Chapter 1

Chapter One

brONX

"Remind me again why murder is a bad idea."

Dallas laughed on the other end of the phone. "Because you'd go to jail for the rest of your life. Jules's family is way too rich and privileged for you to get away with any kind of plea that wouldn't leave you behind bars until you die. I'm pretty sure Lucas won't forgive you for that."

Bronx covered his face and groaned, deliberately not staring at his front door. Well, his former front door, though the house hadn't closed yet, so it was still technically his.

And Jules's, which was why he was behind the wheel of his rental, having a panic attack instead of going inside.

"Is he there?" Dallas asked.

Bronx looked at the BMW in the driveway and sighed. "He bought a new convertible. It's cute." And it was. It was a sporty little two-seater that had the top down in spite of the fact that it looked like rain on the horizon. It was very expensive, the kind of car that existed to show off money. The trim was black, the dash a sort of woodgrain, and the seats were white leather—something Bronx hadn't touched in years, thanks to having a kid.

Jules always resented his nice things getting ruined. He'd buy them, then have little hissy fits when Lucas got smears of jam or dirt on them. At one point, Jules bought Lucas designer clothes, then had a complete meltdown when his baby Ralph Lauren polo got dirty. It was one of the biggest fights they'd had that year. Bronx couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Jules expected him to somehow keep their son from getting dirty.

Their son, who, at the time, still wasn't walking.

"Just carry him, then," Jules had demanded.

Bronx hadn't dignified that with a response. Instead, he'd packed away all of the expensive clothes into a vacuum-seal bag and shoved them into the closet. Jules didn't talk to him for a week, and Bronx took the reprieve. God, he should have known then.

But that incident was one in a damn laundry list of moments he should have known that Jules was not the man to marry, let alone raise a child with. Bronx had stopped trying to keep up with his grievances. What did it matter anyway? They were officially divorced. All he had left to do was the final walkthrough of the house. Then, the buyers would pay the money, the papers would be signed, and it would be over.

Completely and totally over.

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

Dallas was deathly quiet for a long beat. "About what? Because if you're thinking about reconciling with that absolute fuck-weasel?—"

"No. No. Fuck no," Bronx said in a rush. He'd been hurt and confused for about three days after he'd come home to Jules gone and a note left behind. And after that, he'd just been angry. And tired. And shattered that he'd wasted so many years of his life on a piece of shit like him.

He didn't blame himself for all the ways that Jules was terrible, but he did blame himself for staying when he knew the man had no intention of being anything other than a selfish ass. And he blamed himself for raising his son in such a toxic home.

Lucas was blind, but that didn't mean he couldn't see what was going on around him. He was more astute than either of them had given him credit for. It had taken him far too long to realize Lucas knew exactly what was happening behind their closed bedroom door or how often Bronx slept in the office.

Or how often Jules never came home.

"So what could possibly be a mistake?" Dallas pressed.

"Leaving Luke at home," Bronx admitted. "The fact that Jules had the fucking balls to text me and ask me not to bring Luke is one thing. I expected that. But shouldn't I force him to look our son in the face and answer all the questions he's running from?"

"Do you think that would be fair to Luke?" Dallas shot back. "You asked him, right? If he wanted to go?"

Bronx sighed. "Yeah. He laughed and said he'd rather walk around barefoot on dead summer grass."

Dallas sucked air between his teeth, likely remembering feet full of stickers that were a mark of their childhood. "Then, no. You didn't make a mistake leaving him home. You don't need to emotionally torment your child to stick it to your ex."

"That's not what I fucking meant," Bronx said, furious for a moment, but then he deflated because, despite his intent, that's exactly what he would have done if he'd dragged Lucas along to spite his ex. "Sorry. Christ, I'm just…re ally tired. This is harder than I thought it was going to be."

"I know. But it's almost over. Everything you left behind you didn't want, right?"

"There's a couple photo bins in the basement I still want, but otherwise, yeah," Bronx said. He could live without those too, though, if push came to shove and Jules was so unbearable he needed to flee.

