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Chapter twenty-nine

Daxton

A fter talking with Bex, I felt the urge to take a walk. Usually, visiting him helps clear up the chaos in my mind, but this time, it didn’t work. Instead, I ended up with more unanswered questions, feeling even more unsettled than before.

So here I am, standing in front of my old trailer door. Nothing has changed—absolutely nothing. This realization should make me turn around and leave, but I find myself unable to move. It feels like Bexley somehow led me here, like a twisted sign. I left the graveyard without a second thought, and instead of heading back to my dorm, my feet brought me here. Home.

I glance over at Bexley’s trailer and then take in the bare landscape around the park. Everything here is lifeless, every single thing.

Before I can stop myself, I find myself walking toward Bexley’s trailer. I stand at the door, possibly avoiding seeing my dad, but I just want to check if Bex’s mom is still alive. I start to knock but hesitate—I’ve never knocked before, so why start now?

I open the door, expecting the usual smell, but there’s none. As I step inside, I notice it’s somewhat clean, which is surprising. On the sofa lies an even frailer version of Bex and Bray’s mom. She looks terrible—it’s shocking how drugs can slowly destroy a person from the inside out.

Looking over the kitchen, I’m puzzled by its cleanliness. It was never this tidy, not even when Bex lived here, and he always tried his best to keep it clean.

I walk over to the fridge to see if there’s any food, and I find three containers with ready-made meals. What the heck? Who is doing this?

As I close the fridge door, I hear a groan behind me. I turn to see Bex’s mom stirring, her eyes fluttering open as she frowns.

“Bex, baby, is that you?” A lump forms in my throat. “Bex,” she murmurs, still half asleep.

“Go back to sleep, Mom,” I whisper, watching as she slowly drifts off again. Bex had always shared stories about his mom—she wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she was a good mom, not an addict.

Bex understood the craving for drugs too well; he had days when he would have sacrificed anything to get them. He related to his mom in a way Brayden couldn’t.

I glance at the door, the one I had entered to find my best friend receiving CPR from his twin. Tears roll down my face as I stare at the bedroom door, and every part of me wants to avoid it. I run out of the trailer, feeling an overwhelming sense of suffocation, like someone is physically gripping my throat. Why did I even come here?

I head over to my old trailer. I know I have to go inside; maybe it will keep Marley off my back, but I have no idea how he’ll react or what mood he’ll be in. I haven’t told anyone I’m here.

Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I open the door and step in. Unlike Bex’s trailer, this one reeks, making my eyes water.

What happened here? Beer cans cover the floor, dirt is everywhere, and food is dropped all over.

I glance around the living room, which is a complete mess—spilled drinks, food stains, trash bags overflowing with rotten garbage. The overpowering stench of urine makes me step outside for a moment before continuing. I take a few deep breaths, using the sweater—actually Tray’s, which he lent me at the ice rink—to cover my face as I re-enter.

“Dad,” I call out through the trailer.

No response.

I step over the trash and head to his bedroom door. As I open it, the smell assaults my senses, hitting my eyes before reaching my nose.

Shit, this is bad. This is really bad.

My dad is sprawled out on his bed—bruised face, swollen features, and a stomach bigger than I’ve ever seen. His eyes suddenly widen as they lock onto me.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he says, his voice trembling with fear.

“What?” I ask, completely clueless about what he’s talking about.

“Your uncle—it was him.” His face twists in pain, and tears well up in his eyes. “I know. I know.” He screams into the empty room, and I look around, only to find no one else there.

“Dad,” I whisper softly. He begins muttering to himself, saying things I can’t understand. “Dad,” I repeat, but he doesn’t even look at me, just continues staring at the wall with a blank expression, mumbling random words.

What has happened to him?

I step back, but he remains fixated on that same spot. I leave the trailer and eventually the park, my mind racing. I can’t believe how, in just a few months, he’s fallen so far. How did this happen? And what really went down? I know I should call Marley, but with everything that’s happened today, I just want to crawl into bed.

“Oh shit, sorry,” I say as I bump into someone on the walkway. I catch a glimpse of sandy-brown hair with blond tips—a look that’s unusual for guys these days—which makes me pause as he lowers his head and tries to slip away.

“Ashton,” I call out. This is my chance to finally find out what the fuck happened that night and why he left. After everything that’s already gone wrong today, what’s the harm in one more?

He turns to me, his expression more of a wince than anything else.

“Look,” I say. “If you don’t like me, that’s fine, but can you at least tell me what the fuck happened that night? When did things go wrong? Or are you just a rude cunt?” I’m already done with today, and the more I look at his face, the angrier I get. I’m sick of walking on eggshells around people—they can kiss my fucking ass.

He glances around like he’s plotting an escape. “For fuck’s sake, just tell me,” I snap.

“A guy approached me.” He hesitates, and I’m confused—did some guy come up to ask him out, and he just bailed?

“Come on, spit it out.”

“He told me you gave him chlamydia,” he rushes out, wincing.

I stand there dumbfounded for a moment before bursting into laughter. It’s one messed-up prank, and this is the reason I’ve practically been cleaning up the aftermath for a month because of some fucking lie.

I can’t stop laughing, tears streaming down my face, as Ashton just stares at me, his eyebrows knitted together like I’ve completely lost my mind. “Did this guy give you a name?” I ask, finally managing to catch my breath and wipe my eyes.

“No,” he replies, his frown deepening with concern and confusion.

“So you just trusted some random guy?” I press, raising an eyebrow as I try to make sense of the situation. He looks at me, hesitating for a moment as if weighing his words.

“Well, yeah. He seemed really upset when he told me,” Ashton explains. “He knew your name too,” he adds, as if that alone should justify his decision.

“What did he look like?” I ask, my curiosity piqued despite the growing unease in my chest.

“Tall, striking eyes… dark chocolate-brown hair, and quite muscular. Really handsome.” Ashton describes the guy, his eyes distant as he recalls the encounter. My heart sinks like a stone thrown into a deep well.

“Is there anything else you remember about him?” I push, trying to keep my voice steady as I brace myself for his reply.

Ashton stands there, fingers tapping lightly against his chin, deep in thought. “Oh yeah, he had plastic wrap around one arm, like from a fresh tattoo,” he finally says, snapping back to the present. I inhale sharply, my chest constricting, and a sickening churn starts in my stomach. I don’t answer Ashton. Instead, I turn on my heel and walk away, my mind spinning.

“So it’s not true, then?” he calls after me, visibly confused but showing signs of hope. But my anger is already boiling over.

“Go to hell,” I shout back over my shoulder. I am shaking with fury. I can’t believe Trayton did this. A vivid memory flashes through my mind—Trayton comforting me the next day, pulling me from that ice. All along, it was he who ruined my night. It was he who made me feel worthless.

Well, screw you, Trayton King. I yank my phone from my pocket, my fingers trembling as I re-download the dating app I had once sworn off. I need to get over him, to erase every trace of Trayton from my life, and forget about the tangled mess with my dad. I need someone new, someone who will help me forget Trayton ever existed.