Chapter 46

Chapter 46


After breakfast, I went to the backyard after taking Rhett his fruit. Yeah, I still sometimes take it to him. If not me, then Dani does. Loren and Marirose aren’t allowed in his bedroom. I thought of helping Dani out today. She treats these boys like her own sons. Their schedules, likes, and dislikes are already printed in her mind like muscle memory. And it reminds me so much of my mum.

How much I miss her. I miss my dad too.

Because everyone can be a "father" or a "mother"—but not Dad and Mum. My parents were my Dad and Mum, and so much more. They were more than those titles. They were everything.

I just wish they’d come back, or that a time machine existed, one that could take me back to when it was just Dad, Mum, Jessica, and me. We were so happy. So damn happy. Nothing else existed, not even the Paxton brothers.

But one knock at the door changed everything. It came to announce my dad’s death. To this day, I still have no idea how he died. Mum never told us.

After his death, life got hard. Mum had been a stay-at-home mom, but she pulled herself together and managed to get a job. We got by. Then she got this big gig—waitressing at Mr. Paxton’s charity event, held in memory of his late wife. I think that was the turning point.

Well… she ended up marrying him, and we moved into this big mansion. We had everything we wanted, and life felt beautiful again. Even though I never got close to anyone in the house—not really—except for Dani and Mr. Paxton, whenever he was around. I didn’t mind.

Jessica was different. She was close to everyone, especially Brant. They were inseparable. I chuckled, remembering the brother-and-sister dance they did in high school. Honestly, there was nothing “sibling” about it, thinking back now. It was kind of… sensual. Strange to admit, but it’s true.

Well… life was great, even if I was always on the sidelines. I didn’t care. I didn’t even mind that Jessica spent less time with me so she could be with Brant.

But right now, all I want is to go back to our old apartment, where it was only Dad, Mum, Jessica, and me. Because that’s when we were happiest. We were truly happy. I don’t care if I sound selfish. People should be more grateful that they have their families with them. Because if even one person is gone, everything starts to fall apart.

And for me, the beginning of it all falling apart was when my lovely dad left us.

I felt a palm cover my face, gently cupping my cheek as I zoned out. Somehow—before I even saw him—I knew it was him. Brant was right there in front of me, his hazel eyes watching me closely. The tip of his thumb softly brushed across my cheek, and when he pulled his hand away, I saw a tear glistening on his thumb… my tears.

I let out a dry chuckle. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. I wiped the rest of my tears away with the heels of my palms, a little embarrassed.

Then I looked into his hazel eyes—deep and warm, swirling with concern. His jaw was tense, like he was holding back the urge to fix something he couldn't. He looked like he wanted to mend whatever had broken inside me, even if he didn’t know how. His brows drew together slightly. Soft creases lined his forehead. His lips parted, like he was afraid to break me more just by speaking. His expression said more than words ever could: he cared deeply, maybe too deeply.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice low, careful.

I gave him a sad smile. “Just remembering my parents… and my sister.”

“Then I’ll take you to them. Let’s go,” he said gently.

“They’re dead,” I mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, and for a moment, everything was still.

All I wanted in that moment was for him to pull me into his arms—tight enough to hold me together, like the world would fall apart if he let go—and whisper all the beautiful, sweet lies that everything would be okay, even though deep down we both knew it wouldn’t. Nothing would ever truly be fine.

His fingers slipped gently into mine, intertwining with a warmth that traveled straight to my chest, like he was anchoring me in place so I wouldn't drift too far into the sadness. His touch was delicate, yet electric. It didn’t scream romance—it whispered it. And my breath caught at the tenderness of it.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “Always. If you need anything… anything at all.”

And somehow, just like that, the ache in my chest felt a little less unbearable… and that was enough. For now.

“Don’t you remember your own parents?” I asked softly.

“I do… sometimes. But it comes with bitter memories.”

“Why?” I replied in the same low murmur.

“Because my father wasn’t the man everyone thought he was. He was a terrible husband to my mum. He… led to her death,” he said, his voice tightening.

I looked at him, shocked. Why would he say that? Mr. Paxton had always seemed beyond perfect. He treated my mum, Jessica, and me with nothing but kindness. We were so happy… until that car accident took him and my mum.

“I was a mama’s boy,” Brant said with a soft, sad chuckle, breaking my thoughts.

I glanced down at our entwined fingers. The way they fit together so naturally, as if they’d always belonged that way, like we were made to hold each other. His thumb occasionally brushed against my skin in slow, comforting strokes, and it made my heart ache in ways I didn’t expect. Maybe I do.

“Yeah… Rhett was always with Dad. First child, all that. My dad taught him everything—the Alpha stuff, the legacy crap.” He gave a half-smile. “And I was the second, always with Mum. Even when Joss was born, I was right there, helping her with him.”

His smile faded. “But she always had bruises, hidden beneath makeup. And every time Dad was around, she would stiffen like she was scared to even breathe wrong. Scared she’d be punished… I don’t want to talk about it.”

I nodded slowly, understanding in the silence that settled between us.

“How did you feel when you lost him in the car accident?” I asked gently, my fingers tightening around his. My mum died in that same crash.

He gave a short laugh, but his eyes held sadness. “He didn’t die in a car accident. That’s just what people were told. Come on… he was a powerful Alpha—a freaking werewolf. If Rhett can fall from a damn glass building and survive, my dad sure as hell wouldn’t just die in a car crash.”

He was right. How could I have been so foolish to believe my mum died in something as simple as a car accident?

But a part of me had always wondered. How could my mum die from something so... ordinary? What really happened?

Brant stood up suddenly. “Why don’t you come with me?”

I looked up at him, eyes wide. “Where?”

He reached out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

I stared at him, and the truth echoed through me louder than anything else: I trusted him more than I trusted myself. And isn't that what they always say? You can trust your enemy more than you trust yourself sometimes—because at least you know where your enemy stands. But with yourself—your doubts, your fears—you never really know.

Do people even say that, or is that just what I want to believe when it comes to Brant freaking Paxton? My mind can come up with anything.

My heart thudded gently, something that made me feel like if I took his hand, I wouldn’t fall—I’d fly.

I placed my hand in his.

His fingers wrapped around mine as he gently pulled me to my feet. His touch was firm, like he’d never let go.

And whatever this was between us, it was more than history, more than shared grief.