He had all of Lucas's childhood photos on his computer, but he really didn't want to give up those bins if he didn't need to. He liked having those early hard copies he'd taken when Luke was first brought home. He had a pile of photos from when Lucas was in the NICU, born early and covered in wires and tubes. He was so small—so delicate. Bronx hadn't realized just how strong his son would grow up to be. There were also a few of the surrogate mom, who had since passed, and those were precious.

But Bronx knew damn well he'd live without all of it if it meant closing this chapter in his life. The ink from his divorce was still drying on the decree, and all that was left was this last moment with the house. Then Jules would be out of his life for good, and he could start rebuilding.

Movement caught his eye, and for a brief second, he saw his ex's face in the window. It would be the first time seeing him since the night before Bronx had taken Lucas out of town for his goalball match. It was odd to think of that afternoon, walking into the house thinking nothing had changed and, within minutes, realizing his entire world had turned upside down. He'd been with Jules for so long he hadn't considered a life without him. He had no idea how to start over.

He was pretty sure Jules hadn't thought about him or Luke at all, and a small part of Bronx wanted to ask him how he did it. How did he just slough off a giant chunk of his life like it meant nothing? How did he go about his day like the past twenty-five years had meant nothing at all?

But Bronx had to remind himself that Jules had always lived with one foot in and one foot out of the marriage. He'd never bothered trying to be a dad, even though he'd taken that title the day Lucas was born. It was obviously easier for him because Jules had never let himself belong to either of them. He was able to step fully into his life of travel and parties like it was nothing.

Hell, he'd been having so much fun the week he left he had the nerve to sound annoyed when he finally picked up Lucas's phone call. That had been a shitshow in itself. Lucas was angry more than sad. Bronx watched him shake as he listened to Jules on the other end. And it was those words that made Bronx want to set the man on fire. It was those words that told him once and for all that Jules was unworthy of calling himself a parent.

"How can you just leave? Why didn't you bother saying goodbye?"

"Because there was no point. I'm not trying to be cruel, Luke. But the truth is, I was never really your dad. Our DNA isn't stronger than, say, an uncle to a nephew. Your pop and you have a stronger connection. It's better this way. Trust me."

Luke had let the phone fall to the floor, and he locked himself in his room except to eat and use the bathroom for three days.

Bronx tried to call Jules back after that, but his ex refused to pick up. And the rest was history, through lawyers and mediation that Jules refused to be present for.

And now they were here .

"I should go. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can come back and wallow."

"I'll have a comfort feast waiting," Dallas promised. "See you soon, yeah?"

Not soon enough, but yes, he would get back to his new makeshift family. And that was something. He hung up, then braced himself as he got out of the car and made his way to the door. Jules had left it cracked open, so Bronx pushed inside and listened to the echo around the empty rooms.

He'd sold most of his furniture after Dallas told him he and Lucas could move in with him, and Jules had signed the agreement that Bronx would keep all the money from all assets sold apart from the house. Jules's lawyer presented the offer of twenty percent of the house sale, plus relinquishing custody so long as Bronx promised not to drag it out or ask for alimony.

Bronx would have laughed in his face if Jules bothered to show up to the mediation, but he took the deal. It wasn't going to get better than that, and it wasn't like Bronx was going to go after him for alimony in the first place. But it felt almost like trading his son for everything Jules had wanted, and he didn't feel better about it until Lucas told him right to his face that the last person he ever wanted to be around again was Jules. So he agreed, even though it left a hollow pit in his stomach, because Lucas deserved better. They both did.

The emptiness he felt that day in court was reflected now as he made his way across the wood tile floors to the kitchen, where he could hear Jules puttering around.

On his way, he stared at the walls—mostly clean with a few scuff marks from Lucas's shoes because he always dragged his left foot along the wall when he walked. There was also a height chart in the pantry doorway that he hadn't been able to bring himself to paint over, but he knew the new owners would. Maybe they'd take a photo first. Maybe they'd think it was cute.

Or maybe they wouldn't give a shit.

It was weird walking away from something that had been such a massive part of his life. But it was weirder knowing that his ex of twenty-five years felt nothing.

"You could have left some wine here," Jules complained, his face in the mounted wine cooler. He turned and offered Bronx the sort of smirk that had once left him weak in the knees. Now, all he saw was a pathetic excuse for a man and an even worse father.

