by Lauren Rowe
I scroll through the comments underneath the photos on the “Dax in the Wild” account and cringe. “Holy hell. People hate me. Apparently, everyone thinks they’ve got a shot at actually marrying you one day, and I’m standing in their way.”
Dax rolls his eyes.
I keep scrolling. “They’re all wondering who the hell I am. They’re shocked I’m not some famous supermodel.”
“I’m sure they’ll figure it out soon enough,” Dax says. “Some people live for internet sleuthing.”
My phone pings with another text from Miranda. It’s a screenshot from Caleb’s Twitter account. Without explanation or context, he’s just now tweeted out a meme of Jesus, flipping off the viewer, captioned boldly, in all caps, “FUCK YOU, JUDAS.”
“Oh, God,” I mutter.
“What?”
I show him the screenshot from Caleb’s Twitter, my stomach twisting into knots.
Dax says, “Looks like Caleb’s been alerted to our coming-out party.”
My stomach feels like it’s turning inside-out. I take no pleasure in knowing Caleb is hurting. And it kills me to see the anguish on Dax’s face right now. “I’m so sorry, Dax.”
“It’s fine. He’s right to feel that way about me. I was a Judas to him. At the wrap party, I followed him out to a balcony because he said he needed someone to talk to, and I let him go on and on about his feelings for you. I was an asshole for doing that. If I could rewind the clock, that’s the only thing I’d do differently. I’d tell him I had to go to see my family and I’d walk out the door. It’s my only regret.” He squeezes my hand. “My only one. No matter what happens, Violet, this was worth it. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, right here, with you. I’ll never regret getting to feel this with you, as long as I live.”
I rub Dax’s forearm, gathering my thoughts. I’m thrilled at everything he just said, but I can’t help feeling horrible I’m the reason Caleb hates him. It’s so unwarranted. I don’t want Caleb, and not because of Dax. Can’t Caleb grasp that and find a way to be friends with Dax, regardless? “I just want Caleb to be happy, the same way I want happiness for you and me,” I say.
Dax nods.
“I’m sorry being with me has messed up your friendship with him. I never wanted that.”
“It’s not your fault. Like I said, Caleb’s got reason to feel betrayed. I screwed up.” He squeezes my hand again. “I think we should both strap in for a bumpy ride. With Caleb vague-tweeting the same day those photos of us are flying around—and with me having a shiner—people are gonna put two and two together any minute now, if they haven’t already. We’re probably gonna become paparazzi bait for a little while.”
I sigh. “Twenty bucks says the internet is going to think this is some sort of illicit love triangle. That’s the juiciest version of the story, isn’t it? You stole me away from Caleb?”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. The rags are gonna juice this for all it’s worth, the truth be damned.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna ask Reed to arrange a bodyguard for our sightseeing over the next few days, just to keep things extra mellow for us. Cool?”
“Whatever you want to do.”
As Dax begins tapping out a message, I start tapping out a text to my mother. She already knows about Dax. I called and told her everything last night. So now, I tell her the good news that Dax followed me to Seattle and told me he loves me. I tell her I’m safe and happy with the man I love and not to worry about anything she might see online.
“Reed says Barry’s already on it,” Dax says. “A couple of his best guys will be hopping a flight today.”
“Who’s Barry?”
“Reed’s head of security. Zander’s boss.”
“Hey, maybe Barry can send Zander as one of the guys,” I say. “And maybe Kaddy and Aloha will want to tag along with Zander on his assignment?”
“Brilliant.” He begins tapping out another text. “Let’s get the L.A. Branch of the Morgan Clan to join the Seattle Branch for a few days.”
“Hey, what’s our couple name?” I ask. “Keane and Maddy are Kaddy. Who are we?”
Dax shrugs. “Diolet? Violax?”
“Violax sounds like a violent laxative.”
Dax laughs. “Diolet it is, then. Dial... It. Because we’re so damned dialed in, baby, we flow.”
“That’s right, baby. Hell yeah. We’re all about the flow.”
