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“I never threatened you!” she squeaks.
“You threatened my family. The people I love and care about. You would have been better off threatening my money or reputation,” he growls.
I swallow heavily, questions running through my head that I know I won’t have answers to until Oakley and I walk out of here. A near-crippling feeling of appreciation throttles me, and I have to blink back the emotion it brings with it.
“What happens next?” she asks, suddenly timid.
“You’re going to retract your latest story and create another, one that portrays my son as the person he is, not the one you’ve made him out to be. I want Braxton’s animal adoption day to be highlighted, along with information about when and where it is. And then, I want you to forget that my family exists. You won’t write about them again. Hell, don’t even think about them again.
“If you fail to do that, everyone will know that one of the most popular up-and-coming sports journalists—the one who had the balls to come at the Hutton family—actually has a heavy gambling problem and has been stealing money from Alexander Torrello’s bank account as payback for him breaking up with her to fund said problem. He might be rich, Rose, but all it takes is one close look to find out what’s really been happening. You have confidence, though. I can’t think of a person off the top of my head who would stoop as low as to steal the bank information of a man who spent his nights sharing her bed. I’ll give you that.”
My jaw slacks. She was dating Alexander? And gambling? Really? She doesn’t look like a gambler, but I guess I don’t really know what that does look like.
“Oh my God,” she rushes out. “Yes. Fine. And this information . . . these pictures of me . . .”
“The pictures of you gambling that Alex’s PI took? The one he has had watching you for weeks now?” Oakley asks.
She flushes a deep red all the way down her neck and below the neckline of her shirt.
“Yes. They’ll disappear?”
“They’ll remain unseen but not gone.”
She nods slowly, shoulders sagging. “Okay, then you have a deal.”
“One more thing,” I add tightly. “The guy you hired to break into my car. Who was it?”
“I don’t know his name. I asked some random guy outside of one of the casinos I go to often. He wasn’t much older than twenty, I don’t think. I offered him two hundred dollars to slip the bug inside. I didn’t tell him your name, just where to find the car,” she replies, a hint of shame in her tone.
“You didn’t tell him to hurt me?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No. My guess is that you scared him and he acted out of impulse. I don’t think it was premeditated.”
I stand then, and it’s Oakley that says, “If I find out a different side to that story, there isn’t a damn thing that will stop me from destroying you. Is that clear?”
She swallows. “Crystal.”
43
MADDOX
I’m rushingout the door of my parents’ house the minute I see Braxton’s car pull into the driveway, my dad’s truck following close behind. Mom brushes a hand down my back as I sidestep her and duck out the doorway.
I left practice two hours ago, coming straight here after reaching Braxton’s voicemail back to back to back. Mom didn’t lie to me when I asked where Dad was—I’m not sure if she even knows how to lie, actually—and while I didn’t have proof that Braxton was also in Rose Carpenter’s office, my gut was screaming at me that that’s where she was.
My beautiful, thoughtful, self-sacrificing woman was out there doing just that. Sacrificing herself for me.
It took everything in me not to tear through the Vancouver streets to get to her and stop her from making a mistake. From throwing away her reputation for me and for the shitty people in our lives that have never deserved us in the first place.
I know deep down that no matter what she did or said to Rose that nothing will change the way the fans see things. Everything is black and white to them. Every decision I make, every game I play—good or embarrassingly awful. They don’t care about the details or the excuses, and it’s not their job to.
But Braxton doesn’t see things like that. She never has. She sees things in beautiful, vibrant colours. There’s always a reason behind an action or a decision, and when others don’t understand that, it’s a question as to why and how.
Her outlook on life is one of the things I love most about her. It makes Braxton, Braxton. But at times like this? I wish I could convince her to see things through the eyes of others.
And while I may want to shake some sense into her, I also want to run to her and toss her over my shoulder and kiss the hell out of her until we’re both blue in the face.
I need to tell her how grateful I am for her. For her love and unwavering support. There will never be a way to properly thank her for what she’s risked for me today, and I just hope that Dad was able to stop her and bring her back to me—clear and free of the mistakes I fear she could have made.
