32. Dakota

Bristol found me curled up on the living room floor in the fetal position with the front door still wide open when she returned home from class.

"Dakota!" she cried, rushing to my side. "What's wrong?"

I had no idea how long it had been since Braxton left me there, but I knew I'd run out of tears, and my eyes were sore from crying. Though nothing could compare to the pain of my heart cracking in two.

When I didn't answer, Bristol rubbed her hands over my arms. "You're freezing! Why is the door open?" She left my side and shut it before returning, trying to ease me into a sitting position.

"Dakota, you're scaring me." Panic laced her voice.

I managed to get out a single word. "Braxton."

Bristol gasped. "Oh my God. Did he get injured? Is he okay?"

"Pretty sure he broke up with me." Tears sprang to my eyes once more as a fresh wave of pain washed over me.

"What? That doesn't make any sense. He's crazy about you."

"He found out about the book."

Peering down at me, Bristol's brow furrowed. "What book? Yours?"

God, we had been popping champagne and celebrating its success only days ago, and now it had torn my life apart.

I managed a weak nod. "He thinks I used him."

She paused, thinking it over. "Are you sure you aren't playing it up bigger in your mind? He's Braxton. Literally the sweetest guy on the planet. If he knew how wrecked you were, it would kill him. I know it."

Swallowing, I sniffled. "You didn't see him. He was so angry."

Bristol stiffened, tightening her arms around me. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not physically. His words cut as sharp as knives, though. The things he said . . ." My voice broke. "I'm the villain in his story."

"No, Dakota," she whispered.

"It's true." Big, fat tears rolled down my face. "I should have never used the personal details of his life in my book. I was so caught up in how he made me feel and how different he was from the stereotypes that I was eager to share that side of athletes with the world. I wasn't thinking. I made a huge mistake, and it may have cost me everything."

Stroking my hair, Bristol tried to console me. "Look, give it a little time. Let him cool off, and then you can have a conversation. He loves you. Anyone with eyes can see that. Everything will be fine. I know it."

I wasn't so sure, but I was willing to try. If there were even the slightest chance I could fix this, it would be a miracle.

That hope was all I could cling to as I cried myself to sleep.

I gave it three days before I tried calling Braxton, but as expected, he didn't answer.

Busying myself with damage control, I waited another two before trying again.

Still no answer.

Another day went by, and I figured it was time for a new tactic. Declining my calls was easy—the simple press of a button. If I texted, the message would pop up on his lock screen, and I might have a chance of him reading it before swiping to delete.

Taking a deep breath, I typed out the words.

Braxton, can we please talk about this? I don't like how we left things.

I never meant to hurt you.

Tears burned behind my eyes as I composed the final message.

I love you.

Desperate after two weeks, I tried calling again.

This time, an automated message responded on the other end of the line. "The person you are calling is not accepting calls right now."

Stunned, I stared down at my phone. I knew what that meant.

Braxton had blocked my number.

My first attempt at speaking to Braxton in person was foiled when I went to his place, and Levi gave me a shit-eating grin before telling me he'd moved out. Cornering him at the practice rink and bringing our drama to his place of work seemed like a bad idea, so I went to the only other place he might be hiding.

I knew it was a long shot, but I was desperate.

Pulling up to the gatehouse of the community where Jaxon and Natalie lived, I gave my name to the attendant. I could only imagine Braxton had confided in Natalie, so was surprised when I was given clearance for entry.

Parking my car, I stepped hesitantly to the front door. What if she only let me in so she could yell at me? To tell me what a horrible person I was for what I'd done to Braxton? He was her brother-in-law, and I knew they were close. There was no question she would take his side.

Knocking lightly, not wanting to add a further offense of waking a sleeping baby, I took a cleansing breath.

Moments later, the door opened, and there stood Natalie.

Not bothering with pleasantries, I blurted, "I need to see Braxton. Is he here?"

A sad, sympathetic smile graced Natalie's pretty face. "Oh, honey. He's gone."

"Gone?"

"He requested a trade from the Comets. He left a few weeks ago."

Placing a hand to my stomach, I felt like I might be sick. "Where?"

I was hopeful it was somewhere close, like Boston or New York, and I could get in my car, drive to him tonight, and hash this out before it was too late. But that was squashed when Natalie replied, "Indianapolis. He now plays for the Indy Speed."

My heart sank. That was at least twelve hours away. But I was determined to speak to him. I couldn't just accept that we were done. At the very least, he deserved my apology and to know that I was doing everything in my power to make it right.

