Page 44 of Twin Babies for the Silver Fox (Happy Ever Alpha Daddies #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Knox

I used to think nothing could shake me.

Not after the NFL.

Not after Savannah.

Not after crawling out of the wreckage of my own damn life to build something that finally felt like mine.

Turns out, all it takes is a whisper of scandal and a few headlines to watch it all slip sideways.

The press won’t let up.

Investors are calling, voices tight and clipped, wondering if my “personal distractions” are going to tank their money.

Someone tagged the restaurant with “Deadbeat Daddy” in red spray paint. Nova scrubbed it off before I got there. I wish she hadn’t. I wish I’d seen it. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel so surreal.

“I’m not built for this, Knox!” she snapped at me earlier, her voice shaking. “I didn’t sign up to be your PR team, your crisis manager, or your freaking emotional support co-founder! I swear, if one more reporter calls me?—”

“You’re not gonna quit,” I said flatly.

She stared at me like I’d slapped her. “Don’t tell me what I’m gonna do.”

But I know her.

She’s scared.

She’s tired.

And I put her in the middle of a fire I lit with my own damn hands.

But she’s loyal.

Even still, now I’m up here.

Just me. And Tuck. And the wind.

The trail’s one I haven’t explored yet, winding, narrow, choked with pine needles and memory. Tuck bounds ahead, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth like this is the best day of his life.

Wish I could say the same.

I hike until the air burns my lungs and my legs ache, until the only thing left is the sound of my boots on dirt and Tuck’s paws crashing through underbrush.

When we finally reach the overlook, I collapse on a mossy rock, elbows on knees, head hanging.

Tuck circles, then plops beside me with a dramatic huff.

For a minute, neither of us moves. Then…

“What the hell am I doing, man?” I say into the silence.

Tuck blinks at me. Barks once. Chases a bug.

I scrub a hand down my face. “I’ve torched everything. The restaurant. My rep. Josie…”

Her name sticks in my throat like splinters.

“I don’t even know if she got my note,” I murmur. “Maybe Dee found it first.”

Not a call. Not a text. Not even a voicemail I could replay like a masochist.

“She’s gone. And I don’t even blame her.”

Tuck stares at me, then abruptly takes off running after a squirrel, and slams face-first into a low branch with an audible thunk.

He flops backward, dazed.

I stare. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

He shakes it off like it’s no big deal, then trots back with that goofy dog grin like the world’s still fine.

I look out over the trees, the sharp edges of Silver Peak fading into the clouds. The sky’s open, endless.

And I can’t breathe.

It sneaks up on me. The pressure. The way my chest tightens, like someone’s cinching a belt around my ribs. My vision blurs. Hands shaking. Heart racing.

I try to stand.

Try to suck in air.

Try to think.

But my brain’s stuck on a loop:

You lost her. You blew it. You’re done.

Tuck whines and nudges at my leg, confused. I grip the edge of the rock so hard my fingers ache, trying to stay tethered to something, anything.

And then I pull out my phone.

Fumble through contacts.

Call the only person I trust enough to see me like this.

Jace .

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, wait, why the hell are you breathing like a haunted vacuum? You good?”

No mention of the last time we saw one another.

Of the shitty way I spoke to him.

I’m so fucking lucky to have him as a friend.

I try to answer, but all I manage is a raw sound that might’ve been a laugh. Or a sob. Or both.

There’s silence on the other end. Then, “Okay,” Jace says, voice suddenly low, calm. “Okay, brother. Talk to me. Where are you?”

“Top of some trail near the east ridge,” I rasp, pressing the heel of my hand to my forehead. “Tuck’s with me. Fuck, Jace, I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. You are. You called me. That means part of you still knows how. So just stay with me, all right?”

He starts guiding me through it. Like it's muscle memory. Breathe in, hold. Breathe out, slow. Again.

Eventually, the fog thins. My hands stop trembling. My heart calms down enough that I can hear the wind again. The birds. Tuck’s quiet huffing next to me.

“Shit,” I whisper, staring at my knuckles. “I haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Well,” Jace mutters dryly, “you’ve got all the ingredients for a mental collapse soufflé, so I’m not exactly surprised.”

I let out a weak, wheezing laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” He pauses. “Nova called me.”

Of course she did.

“She’s worried. Says you’re basically living on coffee and grief and talking to walk-ins.”

“That was one time.”

“And that you wrote Josie some cryptic love letter.”

I say nothing.

“Man,” Jace groans, “you’ve got a woman who still came back to Silver Peak after all this shit. Who is pregnant with your actual child, and you’re out here playing brooding bachelor in the woods.”

“I’m scared,” I admit. Quiet. Barely a whisper.

“I know you are. But scared people don’t get to hide. They get to show the fuck up anyway.”

His words land like a punch to the sternum.

“I hurt her.”

“Yeah. You did. But you also love her, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop being an idiot,” he says simply. “Own it. Fix it. Make a plan.”

I sit with that for a second. Let it settle.

A plan.

I’ve lived my whole life inside strategy. Playbooks. Execution. Control.

Time to apply that to something that actually matters.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s come up with one.”

Jace exhales, like he’s been holding his breath too. “Damn right. First step?”

“Stop hiding on a mountain.”

“Good. And maybe take a shower. You sound like you smell like regret and pine needles.”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Anytime,” he says. “Now get your ass home. We’ve got work to do.”

I end the call, hand still tight around the phone, Tuck pawing at my knee like he’s ready to move on.

So am I.

I don’t know if Josie will forgive me.

But I do know I’m done being a coward.