"You can get your own wine," Bronx said flatly. "I don't drink."

"Yeah. You quit being fun years ago. But you could try to live it up for the few days of freedom you have."

"This isn't freedom for me," Bronx answered without a hint of care. He was doing what his therapist said—he was grey rocking. Pulling all emotion out of his voice, refusing to rise to the bait. He wasn't convinced Jules was a narcissist. He was probably just a spoiled little asshole who never bothered to grow up. But the technique worked because Jules had been poking at him for the last week, and Bronx could sense his irritation rising the longer he went without a reaction.

Rolling his eyes, Jules gestured to the counter where a handful of old silverware sat. It had been a wedding gift from Jules's grandmother—a family heirloom. "You don't want those?"

"Your grandmother's silver?" Bronx asked. "That's all yours. "

Jules used the tip of his pinky nail to pick at his teeth. "I'm staying on a yacht right now. I have no place for it."

Bronx shrugged. "Get a storage unit. I'm not keeping your stuff for you."

"Apartment too small?" Jules smiled again, and Bronx fought the urge to punch him in his perfectly placed veneers. But Jules was doing what he did best: he was getting under his skin. He'd been furious when Bronx had his address redacted from the divorce papers, and he'd been trying to get him to admit where they were staying. "I saw the sign on your door office too. Your name was removed. Did you go postal?"

Bronx ignored him, turning and walking away. He headed down the hall toward the basement door, where he knew the few things he wanted were waiting for him. He could hear Jules follow him, and he knew it was going to be like this for the rest of the afternoon. He needed to get this over with. Nothing was worth dragging this out.

He turned the knob and was met with musty, hot air. It had always smelled a little like old stone—mossy and wet, though they'd never had a mold issue which was the one saving grace when they were selling the place. He turned on the switch, and the low bulbs illuminated the mostly empty room, keeping him from eating shit on the stairs as he made his way down.

"Is this how it's going to be? The silent treatment is beneath you, Bronxy."

He flinched but kept his cool. "I'm not giving you the silent treatment. I just have nothing to say."

"We could see about that wine. It always loosens your tongue. I know you want to yell at me." Jules took the steps three at a time until he was nearly pressed up against Bronx's back. His voice dropped, low and sultry. "And maybe smack me around a little bit?"

He'd be a liar if he said he didn't feel the urge to cause his ex pain. But that was what Jules wanted. He thrived on conflict. It fed his ego, knowing that Bronx was hurting, knowing that he was close to snapping, and all because of him.

Bronx wasn't going to let it happen. He wasn't going to let Jules win.

"Come on, tell me how angry you are. I deserve it."

Bronx turned his head and raised a brow at him, then took the last few steps and walked over to the remaining bin, which was perched on an old card table. Pressed against the inside was a single Polaroid of one-year-old Lucas perched on Dallas's shoulder. It was before he'd had his implant surgery, so his eyelids were nothing more than tiny commas with thick lashes. He looked like a grown-up now.

It had been years since Bronx had seen those chubby cheeks and goofy smile.

His chest ached. When was the last time Lucas had really smiled? Like he meant it. Like he felt actual happiness.

He swallowed back bitter, angry words. "I don't suppose you want any of these?"

"What are they?" Jules asked.

"Baby pictures."

He felt the weight of Jules's silence, and his sigh sounded like a gunshot. "Better not. They'd probably end up somewhere in the Atlantic."

God, he was such a dickhead . But that was fine. Bronx hadn't wanted to part with any of them. He pulled the bin close and started toward the stairs, Jules at his heels again .

"So, I saw there were a few things left in the master bedroom. I thought we could divvy up what was left, and then we can maybe grab dinner and?—"

"There's not a chance in hell we're having dinner. And you can have whatever's left."

"I don't want whatever's left!" Jules said, his voice rising to a near shout. "I want you to fucking look at me!"

Bronx didn't obey. "Why?"

"Because you owe me!"

Fighting back a laugh, Bronx shook his head. "Feel free to trash anything that's left that you don't want. This is all I came here for. I'll sign off on the final walkthrough so we can get it pushed through closing." He reached for the door and had it partway open before Jules's arm shot past him and slammed it shut. Bronx froze and bowed his head. "What now?"

