins. “Yeah, well, it’s a gift.”
I laugh and slap him on the shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.”
“Can’t help it. I am what I am,” he replies. “I seem to remember you telling me that plenty of times back in the day.”
“Yeah, well that was then, and this is now,” I start, my expression and tone turning serious. “You’ve changed, Braxton. You’re like an entirely different person.”
He laughs softly. “An entirely different person?”
I give him a small shrug. “Mostly. I mean, you still have that temper, and you’re still pretty cocky sometimes,” I explain. “But there is something fundamentally different about you.”
He purses his lips as he looks at me. “How do you figure?”
“It’s hard to explain,” I say. “But what you’re doing with Javi, doing the volunteer work you do, just all of it – I have a hard time seeing that in what I’m calling ‘the old you’.”
His smile is wry, and he nods. “To be honest, a lot of these changes are because of my parents – and also because of you,” he states. “When you left for London all those years ago, I really had nothing in my life. I was in a bad place and was really on a self-indulgent and ultimately, self-destructive path. When you left, I really thought you took the best parts of me with you.”
I put a hand on his cheek, seeing the shame he feels in his eyes. He tries to hide it, but I can see it plain as day. But the simple fact that he does feel shame tells me just how far he’s come and just how much he’s changed.
“Anyway, after a long conversation with my mom, I had to do some soul-searching,” he continues. “That led me to what I’m doing now. I have honestly never been happier in my life. For the first time ever, I feel like I’m doing something that matters.”
The smile on my face is wide and genuine, and I’m swept away on a tide of emotion I’ve never felt before. It’s a feeling so profound; I almost feel overwhelmed by it. My hand still on his cheek, I run my thumb along his jawline.
“You’re a good man, Braxton Voight.”
“I’m working on it,” he responds. “Still a long road ahead.”
“Well, you’re on that road,” I refute his words. “That’s the important thing.”
We lay there smiling at each other; both of us caught up in the emotion of the moment. The feeling of happiness between us is tangible. I am positive I see the same things I feel for him reflected in his face. As we gaze into each other’s eyes, an energy passes between us – an energy filled with a raw emotion so intense, it nearly steals my breath away.
But I try to hold myself in check, knowing how easy it would be to lose myself in the moment. I know how easy it would be to lose myself in the emotions I’m feeling. And I know exactly how dangerous that can be.
Feeling myself flush, I look away, ending the moment. Braxton runs his hands through my hair, an expression of contentment on his face. The room around us is quiet enough to hear the proverbial pin drop.
So when my stomach rumbles, it sounds like a bear is hiding behind the couch growling at us. Braxton looks down at my stomach and then up at me again and laughs out loud. I slap him in the chest, although I can’t stop myself from laughing along with him.
“Feed me, dammit,” I order him.
He bows his head. “Your wish is my command.”
We slip off the couch and head for the bathroom to clean up before we head out for dinner. And as he sweeps me up into a tight embrace, I look into Braxton’s eyes, feeling happier than I have ever felt in my entire life.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes earnest and sincere. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I know that wasn’t easy.”
“I trust you with my life, Braxton,” I tell him. “I think I always have.”
Chapter Thirty
Braxton
“The ironic thing is that I actually like her dog,” I laugh.
“Thaddeus,” she tells me. “His name is Thaddeus.”
I can’t keep the grin off my face. “Thaddeus? Really?”
Chloe laughs as she takes a sip of her martini. “Really,” she confirms. “I have no idea why she named him Thaddeus. I suppose she thought it sounded like something a rich person would name their dog.”
I sit back in my seat and take a sip of my scotch. We’ve just finished dinner in one of the best seafood restaurants New York has to offer. We’re seated near a window, and I watch as the crowds outside hustle past in a hurry l
ike only New Yorkers can do. The evening is cool, cloudless, and a moon that’s nearly full hangs high overhead, casting a silvery radiance down on the world outside.