He pauses. “Hey, let’s promise each other something, baby. The internet might get pretty rough for us for a while. So, let’s agree to ignore it. Haters gonna hate. All that matters is what we feel. What we think. We’re a tribe of two. Okay?”
I nod enthusiastically. “I think I’m going to delete my Instagram account and completely ignore the internet for a while.”
“Great idea. I’ll do the same. Fuck ’em all.”
“You’re not going to reply to Caleb?”
“Nope. I’m not going to reply to anyone. This relationship is nobody’s business but ours.”
I beam a huge smile at him. “Sounds good.”
“There,” he says, tapping on his phone. “Instagram officially gone.”
“Don’t you need your account for PR?”
“The band’s got an account. That’s plenty. I don’t need to know what anybody ‘out there’ thinks and I don’t need to give them oxygen. All I need to know is what you think.”
“Well, I think I love you.”
Smiling, he leans in for a kiss. When he pulls away, he says, “I love you and you love me and that’s all that matters. Anyone who doesn’t like it—whether that’s Caleb or some troll on Instagram or Twitter—can go to fucking hell.”
Chapter 51
Violet
“And that’s my high school,” Dax says, pointing out the limo window at a large brick building with lots of windows.
“Were you a big man on campus?” I ask.
“Not really. I didn’t play football or baseball. I wasn’t class president or prom king. Didn’t even go to prom. Because... why?”
I laugh. “I’m sure you were the shit, without realizing it.”
“No, I was Keane Morgan’s weird little musician skater-boy brother who didn’t go to any of the dances. Keane was prom king. All-American in baseball. He slayed it with the ladies. Everyone—and I mean everyone—knew him and wanted to be his friend. Of course, he only had room on his dance card for Zander. But they didn’t know that. They all wanted a piece.”
“Sounds like you and Keane have more in common than you realize.”
Dax considers that. “Yeah, maybe.”
The car turns another corner, onto a quiet suburban street, and a moment later, Dax says, “Casa Morgan.”
We’re parked in front of a two-story, Cape Cod-style house—a lovely home that couldn’t be more perfect for the Morgans, or more different than the tiny condo I shared with my mother growing up.
“I’m so excited you’re here,” Dax says, a beaming smile on his face. “I’ve never brought a girl home before.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
My heart leaps.
Dax tips the driver and then, holding my hand firmly in one hand, and my overnight bag in the other, leads me through sheeting rain to the front door of his childhood home. He’s tucked his hair into his beanie for the walk, I notice. Apparently, he’s done letting his long hair flap in the stormy wind and give him away. Most likely, he made his point about me around town, and now he’s determined to go back to anonymity.
Dax opens the front door with a loud, “Helloooooooo!” and leads me inside—and, instantly, I’m blasted with warmth, both figuratively and literally.
There’s a chorus of cheers and greetings. We’re swarmed as we enter the living room. Encircled and hugged. Mr. Morgan takes our wet coats and Mrs. Morgan tells us to sit near the fireplace. Everyone freaks out about Dax’s shiner and he tells them the gist. The smell of spaghetti sauce fills the air. A boxer comes over and sniffs me. I meet kids and b
abies, all of whom are freaking adorable. Everyone offers condolences about my stepfather. They say they’re elated to see us. Not just Dax, but me, too. They’re making sure I feel included in their warm welcome. And I do.
“Would you like some wine, sweetie?” Mrs. Morgan asks me.
“No, thank you,” I say. “Dax and I aren’t drinking for a while.”
Mrs. Morgan looks pleased. “Sparkling water, then.”
Dax pops up. “Hey, how about a quick tour of the mansion, Vi?”
“I’d love it.”
“We’ll be back soon, fam,” Dax says, grabbing my hand. “If we don’t come back in ten, it’s because I’m doing lines of blow off Vi’s stomach.”
He pulls me around his house. I see the kitchen and various rooms on the first floor. The family photos on the piano, all of which make my heart ache and swoon and pang. He brings me into a garage where, he says, many a legendary foosball tournament has gone down. Not to mention countless 22 Goats practices. He says, “My mom used to come out here to get clothes out of the dryer and Fish would mess up his chords whenever she bent over. For years, I’m positive that boy popped a boner every time he came near my mother.”