"I don't want whatever's left," Jules said, his voice calmer now. He stepped up close to Bronx—not touching, but near enough Bronx could feel his body heat. "I just…"

Bronx held his breath.

"I don't want to leave it like this. I miss you." His hand moved to rest on Bronx's waist, and for a single second—just one—Bronx let himself feel it. The weight of it. The familiarity of being touched by him. For a single breath, he remembered when it had been good. When he'd been in love with this man, and this man had loved him back.

But none of it had been real. Jules was a liar and a performer, and the only thing that mattered to him was winning and getting what he wanted. He didn't care who was caught in the crossfire. He didn't care about destroying a seventeen-year-old boy who had done nothing to deserve it.

He didn't care that everything Bronx had worked his ass off to build had come tumbling down from a single stroke of a ballpoint pen.

"Please don't touch me."

Jules snapped his hand back, and Bronx straightened. He hadn't meant to sound so angry. The point was not to show his emotions. But in that moment, he couldn't help it. He took a breath, then turned slightly and reached for the doorhandle again.

"Baby…"

"No. I'm not your baby. I'm nothing to you now."

"That's not what I wanted," Jules murmured.

Bronx held back a bitter laugh. "That's what you signed on the dotted line for."

" You divorced me ," Jules all but shouted.

Bronx shrugged. "You left me with a note while I was out of town with my son."

" Your son? Now he's your son? I thought we made him together."

Bronx held the bin between his hip and the wall and dug his phone out of his pocket. He was losing his grip on his control, but the fact that he'd had it for this long was a damn miracle. He swiped open the screen and pulled up Jules's text. " Hey ," he said, reading aloud.

"Bronx, don't?—"

" I don't want to take too long with this house thing so it's probably better that you don't bring your kid. I really don't want to deal with him having a meltdown about the court stuff ." Bronx lowered the phone and raised a brow at his ex. "Tell me again about how he's our son?"

Jules took a step back and threw his hands up in the air with a loud groan. "I don't know what you want from me, Bronx. You knew from the beginning that I wasn't going to be a good dad, and you chose this anyway. "

Bronx finally let his laugh go. It was bitter, hollow, echoing through the empty house. "I chose this because I wanted a child. You agreed because you thought we'd have some picture-perfect family, and when he didn't live up to your expectations, you checked out. You should have just left."

Jules deflated, wrapping his arms around his middle. For the first time, Bronx thought there might be actual pain and regret in his expression. But he couldn't be sure. Jules's acting deserved a goddamn Oscar. "I don't know what you want from me, Bronx."

"I don't want anything from you. I thought I was pretty clear about that in the divorce."

"So you're going to throw away twenty-five years just like that?"

Bronx blinked at him. He took a breath, then hoisted the bin back onto his hip and walked out the door. He could hear Jules following him, but he was laser focused on his car.

"Like this all meant nothing? Like we meant nothing?" Jules shouted as he followed him out.

Bronx popped the trunk and set the box down next to the spare tire, then slammed it shut. He took a beat, then turned to face Jules. "You know what? There is something I want."

Jules's arms sagged down to his sides. "Anything. I'll give you anything."

"I really want to know what the fuck is wrong with you."

Jules's mouth dropped open, and he took a step back. " Me ? You're the one acting like I'm a stranger."

"You are a stranger. The man I thought I married wasn't the sort of man who waited for his kid's sports tournament to leave their family with a fucking note on the table. The man I thought I married wouldn't send a fucking text telling me to leave my kid at home because he doesn't want to answer uncomfortable questions about why he destroyed his life."

Jules's mouth shut with an audible click, and then he said very softly, "I never wanted the life we were living. That wasn't my dream. That was yours."

Bronx felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Then you should have said that from the beginning."

He started to walk off, but Jules darted after him. "You really didn't notice I was miserable, Bronx? You really didn't notice that I was so fucking unhappy I had to look elsewhere just to survive?"

Maybe that was true. Maybe Bronx had been so distracted by his desire to have a family that he missed all the warning signs. But he wasn't a mind reader, and that wasn't fair. Instead of saying anything, Jules had just started cheating. And then he was gone. Just like that. Like a goddamn magic trick.