I turn my attention back to Chloe and feel the surge of emotions churning within me. Having this second chance with her has been nothing short of miraculous to me. I never thought I’d see her again after she left that day. Or, on the off chance we did run into each other again, I didn’t think our reunion would be a warm and friendly affair.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that we’d end up here. Wherever here is. That thought brings the marriage certificate to mind again, and for the first time, I start to give serious thought to a life where we didn’t have it annulled. A different version of reality where the two of us actually built a life – our lives – together. It’s not the first time I’ve imagined spending my life with Chloe, but it’s the first time it felt like something real. Something attainable.
I silently let out a long breath. The first step is telling her about it and gauging her reaction from there. After that, I suppose we’ll figure things out. But not knowing the lay of the land is killing me. I’m a man who likes to have a plan. Who likes to be able to plan for contingencies. Winging it has never been my style. It’s often more stress inducing than anything else.
And yet, here I am, having to wing it all the same.
I clear my throat and push those thoughts away for now, content to focus on Chloe and enjoying my evening with her. The flicker of the candle on the table makes her skin look like it’s glowing with an inner warmth. It sparkles off her eyes, making them look like chips of ice. To me, she’s living perfection, and I want to hold onto her as long as I can – forever, ideally.
I chuckle. “Your mom tries to act rich way too hard.”
“Tell me about it. Though in her defense, she didn’t grow up that way and kind of feels like a fish out of water in that world,” she replies. “She’s a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. I imagine that has to be an uncomfortable existence for her.”
“You defend her a lot.”
She shrugs. “Somebody has to. It’s not like she has anybody else.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” I add. “I just think it’s interesting given how tense things always seem to be between the two of you.”
Chloe drains the last of her martini and gives me a sad smile. “I’ve not always been the best to her. But in my defense this time, she hasn’t been the best to me either,” she says. “I think the problem is that she just doesn’t know how to be a mother. I’m not even entirely sure she ever wanted to be a mother. I think all she wanted was to be married to a rich man and live that life.”
Though she tries to hide it, I can feel the pain radiating from her. I realize for the first time that Chloe never really got to live her childhood. She was so busy chasing the love and approval of two people who should have given it unconditionally that she’s never really had a chance to live her life for herself and on her own terms. Not until now, anyway. It makes sense that she’d feel on uncertain footing.
But if there’s one thing I know and believe about Chloe, it’s that she’s got a strength and determination that’s unparalleled. She really is fearless and will put everything within her into something. I think that may be one of the only good things to come from her childhood – an iron will and indomitable spirit.
“Maybe she doesn’t know how to show it, but I can guarantee your mother loves you, Chloe.”
Her bark of laughter is sharp and brittle. “I’m not so sure about that sometimes.”
“She’s your mom. Of course she does,” I shrug. “I have my differences with her, but she’s not a monster. She’s not evil.”
“I’m pretty sure she thinks you’re evil.”
I shrug and grin. “I’m not expecting to be on her Christmas card list anytime soon.”
“Dumping a bag of dog crap on her doorstep probably guarantees that.”
I laugh again. “Yeah, probably.”
I can tell Chloe wants to move the conversation away from her mother – it’s probably stirring up unwanted emotions within her. And that’s fine, it seems obvious there are a lot of unresolved issues there, and I don’t want to press her too hard. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to confront that relationship and figure out how to handle that fallout. But it doesn’t have to be tonight.
She looks out the window for a moment then turns back to me with a mischievous grin.
“What?” I ask.
“Truth or dare,” she giggles.
I run a hand through my hair and let out an uneasy chuckle, those three words feeling like a kick square to the balls as it brings what I have to tell Chloe to the forefront of my mind once more.
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Then what is it?” she presses. “You just got a weird look on your face.”
I drain the last of my scotch and look around, finally managing to catch the waitress’s eye. I signal for her to bring another round, and she gives me a nod, indicating her understanding. I turn my attention back to Chloe again and steel myself.
