It’s the most honest thing I’ve ever said to Paxton.
He takes a step closer. “You know you can talk to me, Lance.”
“Dad teach you how to lie like that?”
“He taught me many things… Mainly, he showed me what kind of man I don’t want to be.”
My gaze snaps up and for the first time in months—years, if I’m really being honest—I take in Paxton without the jaded gaze of my father blurring the view.
An idea, reckless and fucking stupid, percolates in my brain.It tingles at the base of my skull and drips down my spine, until it snaps into place with a rightness I can’t deny.
“I need to talk to you,” I say.
“Clearly.”
“Not here.” I glance at the windows. “Somewhere private.”
He doesn’t ask why. That’s the thing about Paxton. He doesn’t waste time on questions when the answer is already standing in front of him, bleeding. He’s observant and calculated.That’ssomething he learned from our father.
“Come to the study.”
I nod and he leads me across the terrace, past the fountain, and through a side door into his office.
It’s different than it looked when my father was still here. Back then it was dark wood, leather chairs, and a desk that cost more than most people’s houses. And all of that’s still there. But now it’s more human. MorePax.
His computer has a screensaver of theEnterprisefromStar Trek, cutting through a star field. My lips twitch at the sight of it. It’s been his wallpaper since he was a kid. Jules used to tease him about it, and Alex once changed it to the Death Star as a joke. Pax didn’t speak to him for two days afterward.
There’s a framed picture on the bookshelf of him and Tiffany at their wedding. Another one on his desk of all of us—him, Jules, Alex, Ty, Rosie, and me—from when we were kids on a camping trip, our arms slung around each other, and toasted marshmallow with graham cracker crumbs on our lips.
I stare at that picture for a long moment, my throat swelling, and a deep, throbbing ache rises in the middle of my chest.
He closes the door, locks it, and gestures to the chair across from his desk.
I don’t sit. I can’t.
“Drink?” He moves to the bar cart.
“No.”
He pours himself one, even though he already has champagne, and settles into his chair. He watches me pace for a few seconds, his expression patient in a way that reminds me he’s spent his entire life managing people and crises and family disasters with the same calm efficiency.
The words sit in my chest like live grenades. I’ve held this for six years. Held it through the fights and the blood and the nights I couldn’t sleep and the mornings I couldn’t look at myself. Held it through Dad’s one rule—the only thing we’ve ever agreed on—because the alternative was blowing this family apart.
But Genevieve has a ring on her finger and a father who’s gone dark and a blond man who stalks her.
And Art is no longermine.
So, I can’t hold it anymore.
“I’m going to tell you something, and it’s going to change how you see everything,” I say. “Our family. Art. Dad. Me.”
Paxton’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. He sets it down. “I doubt that, but all right.”
“There’s a fighting ring that runs through the entire East Coast, and Freddy brought it to Rosebrook Falls. It’s called the Lye. It’s been operating underground, beneath the tavern and off the books, funded by Dad’s friend Brutus. Sometimes it’s just throwing bets to make money. Other times it’s…worse.”
I stop pacing and look at him.
“I’m one of the fighters.”
