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Chapter twenty-eight

Daxton

N aturally, he shut himself off right after we had that mind-blowing sex. The moment I turned around in his arms and noticed the change in his eyes, I knew. They went from soft and tender to cold and distant, and I knew he would pull away. Then he had the nerve to look at me with those detached eyes and ask why I looked so terrible. What a jerk.

I’ve been avoiding him all week. Every time I pass him in the hallway, my heart races, and I want to scream, grab him, and kiss him with all the passion I still feel. But I can’t because he despises me, and I’m supposed to despise him too. But the truth is, I don’t. Yet it seems like the only thing that makes him content is us hating each other, as if our animosity is the glue that holds his world together.

Am I really such a joke to him that he can’t let go of this supposed hatred? The reasons he claims to hate me are as flimsy as paper and nonexistent. “It’s your fault,” I shout at the grave in front of me, glaring down at the weathered plaque that shows Bexley’s name. The cemetery is eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. I hate that I’ve come here out of anger, with my fists clenched and my chest tight.

“Why did you ask me to keep that secret? I’m so close to telling him, Bex, but how can I? After everything you’ve done for me, how can I betray you like that?” Tears stream down my face, hot and unrelenting. “Why can’t you be here right now, helping me with this? I hate you for leaving me,” I sob, my voice breaking. “I hate you.” But deep down, I know I don’t. I never have and never will truly hate Bex.

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me? Tell me what was wrong. I could have helped. We could have fixed it. I would have been there.” I murmur the final words as the pain becomes too much to bear. I’ve stood here saying these lines before, hoping that if I spoke them, somehow I’d get answers.

“We had a plan. We were leaving. We were going to run away from everything, and then you left me behind. You left me alone to face it all.” I collapse to my knees, the dirt biting into me. “Please, come back. I need you so damn much.” I lower myself onto my elbows, my head bowed as the weight of it all crashes over me.

I was slowly moving on, sorting through my own mess, when the one person I never needed stormed in and shattered everything.

“What do I do, Bex? You’re the only one who understands.”

“What secret?” I stiffen as I catch the last of my sobs. Still kneeling in the dirt, I glance over my shoulder. There stands Brayden, suspicion in his eyes, holding a small bag of candy.

“A secret,” I reply.

Brayden steps closer and stops right in front of me. “You’re going to tell me this secret, Daxton. Now.” His voice is sharp, and I knew he wanted to learn everything about his brother.

“Bray, I can’t,” I whisper. “Bex made me promise to keep it hidden since we were sixteen.”

“Who was it about?” he asks, taking a seat beside me. I look at him briefly before turning my eyes back to the plaque.

“I can’t say.”

“Daxton.”

“Bray, it has nothing to do with you, I swear.” I wince as I speak. “Please don’t force me to tell you.” I stare down at the grave. “I’ve kept my promise all these years.”

“Just tell me who it’s about, and I won’t ask any more questions.”

“Even if you know who it is?”

Brayden falls silent for a moment, his shoulders slumping. “Yes. Even if I know.”

I sigh deeply, gazing into the distance. “Trayton,” I finally say. I hear Brayden take a deep breath, and when I glance at him, he stares down at the plaque and nods.

“Is this secret holding you back from something?” Brayden’s persistent voice cuts through the air.

“You said no more questions,” I reply, my eyes narrowing as I shoot him a sharp glance.

He shrugs, a defiant smirk playing on his lips. “I lied.”

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “You and Bex really are the definition of twins. He used to pull that on me all the time.”

Brayden’s smile falters, and a shadow briefly darkens his face. “I love him so damn much, but sometimes I think he didn’t deserve you as a friend. You were, and still are, so good to him. I really fucking hope he appreciated it because he changed a lot over the last few years.” His voice cracks, a tremor barely contained.

I nod, the memories pressing down on me. Bex messed me up more than once because I refused to give him drugs. He lashed out at me at least once a week, his anger sharp and biting, and even ditched me to hang with Marley because, well, that’s where the drugs were.

But the good days with Bex always outshone the bad. He had an addiction. I’d never hold that against him.

“So, is this secret holding you back, then?” Brayden persists, steady and unyielding.

“Kinda but, more…” I trail off, the words catching in my throat.

“Trayton,” Brayden concludes, his gaze piercing through the silence.

I remain silent, the air between us thick with unspoken truths.

“A word of advice, Dax.” Brayden is serious and unwavering. “If Bex were a true friend, he wouldn’t want you clinging to a secret that’s potentially hurting people. And another thing—as his brother, his twin, I know for a fact he wouldn’t want you holding on to this.”

Brayden stands, reaching into his pocket and tossing a pack of peanut butter cups onto the gravestone with a soft thud.

“Keep my bro company for a little while, please.” He pauses, towering over me, his presence a mix of concern and determination. “I didn’t plan on coming today, but I was in the store, and that bag of peanut butter cups fell at my feet. It felt like a sign that I needed to be here for a reason. Now I’m convinced it was a sign. I needed to be here to tell you that Tray needs to know whatever you’re holding back.”

And with that, he turns and walks away, leaving me alone to grasp the weight of his words. The pack of peanut butter cups lies there like it’s mocking me.

I tear open the orange package, the crinkling sound breaking the silence of the cemetery. Gently, I place a single candy on the cold, granite gravestone before popping another into my mouth. The familiar taste of peanut butter and chocolate brings a rush of memories, taking me back to those lazy afternoons when we sprawled on my bed, sharing secrets and candy.

“Was that a sign, Bex?” I whisper into the stillness, hoping for some kind of answer. “Did you send your brother to find me?”

The dilemma churns within me as I think about Tray. Should I tell the truth of what happened that day?

Should I tell Tray that the kiss meant nothing to either of us?

My heart aches with the weight of unspoken words. Do I confess that, in that fleeting moment, all I wished for was to be kissing him instead?