“I was just thinking about the last time we played that game,” I tell her honestly.
She giggles. “As I recall, that led to a couple of wonderful days,” she notes. “The ending could have gone better, but – water under the bridge, right?”
“It was a couple of wonderful days,” I confirm as I reach across the table and take her hand in mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It was about the best couple of days in my life, Chloe.”
Her cheeks flush, and she chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully. I raise her hand and kiss the back of her knuckles softly. The waitress appears and sets our drinks down on the table, turning and leaving without a word to give us our privacy.
“But I have to tell you, ever since you came back and we started spending time together,” I continue, “it’s been even better. I don’t know that I can adequately explain just how much you mean to me – how much you’ve always meant to me.”
Her eyes shimmer with tears in the candlelight, and the smile on her face is one that’s wistful – and yet hopeful at the same time.
“I don’t think I understood just how much you mean to me until we started spending time together again, Braxton,” she replies. “These last few weeks – I never dreamed I’d ever be so happy.”
“That makes two of us,” I admit. “When you left to go back to London, I kind of thought that I’d never have a chance at that kind of happiness again either. I’m enjoying things between us, and I want to keep building on that.”
Her smile melts my heart. “So do I, Braxton.”
We both fall silent for a long moment, her hand still in mine, our eyes locked together as the emotion of the moment washes over us. I have never felt as complete and whole as I do sitting there looking into Chloe’s eyes. But I know that I have to put all of that at risk now. I need to come clean and be honest with her. If we’re going to move forward together and build upon what’s been developing between us – as I truly want to, with all of my heart – it’s got to be from a place of total honesty. No lies. No secrets.
“I have something I need to tell you,” I start.
Her smile falters slightly, and she looks like she’s bracing for the worst as a look of concern flashes in her eyes.
“Okay,” she says slowly.
I give her hand a gentle squeeze, probably more to reassure myself than anything. I take a breath and let it out slowly as I steel myself.
“Do you remember after playing truth or dare? We went to that horrible wedding chapel and got married by the Queen?”
She laughs. “Of course I do.”
I grit my teeth and look away for a moment, my body tensing as if I’m expecting a physical blow.
“What is it, Braxton?”
I raise my eyes and give her a weak smile. “It turns out we’re still actually married, Chloe.”
/> She sits up in her chair straighter, slipping her hand out of mine as her back stiffens. I watch as a maelstrom of emotions cycle across her face as she processes what I just said. Finally, she shakes her head and looks at me.
“But how? We never filed any paperwork and –”
Feeling my stomach churn with a feeling of something greasy and slick, I clear my throat and sit up again, downing half my drink in one swallow. I set the glass back down on the table carefully and look up at her again.
“Apparently, the package we bought that night included the filing of our marriage certificate, which I got in the mail a few months after you left. It was part of the all-inclusive package,” I wince. “I didn’t read the paperwork close enough and –”
She cuts me off with a loud burst of laughter that catches me off guard. I look at her, surprised by her reaction. But she keeps laughing like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. I sit back and wait for her fit of hysterics to end. When it finally does, her face is beet red, and tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“Oh my God, that is hilarious,” she gasps.
“It is?”
She nods. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because we’re legally married?”
She waves me off. “It’s a matter of paperwork. I mean yeah, if I’d met somebody in England and tried to get married, that might have been a bit awkward,” she says. “But I didn’t, so it doesn’t matter. Have you been sitting over there stressing about telling me this all night?”
A wry chuckle escapes me. “The last few weeks, actually,” I admit. “I’d totally forgotten about it until the day I saw you in your mom’s house.”
She grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze, her eyes glittering in the candlelight with mirth. It’s the exact opposite reaction I’d been expecting – she can be as type-A as me sometimes, and neither of us are big on unexpected wrinkles in our plans or change in general. But as the smile spreads across my face, I find myself grateful that she can continue to surprise and confound me.
“So you’re not pissed?” I ask.
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