I can’t stop laughing.
“You know that song, ‘Stacy’s Mom’?” he says. “Just to annoy me, Fish used to sing it at the top of his lungs, only he’d change it to ‘Daxy’s Mom.’”
I giggle. “Well, in Fish’s defense, your mom is hot.”
“Fish told you to say that, didn’t he?”
I laugh. “No, I swear. Your mom is gorgeous.”
“Fish always says, ‘Your mom is hot.’ Motherfucker.”
Chuckling, he leads me back inside and up the stairs. He shows me a pink bathroom where he says Kat used to give him regular pedicures and facials as a young boy. He shows me a doorjamb where his height was faithfully marked throughout the years, alongside his siblings’. A banister against which he “cracked his head like a walnut” while wrestling with Keane one night. “Oh, man, my mom was so pissed about that one,” he says. “She explicitly told us not to wrestle there. I needed twenty-two stiches that time.”
“Holy hell, Dax.”
Finally, he brings me into his childhood bedroom, closes the door, presses me against it, and kisses me. And, quickly, I feel his boner pressing against me. In short order, we’re both passionate and aroused and barreling toward a quickie... until we hear a voice in the hallway—his nephew, Theo, walking past with Colby—and we spring apart.
“To be continued tonight,” he says, buttoning his pants.
“Are you sure your parents won’t mind me sleeping in here with you? I don’t want them to think I’m a floosy.”
“Well, first off, my family doesn’t subscribe to the ‘floosy’ theory of female sexuality. Kat was raised the same as us boys to believe sex isn’t shameful. I mean, they wanted us to have respect for our partners and be safe. They always said it’s best if you’re in love. But they’ve never expected us to wear chastity rings or chastity belts or some other hypocritical bullshit like that. Second off, my parents know I flew up here, spur of the moment, for no other reason than I wanted to profess my undying love to you, Violet Rhodes. So if they expect you to sleep alone tonight after that fairytale ending, they can go fuck themselves. And, third off, they know you went to a funeral today. Do you really think they’re the kind of monsters who’d make a girl sleep alone after the kind of day you’ve had? You need TLC, baby. And I’m gonna give it to you. We all are. Although, to be clear, I’m the only one who’s going to have sex with you.”
I laugh. “I should hope so.”
He shows me around the room. I riffle through his yearbooks and he blushes and rolls his eyes at his teenage photos. He shows me his first-ever guitar and rhapsodizes about the first time he played it and just knew it was his destiny. My attention drifts to a crystal vase on a shelf and I gasp.
“Is this the vase you Super-glued back together? The one that was supposedly your mother’s prized possession?”
“That’s the one.” He chuckles. “My mom and I have a running gag with it. She puts it in here. And whenever I see it, I sneak it back downstairs to the exact spot in the dining room it sat for five years, without her noticing all the cracks. And then, like clockwork, whenever I come back home, it’s in here again.”
Giggling, I slide my arms around his neck. “I love your family.”
“And they love you. Having you here feels so right, Violet. It’s crazy. It doesn’t feel like I’m bringing you home for the first time. It feels like you’re simply coming home.”
“I feel that way, too.”
We kiss again. And my heart leaps and bounds. If I’d thought, even for a minute, Dax and I had possibly rushed things with our “I love yous” earlier—which I didn’t, actually—then I’d surely be convinced at this point we’re right on time.
“We’d better go,” he says. “Make sure you touch your nose a lot when we get downstairs, like we just did three lines of blow together.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
The minute we get downstairs, we’re dragged into the garage for an all-hands-on-deck round-robin foosball tournament. Thanks to me, we’re the worst team, by far. But we have fun.
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all the tricks,” Dax says. “By the time Kaddy and Zaloha get here tomorrow, you’ll be ready for battle.”
“Oh, they’re all coming, for sure?”
“First thing in the morning.”