"The process took three years, Jules. Three fucking years before the surrogate had a viable pregnancy. Three years of jerking off into cups and paying thousands upon thousands for her hormone treatments. Thousands of dollars and dozens of hours waiting for your sister to have eggs extracted. You had all that time to tell me it wasn't the life you wanted. Instead, you let everyone go through all that because it was what? Easier than telling me what you needed?"

"You would have left me," Jules shouted, his face red. "If I told you I didn't want a kid, you would have left!"

"I wouldn't have married you in the first place. I told you I wanted a family, and you said you were on board," Bronx spat.

Jules swallowed thickly. "I could have lived with it if he wasn't…" He stopped, then shook his head. "Look, he's a nice kid, okay? But we never bonded."

"You are a piece of shit," Bronx spat. "The man I thought I married is not whatever the fuck you are. But congrats on fooling me for so long. Congrats on being a lying, selfish, ugly asshole. I hope whoever you have on your yacht is worth it."

"He is," Jules said smugly.

Bronx smiled at him. "Good. See you at the signing tomorrow."

He started to turn, but Jules's words stopped him. "What makes you think I'll show? I could drag this out for months, Bronx. Leave you nice and broke."

Bronx didn't bother looking back when he answered. "Because if you don't, I'll sue you for your twenty percent, then I'll drag your ass to court for alimony. And I'll be sure to mention you're wealthy enough to live on a fucking yacht. See how well you pay your crew and spoil your little fuck toy when that hits your bank."

Jules had nothing to say after that, and Bronx managed to keep it together until he reached his hotel. But the moment his hands touched the bed, his knees hit the floor, and everything unleased in an angry, furious, heart-crushing wail that was a damn long time coming.

Jules was smart enough not to make eye contact as they signed the closing docs. The mortgage company had the court order, and they said they'd be splitting the payment between their accounts. Bronx watched the last dot of ink dry on the sweep of his last name—back to Reed once more, and he never felt so good about seeing his name there on that piece of paper.

He could feel the tension in the room. No one was trying to make jokes. Everyone seemed to sense it was a day that didn't call for smiling or celebration.

Bronx had money again—which was a relief. But it was closing a chapter on his life he never thought he'd be closing until Jules pulled the rug from under him. Now he had to face the fact that he really had married a man he didn't know. He wasn't sure how much of it was him that didn't see the man Jules was or if he really was that good of an actor.

It was true, Jules hadn't been overly enthusiastic when it came to family planning. He didn't attend any of the sonogram appointments, and he was late to the hospital when the surrogate went into labor. Lucas had been rushed into the NICU right after his second APGAR score was distressingly low, and Jules didn't bother visiting their tiny little preemie in his plastic cot.

He wasn't there when the doctors sat Bronx down and told him that he wasn't sure how the scans had missed it, but their son was born with a rare condition where cysts had formed around his optic nerves.

There was surgery for it to prevent the cysts from growing, but they would leave his son totally blind with no light perception.

Jules didn't hug Bronx after that. He didn't let him cope in the arms of his husband. He just got to work pulling down all the visual sensory stuff they'd gotten at the baby shower because what was the point of keeping it up? He didn't shop for new things to engage Lucas's remaining senses. He just…shut down.

Bronx thought he was mourning. But then three years went by. Then five. Then ten. Now seventeen.

There were school meetings and IEP sessions and occupational therapy that Bronx attended completely alone—like he was a single father. Bronx had a library of photos when Lucas took his first steps when he was three and when he used his first tiny little cane when he was four. And Jules wasn't in any of them.

Bronx had tried his damnedest to bridge the gap. To find some sort of common ground where Jules would snap out of whatever the fuck was wrong with him and start paying attention to their child. He'd given Jules the name of Dad, the thing Bronx had wanted so badly for himself. He thought Lucas calling him that would create a connection, but the word became something almost mocking in their home.

And nothing ever helped.

Lucas was six when Bronx realized Jules was completely checked out, but he thought eventually he'd get over it. Maybe Jules would wake up one day and realize they had a really fucking cool kid who was a blast to be around. But it didn't happen. Instead, there was an empty space where Jules should have been.

