“I would never—” She drops the first aid kit onto the floor and climbs into my lap, her hands going to my face. “I would never laugh at you.”
“I know,” I repeat. “I was stuck in my own head, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’ve never told anyone but my brother, and it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It was amisunderstanding. I wasn’t listening, and I didn’t understand. But now, I am listening, so tell me what you meant by you not being able to read.”
I take a deep breath and then say the words out loud for the first time ever. “I’m dyslexic.”
Even when I told my brother, I didn’t say the words. He’d overheard our parents arguing over me being stupid, and he asked me if it was true—that I couldn’t read. I nodded, and that was it. After that day, we never talked about it again, but when I went to work for him, he always made sure to paraphrase any emails or contracts that were sent.
“Sometimes, I scramble letters, and when you asked me to read the measurement, I couldn’t tell if I was reading it correctly. It looked like the abbreviation of teaspoon, but then I thought it could’ve been tablespoon. It all happened so fast that I choked, and instead of reading it wrong to you and you laughing at me or me fucking up whatever you were making, I told you I couldn’t read.”
“But then I laughed anyway.” She sighs. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know you didn’t mean it like that, but flashbacks of getting laughed at by other kids when I was growing up hit me, and I couldn’t think clearly.”
“That’s so shitty,” she says. “Your parents didn’t get you help?”
I snort out a humorless laugh. “That would mean the great and powerful Andrey Antonov admitting his son had a weakness. No, he tried to beat the stupid out of me a few times, but when that didn’t work, he threw me on the streets since I was too damaged to work in the office, like Dominick.”
“That’s horrible. And the teachers didn’t help you?”
“They tried. When I got frustrated, I would lash out. Eventually, they started to put two and two together. But they couldn’t run any official tests to get me help without parental consent, and my dad refused to consent.”
Dani glares. “What? He refused to let you get help? What kind of parent refuses to get their child help?”
“Andrey Antonov,” I say with a shrug. “When I was fifteen, my English teacher saw firsthand how bad he was, so she told her brotherabout me. I had a lot of the same characteristics he had. Lashing out, unable to control my emotions. He brought me to his gym and showed me how to release the pent-up aggression I had. I learned I not only had dyslexia, but I also had emotional dysregulation—pretty much a fancy term to say that I can’t control my emotions. But back then, my dad just thought I was stupid and acting out.”
“That’s horrible. How did you get through school without any help?”
“Up until high school, I barely got by. But once I started high school, the teachers had too many teenagers to deal with, and I started failing. When I was sixteen, I dropped out and never looked back. During the day, I worked the streets for my dad, and afterward, I spent all my time at the gym. Lucian trained me, gave me an outlet, and when I was good enough, I started fighting underground. Eighteen fights, and I’m undefeated.”
“And Dominick knows?”
“Yeah. For the most part, it doesn’t matter since he handles the business side of things, but when I need to read something …” I tap the earbud that’s situated in my right ear.
“That’s why you always wear that earbud. So you can listen to your texts and emails.”
I nod. “It’s just easier that way. I googled it to see if there was a cure, but there wasn’t. I did learn that there’s a fifty percent chance of passing it down to your kids though.”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “That’s why you don’t want to have kids?”
“I wouldn’t be able to help my own kids with their homework or read them a bedtime story. Hell, you asked me to read you a fucking measurement, and I lost my shit. Add the fact that this life is dangerous? Not only would my child’s life be at risk every day, but they might not even be able to read, thanks to me. And don’t get me started on my emotional dysregulation. I’m either fighting or fucking to keep my emotions in check. Not exactly husband or father material.”
“Oh, Matteo,” she sighs. “Don’t you hear yourself? You’re awareof what you went through, what you go through every day. Do you honestly believe that if you had a child and they ended up having dyslexia that you wouldn’t do everything in your power to make sure they got the help they needed?”
Fuck, I guess I never looked at it like that, but …
“Did you see the way I lashed out at you? I don’t want to put someone I love through that. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You mean the way you got upset and then walked away and took it out on a bag because you’d rather do that than hurt me?” She quirks a brow. “Make up all the excuses you want, but you’re a good guy, Matteo, and you’re not going to tell me otherwise.”
She stands and extends her hand, and I’m immediately drawn to her.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the kitchen. I was in the middle of baking you a cake.”
“Me?” I ask as I stand.
