Page 109 of The Renegade Billionaire

The truth is, I’ve been asking myself the same question. Not because he dresses differently, or even because he sometimes wears eyeliner as a mask. But because we’ve always treated him as an equal.

“We were twelve when she died, Grey.” He throws his pen across the room. “When he killed her.”

“When he killed her,” I agree. Once Violet began to show during her pregnancy, their father kept her locked in her room so no one would find out.Image above all elsewas his motto.

We used to sit outside her door and talk to her. My grandfather tried to get her removed from the home multiple times, but no one would believe us—even with all the wealth and connections my grandfather had, Mr. Wells had more.

That’s when we learned that money can’t buy everything.

We later found out that she had something called preeclampsia and went into labor early while we were at school. When we got home, we couldn’t get the door down in time. Grey and I delivered Sage with the help of 911 while the ambulance was on the way, but Violet passed away en route to the hospital, and she would never tell us who the father was.

She was seventeen—the same age as Sage.

“We were kids playing house, Grey. Sure, we had nannies and Ace who supervised sometimes, but we were very clear from the beginning that Sage was our responsibility—we owed it to Vi. We did the best we could, and we’ve loved him every day of his life. We gave him the best of us at every step.”

“He’s seventeen.” He coughs to hide his emotion.

“He is, and we all handled that birthday differently, but we’re here, and he’s been taking college classes for three years. He’s going to be eighteen soon.”

“He really wants this.” Grey finally looks at me, and all the pain he’s carrying shows in his expression. The guilt, the misplaced shame, the fear.

“I think so. He’s never really asked us for anything, so that right there is telling.”

“I know, but he spent all of eight hours with them. And he’s not conditioned. He’s never even played a contact sport with guys that size.”

“Greyson. You know kickers don’t get tackled that often.”

“But they do sometimes.”

“They do…sometimes, and we can work with him. All those boys who showed up for dinner, they promised to work with him too.”

After Coach B. pulled us out from the bleachers, which has circulated town more than once, two things became abundantly clear: they want Sage on the team, and Sage is ready to go to college.

“What happens when we leave, though? What’s he going to do? Stay here with Pops?”

“He’s at that age where most kids are going off to college anyway, and there are worse people he could count on while he’s away.”

I knew Grey would have a hard time letting go, but I didn’t realize it would be this bad, so I don’t tell him that this place feels like home for me too. The last thing I ever want my best friend to think or feel is that we’re moving on without him.

He is and always will be my family.

“Is the way they’re getting him enrolled partway through a semester even legal? What happens if we let him go and then he ends up getting removed from the school and the team?” He’s grasping at straws, and by the deepening of his frown, he knows it.

“I have someone in Mr. Coop’s firm looking into it.”

“Why is this so hard?”

“Because letting him go, even when it’s the right thing to do, is a reminder of who we’ve lost.”

“Fuck me.” He points an angry finger my way. “You need to get the fuck away from Pops. You’re sounding too much like him.”

“He did say happiness is found here.”

“Fucking happiness.” He reclines in his office chair and stretches his arms over his head. “Life is changing, Brax.”

“I know that’s hard for you, but not all change is bad.”

After Violet’s death, he did everything in his power to keep things regulated, easy, safe. Sometimes I think that’s why he gravitated toward football too—it was the only time he let his emotions loose.