And the more Jules pulled away, the more Bronx pulled Lucas close. Before he was really aware of it, Bronx was smothering his child in an attempt to make up for the love Lucas was lacking from his other parent. It was a hot mess that led to long years where Lucas resented him for the choices he'd made for the both of them. And once Bronx realized what he'd done, he fell into a spiral of self-hatred he wasn't sure he could come out of .

He'd sacrificed so much of himself—so much of Lucas's young life—on a lie. How did he come back from that?

But it was over now. It was time to let go and heal.

After the signing was finished and the deposit hit his account, he took himself to lunch and called his brother while he waited for his food.

"How bad was it after we hung up?"

Bronx snorted into his iced tea. "It got weird. He tried to hit on me."

Dallas choked. "I'm sorry, he what ?"

Bronx gave him a quick recap of Jules's fuckery, which had them both laughing, though it wasn't really funny. "I'm amazed at his audacity. I really am. I mean, just when I think he's done being a dipshit, he has the nerve to act confused over why I don't want to get drunk and have a last roll in the hay."

"For fuck's sake," Dallas groaned.

Bronx rubbed at his tired eyes and wished he was home. "I know I wasn't supposed to lose my temper, but I did."

"What did you do? Tell me you hit him."

Bronx rolled his eyes. "I didn't hit him. I called him out on his crap. I told him he was a pathetic waste of space and a sorry excuse for a partner. It felt…"

"Cathartic?" Dallas offered when Bronx couldn't find the words.

He wished it had been, but it wasn't. "It kind of crushed me. Was I really living with my head so far up my own ass I didn't realize the kind of person he was? I forced Lucas to live in a home with a man who never loved him. What does that make me?"

"A dad trying to hold his family together?" Dallas said. "You're not a monster. He is. And Lucas doesn't blame you."

"Maybe he should," Bronx said quietly .

"Maybe," came the voice from the one person Bronx didn't want to overhear this conversation, "he knows that his fake dad is a jackass, and his real dad loves him enough to spend his life trying to protect him."

"I didn't know Lucas was next to you."

"I didn't know he was in the room. He's really good at sneaking up on me, and he has scary good hearing," Dallas said.

Lucas giggled. "Because I'm Daredevil, bitch."

"Language," Dallas and Bronx echoed at the same time

"Whatever. He had you on speakerphone, and I don't think he knew I was hovering behind him. Sighted people suck at seeing sometimes."

"We do," Dallas said. "And you're a little shit."

Bronx missed them both a lot. "How are things? Have you been babysitting?" he asked his son.

"Yeah. Dallas just got home about half an hour ago. Audra and I managed to get through a whole day without having a blowout. Which was great, but those things are the reason I'm never having kids," Lucas said, a smile in his voice. "Also, Gage invited me over to his place tonight for a sleepover if you're cool with it."

Bronx felt his heart kick up, but he knew if Lucas would be safe anywhere else but home, it would be with one of the guys from the dad club. He knew he'd been holding on to Lucas too tight. He knew he'd fucked this all up. He had to start letting go—bit by bit.

"I'm cool with it. Have fun and make smart choices, okay?"

"You know it. I'm gonna go shower."

There was a beat of silence, and then Dallas laughed. "Sorry. I swear I didn't know he was there."

"Don't worry about it. He pulls that shit on me all the time. But I'm glad everything's going well. And I'm all for sleepovers if it means he showers more."

"Were we that gross as teenagers?" Dallas asked.

"You were for sure," Bronx said, smiling to himself. He was a lot older than Dallas—enough that he'd practically raised him after their parents checked out. It was the one lesson he'd taken away from them: what not to do when you have kids.

He almost got it right.

He was still getting there.

"I'm gonna go. I have a few more things to finish up before my flight tomorrow. You're picking me up, right?"

"I'll be there with bells on," Dallas said. "Try to get some sleep. And remember, you're doing all the right things."

Bronx wasn't entirely sure he believed him, but he was grateful that his brother had been brought up to be the kind of man that was there for him no matter what. And the kind of man who would call him on his shit if and when he screwed it all up.