Page 50 of Knot My Band: Part Two
And just like that, the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter.
We stand together a moment longer, her hand still clasping mine, and I know that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. I think about the festival waiting for us later today, and a flicker of excitement ignites within me. With Oli by my side, maybe I can truly start living, not just surviving. Perhaps I can finally embrace being an alpha, knowing she’s here to help me redefine what that means.
“I love you, Daxon Grey,” Oli confesses.
I pull her into my chest and stare into her eyes. They’re filled with love and the truth of her words. I can’t deny she means them.
“I love you too, Olive Hart. I promise to always love and protect you. I promise to spend my whole life being the alpha you deserve.”
Her smile grows even more prominent, which I didn’t think was possible. “Deal.”
“Let’s head back,” I suggest after a moment of shared silence, a tribute to the past and a nod to the future. Where I honor my mom and the woman she was before I lost her.
“Okay,” she agrees, her fingers intertwining with mine. We hold on as we walk away from the grave, leaving behind old ghosts and stepping into new beginnings.
The car ride back feels different than when we arrived. The tension that once filled the space between us has dissipated, replaced by a quiet understanding. We don’t talk much, butevery glance exchanged speaks volumes. I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other entangled with Oli’s, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
“Thank you, Dax,” she says suddenly, turning to me with gratitude shining in her eyes. “For trusting me. For sharing your world with me.”
“Thank you for seeing me,” I answer honestly, realizing how rare it is to be seen for who I am, not what I am. Oli does that—she sees beneath the surface, beyond the labels and expectations.
I pull into the parking lot near our tour bus, killing the engine but making no move to get out just yet. Neither does Oli. We sit there, the low thrum of the idling car beneath us, neither wanting to break the cocoon of intimacy that’s wrapped around us since the cemetery.
“Today meant more to me than I can say,” I confess, finding courage in her unwavering gaze.
“Me too,” she replies, leaning across the console to kiss my cheek softly. It’s brief but electric, a promise of more to come.
“Ready to face the world?” I ask, not just referring to the festival but everything that lies ahead.
“With you? Always.” Her answer comes quick and sure, her smile lighting up the car like my own sun chasing away the darkness.
“Then let’s do this,” I say, opening the door and stepping out into the brightness of the day, the heaviness of the past less heavy on my shoulders.
Oli
PACK EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN
OLI HART SEEN LEAVING A CEMETERY IN MIAMI WITH DAXON GREY OF THE EDGE
June 19th
Iweave through the sea of bodies, the festival’s pulse pounding in rhythm with my own heart. The smell of street food mingles with the sweat and perfume of the crowd, and the air vibrates with the thump of bass and the scream of guitars.
The four alphas beside me keep my nerves in check.
Aiden offers a reassuring squeeze to my shoulder, his quiet strength a silent promise of support.
I stop short when, through the crowd, I spot my old band.
My stomach somersaults, and for a second, I’m frozen, caught in the headlights of old memories and what-ifs.
“Oli?” Chase’s voice cuts through the fog of my surprise, his hand landing gently on my lower back—a touch that steadies as much as it thrills.
I move through the crowd with my confused alphas following behind me.
Jack grabs me, spinning me around. “Don’t take off like that in this crowd. Where are you going?”
“Over there,” I nod toward the group, my voice steadier than I feel. “My old band.”