I would get in the car first thing tomorrow morning. That was the only option.

"I read the book," Natalie said softly, drawing my attention.

Ashamed, my cheeks heated. "I never meant to hurt him."

"I know that." She reached for my hand. "It was beautifully written, for what it's worth."

"Doesn't matter," I muttered.

"The thing about trauma is that it triggers you when you least expect it. The tiniest thing can set you off and cause a complete overreaction." Natalie sighed. "Trust me, I've been there. When you look back on it, you realize how ridiculous the whole thing was, but in that moment, the world is falling apart, and you can't see reason. That's what's happening with Braxton right now. He's scared, throwing up his walls and isolating himself. And I hate that for him."

"It's all my fault."

Squeezing my hand, Natalie reassured me, "We all make mistakes. It's how we react and move forward that defines us."

"I'm going to go out there tomorrow and fix this. I promise."

She shook her head. "I would caution against it. Let the dust settle. He will be dealing with a lot with the Speed heading into the playoffs."

It was almost April. The playoffs could run until June, depending on how far a team advanced. I couldn't wait that long.

"And if I can offer a word of advice?" My eyes met hers, and she continued, "I know from experience that you can't move forward with your life until you confront who or what hurt you. Use this time apart to make peace with your past to pave the way for your future. Whether you work things out with Braxton or not, it"ll be good for you."

My eyes widened. Was she suggesting I confront my father? That mere thought had my heart racing. What good would it do to speak to him now? Too much time had passed. Neither of us could change what he'd done to me and my mom. Nothing could bring her back from the dead.

But Natalie was trying to help, so I ducked my head. "I'll think about it."

"I know he cares about you, Dakota. Otherwise, he wouldn't be so upset. If you need anything at all, let me know."

Stepping back, I wondered if this was the last time I would ever set foot on this property and speak to this woman. If it was, she deserved my gratitude for her kindness and hospitality these past few months.

Quietly, I said, "Thank you, Natalie. For everything."

She gave me a small smile, and I slipped into my car before she could see me cry.

Looks like I have my work cut out for me. But Braxton is worth the fight.

Natalie's suggestion rolled around in my brain for weeks. During that time, I spent most nights in my room, watching every Indy Speed game I could find, hoping to gauge how Braxton was coping. His play was incredible, and the Speed were rolling through the playoffs, bound for the Eastern Conference Finals. The Comets had already been knocked out in the second round on the other side of the bracket.

I wondered if this would be all I ever had of the man I loved—glimpses of him on a screen from almost a thousand miles away.

No, I wouldn't let myself think that way. I would get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness if that's what it took.

You can't force someone to forgive you.

That thought finally convinced me to make the trip to get closure with my dad.

Steeling my nerves, I pulled up to the house he shared with his "real" family. Honestly, I didn't know what to expect. Part of me wondered if he would even recognize me. It had been almost twelve years since I'd last seen him.

It didn't matter. This visit was so that I could get my feelings about how he treated us off my chest so I could move on. I was tired of his actions controlling how I lived my life.

Stepping onto the front porch, I rang the doorbell.

Time stood still as I waited. Checking my phone, I watched as five minutes rolled by and finally decided to give up. No one was home. It was a shame because even if I was nervous as hell to confront my father, I wasn't sure I could work up the courage to come knocking a second time.

Halfway to the car, a woman's voice called, "Dakota? Is that you?"

I froze. Turning slowly, I was met with the sight of a tall, brunette woman in her mid-forties standing on the threshold.

"Oh wow." Her hands flew to her face. "I can't believe how grown up you are."

Stunned, I stared at her. She could be only one person—my father's new wife and former mistress. And she seemed to know all about me when I knew very little about her.

Sensing my reluctance and confusion, she offered, "Would you like to come in?"

"Uh . . ." Did I want to? No. But I needed to, so I nodded. "Sure."

Stepping inside, she closed the door behind me. "I'm Michelle," she introduced herself. "I know we've never met, but I've watched you grow up."

Anger surged in my veins, and I spun to face her. "Why did you do it? He was married, and you obviously knew that."

Michelle sighed. But instead of answering my question, she asked one of her own. "Have you ever been in love, Dakota?"

My eyes dropped to the floor. "Yes."

"Then, hopefully, you can understand that while I knew what I was doing with your father was wrong, I couldn't stop loving him. And love makes people do crazy things."