After foosball, we wander into the living room, where we’re treated to a performance by Dax’s three oldest nieces, Isabella, Beatrice, and Gracie, who dance around the room to “Pretty Girl” by Aloha Carmichael, all of them with varying levels of skill and coordination, commensurate with their ages. After that, we listen to Dax’s nephew, Theo, perform a new song he just finished—a tune that includes a key modulation suggested by Dax. And we all cheer and hoot and applaud enthusiastically.
After Theo’s performance, I play a game of backgammon with Mr. Morgan. And I can honestly say it’s one of the loveliest experiences of my life. The dude barely talks to me throughout our game, other than to show me a couple moves I should have made but missed—just because he wants to be sure I won’t miss them the next time we play together, if the same rolls come up. But, even though he doesn’t talk my ear off, he sure smiles at me a whole lot. And with each smile he shoots me, I feel his unreserved acceptance of me. His desire to get to know me. And I know, in my heart, I’m going to fall deeply in love with this kind man, if I haven’t already.
After backgammon, I find myself in the kitchen with the women while the boys set the table and fill glasses of water for each place setting. As I cut garlic bread with Kat, and Lydia and Tessa chop veggies for a massive salad, the ladies tell me they’ve never seen Dax looking so happy. I tell them I’ve never seen myself looking this happy, either.
I also tell them the great news that I’m designing a superhero costume for Aloha and a wedding dress for Maddy and they lose their minds like it’s happening to them. And then, somewhere along the line in talking to all of these lovely, nurturing women, I find myself tearing up. I don’t know why I do it. Nobody said anything specific to make me cry. I just suddenly feel like my heart is so full, it’s forcing water out of my eyes. Or maybe I’ve just had an emotional day.
When Mrs. Morgan sees my tears, she ditches whatever she’s doing at the stove, takes me into her arms, and holds me until my tears stop.
When I’m sniffling but no longer crying, Mrs. Morgan pulls back from me and smiles kindly. “Are you ready to sit and eat, or do you need a minute?”
“No, I’m ready. Thank you, Mrs. Morgan.”
“Call me Louise,” she says. “Or Lou.”
“Or, if you really want to get on her good side, Momma Lou,” Kat says.
“Momma Lou,” I repeat reverently.
“Whatever is comfortable for you,” Louise says, her blue eyes twinkling. “You’re sure yo
u’re okay? You’ve had quite a day. A rollercoaster ride of emotions, I’m sure.”
I nod. “I’m only feeling happiness right now, though. Gratitude.”
She pats my cheek. “And so are we. Our home is yours, little flower. You’re not a guest here. You’re family.”
My heart squeezes. “Thank you so much.”
Dinner is served. As we sit around the table eating Louise’s wonderful meal, conversation flows easily. I realize I’ve never been part of a big family dinner like this. Not even once. And that, holy shit, this is what I’ve been craving my whole life, without realizing it. What I’ve desperately needed. And the best part of all? Throughout dinner, Dax keeps grabbing my hand and kissing it in plain view of his family, clearly signaling to all of them that he’s all-in. And each time he does it, I catch yet another contingency of his family noticing the gesture and smiling about it. Or, on occasion, winking at me. Indeed, Dax’s father winked at me a moment ago, and damn near made me tear up again.
As dessert is served, Ryan says, “All right, let’s get down to business, fam. I think we can all agree: Violet deserves to be christened with a nickname.”
Everyone agrees wholeheartedly.
Dax leans into me and whispers, “Welcome to the family.”
Ryan continues, “Obviously, all manner of violet puns and idioms are a given. Ultra Violet Radiation. No Shrinking Violet. Violet Underground.”
Dax’s niece, Isabella, pipes in, “Roses Are Red, Violets Are Blue?”
Everyone laughs and agrees that’s a great one.
“Thanks for the idea, Izzy,” I say. “But the only problem with that one is that, when I’m around this family, I don’t feel the least bit blue. Take today, for instance. I went to a funeral this morning, and now, look at me: I can’t stop smiling.”
“Aw, Violet,” Kat says.
“To be honest, I think it’s a copout to use any play on Violet,” Colby says. “Dax has already cornered the market on all things ‘Violet’ in his songs. We should come up with something original.”