Still reeling from coming face-to-face with my stepmother—if we were being technical—I walked further into the house.

I wasn't going to bond with this woman about being so blinded by love that you did things others would view as wrong. Not that what I'd done was any less damaging. Instead of tearing apart a ready-made family, I stopped one from even beginning.

I came to a stop when I reached a wall of portraits. For the first time in my life, I laid eyes on my siblings, whom I'd never met. Two teenage boys appeared to be older than a girl who looked close to Amelia's age, if I had to guess.

"Is my dad home? I came to speak to him." I turned to face Michelle.

She shook her head. "No, but he will be soon. He's coaching Griffin's high school team these days. Likes to keep his hand in the game." Stepping up beside me, she pointed at the shorter of the two boys, with dirty blond hair. "That's him there. He's seventeen." She gestured to the taller boy with brown hair like his mother. "Grant is the oldest at nineteen and just finished his freshman year at Hartford State. Then, there's Ginny." Michelle motioned to the only girl. "She's thirteen and loves to dance."

Nodding, I kept moving through the house. Sitting on a couch without waiting for an invitation, I folded my hands in my lap and tried to keep my knees from bouncing.

Michelle sat opposite me. "You know, I never approved of how your father handled things in the divorce."

I sighed. "I don't know why you're telling me this. It doesn't change anything."

"You're right It doesn't," she agreed. "I guess a part of me wants you to know I'm not a bad person. Honestly, I never saw him leaving the two of you. He was content keeping up the status quo. Yes, he had two families, but I understood his need to split time. You and your mother deserved it as much as me and my kids. Please believe me when I say I never asked for more."

I merely shrugged, not knowing what to say, so she continued, "It was almost like he could keep it separate in his mind. You were his girl, and then he had his boys. When Ginny was born, everything changed. He couldn't compartmentalize his two families anymore. It was as if looking at her reminded him too much of you, and he realized what he was doing was wrong." Michelle shook her head. "But I never saw him doing it the way he did."

"Then why didn't you do something about it?" I challenged.

"I tried. I'm sure you remember enough about your father to know that sometimes he can be . . ."

"An ass?" I supplied the end of that sentence for her.

Michelle laughed. "I was going to say stubborn, but that works too. Anyway, it didn't sit right with me that the two of you were left with almost nothing financially, and I went to Morgan—"

The air was sucked from my lungs. "You met my mom?"

"Until that day, I only knew of her, but yes, we met. Only once, mind you." A soft smile played on her lips. "You look so much like her."

I blinked rapidly to hold the tears at bay. God, I wished more than anything my mom was still here these past few months. Not just to share in my joy of falling in love but to be there to guide me when it all fell apart.

"I offered to set up an account. To send the money that she was entitled to for child support post-divorce, but she refused. She was too proud to take help from the woman who stole her husband."

Oh, Mom.

Michelle might have been in the wrong for sleeping with and creating a family with a married man, but she didn't want to see us suffer as a result. I couldn't help but imagine what our life might've been like if she had accepted the offer of secret child support. It could have changed everything.

"I never knew," I breathed out. "She never mentioned it."

"As moms, we carry burdens so our children don't have to. I can respect her for that. How is she, by the way?"

I stared at the woman sitting across from me. Was this some kind of sick joke?

"She passed away a little over three years ago." The words were barely above a whisper.

Michelle's gasp split the air, and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God, I had no idea. I'm so sorry, sweetheart." Her eyes searched mine. "You've been all alone all this time?"

Nodding, I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain. Tears leaked from behind my sealed eyelids, and I waved a hand in apology. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, sweetie." Michelle's arms encircled me. "Why are you only coming to us now?"

Sniffling, I tried to compose myself, but my words came out garbled. "I called Dad. He didn't care."

"What?" She pulled back to look at my face, and I nodded in confirmation. Anger flashed in her brown eyes, and she gritted out, "When I get my hands on him." Smoothing tear-dampened hair away from my face, she softened, "If I'd have known . . ."

I shook her off. "It's fine. I didn't come here because of that."

Michelle eyed me quizzically. "Then, why did you?"

Giving her a sad smile, I shrugged. "I guess I just need closure."

She sighed. "I understand. For the record, I would have welcomed you into our life with open arms. You're as much a part of this family as any of us. I'm sorry things weren't how they should have always been."

Wiping the tears from my cheeks, I nodded. "Thank you."

Almost as if on cue, a door slammed down a distant hallway before a voice I hadn't heard in person for over a decade boomed, "Michelle! What's for dinner? This boy's starved!"

Taking a shaky breath, I stood. This was my moment of truth.

Hank Danielson turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. His appearance had changed since I was a child. His blond hair was gone, and he sported a bald head; whether that was by choice or not, I didn't know and didn't care. He was still broad, but now that his playing days were over, he wasn't as bulky, instead sporting a leaner physique.

Scanning my face, I saw the moment recognition lit in his blue eyes, and he stumbled back as if he'd been struck.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was gruff, the same as I remembered.

Michelle narrowed her eyes at her husband, shouting, "Hank! Is that any way to speak to the daughter you haven't seen in years?"

His gaze slid to her, and a rumble worked its way up his chest. "Sorry." He cleared his throat. "Just surprised, is all. It's been a while."

"Yeah." I shuffled on my feet, willing myself not to wither under his intense stare.

"Do you need money?"

"Hank! For the love of God!" Michelle threw her hands up in the air.

"No." I shook my head. "All I want is a minute of your time. If we could talk? Maybe somewhere private? Then I'll leave. And I won't be back."

"Dakota." Michelle touched my arm. "You don't have to go."

"It's fine. I know my place."

She sighed, resigned, and my dad gestured to a door off the side of the living room for me to go inside ahead of him. It turned out to be an office furnished in dark mahogany with burgundy accents. Very masculine for a macho man like my dad.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I twitched. Nerves fluttered in my belly, but I steadied them with a hand pressed there as Dad walked around me and sat in the chair behind the desk. It felt like I was on trial the way he stared silently, waiting for me to plead my case. But in reality, all I wanted to do was share how his actions had impacted my life, thus releasing the power they held over my future. Only then could I try to fix what I'd broken in my relationship with Braxton.

He sat back in his chair, surveying me. "I've heard you're running around with that Slate boy. Seems like you've done all right for yourself."

I scoffed. "Is that how you measure worth? By whom you attach yourself to? Who has the most money or notoriety?" I huffed out a wry laugh. "Worked out so well for Mom, wouldn't you say?"

Dad groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "What do you want, Dakota?"

"I came for closure. You ruined my mom's life, and I've made a conscious decision not to let you ruin mine as well."

Dad puffed out his chest. "I did right by your mother."

"Oh yeah?" I challenged. "How do you figure? Putting a ring on her finger and giving her your last name was pretty damn worthless when you were screwing around on her the entire time. How about leaving her broke when you left? You didn't give a shit about her, or me for that matter, not caring about what happened to us in the aftermath. She loved you. Damn if I know why, but she did. For years, she was convinced you were coming back. Refusing to sell the house with all your memories, not allowing herself to move on and be happy with someone new."

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want me to say?" His tone didn't indicate that he was apologetic. Instead, it betrayed he was merely trying to placate me.

"I don't need your bullshit lip-service apology. I don't want it. All I came here to do was clear the air. To let you know how I feel so that I can move on with my life. So that the black cloud you left behind doesn't mar my future."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Well, then. Tell me."

"I think you're a coward," I spat, satisfaction coursing through me when his jaw ticked. "You were more scared about optics when you should have let my mom go so she could start fresh. Considering you forced single motherhood upon her in the end, what was the point in delaying the inevitability? Oh, that's right, because you're selfish. You were only looking out for yourself and how it would look for your image if you had a baby mama floating around out there. Honestly, I wish she had never told you she was pregnant. We would have been better off without you from the start. I would have been happier never knowing who my father was. Because guess what? Not having a father in my life at all is better than what I got. I've witnessed firsthand what a good father looks like. God, is it beautiful to witness a man"s unconditional love for his child—something I never received from you. So, this is it. From this day forward, I'm going to forget you ever existed. You will be erased from my memory because you have no place in my future."

My chest heaved, but a heavy weight had been lifted, and each consecutive breath became easier. I was closing this chapter and choosing to move forward with a clean slate.

"Do you feel better now?" Dad asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah." I nodded. "Have a nice life because I sure as hell intend to." He didn't say another word, and I headed for the door. Pausing with my hand on the doorknob, I peeked over my shoulder for one final parting shot. "Michelle seems nice. I sure hope you're not screwing around on her too."

Flinging the door wide, I marched out of that house, a woman on a mission.

It was time to go get my man and pray that I could earn his forgiveness.