Page 49 of Knot My Band: Part Two
“Thanks, Oli. That means more than you know.” And with her by my side, I think I might have the courage to face the ghosts of my past.
We reach a grave that’s more modest than the rest, its headstone weathered by time and absent of fresh flowers. Myheart lurches as if trying to escape the truth this piece of earth represents. I release Oli’s hand, needing the space to breathe, to gather myself before the dam breaks.
“This is what I wanted to show you,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Is this…your mom?” Oli asks, her tone soft as the breeze that whispers through the grass.
I nod, unable to form words, as I trace the engraved name with my fingertips. The stone is cold and unyielding, much like the life I was thrust into when she left me behind. Oli steps closer, her warmth contrasting with the chill seeping from the grave.
“Dax, you don’t have to.”
But Idohave to. For me and for Oli. For the future I want us to have.
I cut Oli off. “Her name was Annabell,” I start, the weight of her story heavy on my tongue. “She was an omega, kind and gentle… everything my alpha fathers weren’t.” My throat tightens, constricting around the memories that claw their way up. “She would dance around the kitchen with me in her arms, singing her favorite songs. She loved country music, of all things, so she would probably pretend my music was good for my sake. She could only act that way when they weren’t home. When they were around, she was quiet and timid. Looking back, I think they hit her too.”
“She died in a car accident while driving to the store for a new toy for me after one of my dads pushed me down the stairs. After she passed, things got bad. Real bad.” I can feel Oli’s eyes on me, her gaze laden with empathy and silent encouragement. It fuels my courage, and I continue. “They blamed me—said it was my fault she was gone. I was just a kid, but they treated me like a mistake they couldn’t erase.”
“Oh no, Dax…” Oli breathes out, her voice tinged with sorrow. “I’m so sorry. What did they do?”
“They ignored me, didn’t feed or clothe me. When I would complain or whine, they hit me until I learned to stay quiet. One of the neighbors found me wandering around the neighborhood dirty and skinny. They called the cops.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides, the familiar rage simmering beneath my skin, but this time, it’s tempered by Oli’s presence. “I ended up in foster care,” I confess, the words tasting bitter. “It was better than staying with them, but not by much. I hated myself when my designation came in.”
“Because you’re an alpha too?” She guesses, her understanding cutting through the years of isolation.
“Yeah, because I’m what they were, and I hated it. Hated the idea I could ever be like them,” I admit, my voice raw. “But with the guys, with my pack, I started to get over that. Until…”
Oli looks at me with so much sorrow in her eyes. I don’t know what to do or how to feel about it.
“Until I showed up. An omega,” she finishes for me.
This is where she sees my truth, and she leaves me. She won’t want me once she knows where I came from and what my DNA is capable of.
Oli reaches out, her touch tentative on my arm, grounding me. “You’re nothing like them, Dax. You’re here, aren’t you? Facing this? You’re showing me your past to help us build a future. That makes you a strong, capable, and loving alpha.”
I look down into her eyes, seeing nothing but genuine belief shining back at me. “I’m trying to,” I concede, the burden of my past slightly lighter as she stands beside me at my mother’s grave.
I watch Oli’s expression shift; her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. Instead, she lifts my hand to her lips, pressing a soft kiss against my knuckles.
“Thank you for giving us a shot,” she whispers, her voice steady despite the tremble I feel in her fingertips. “You’re the bravest person I know, Daxon Grey.”
I want to believe her—I do—but this gnawing inside me wonders if bravery is just another word for foolishness. Sharing this here with her feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if I’m about to fly or fall.
“Brave would’ve been dealing with this years ago,” I mutter, squeezing her hand back—her warmth seeps into my skin, a contrast to the chill of the cemetery air.
“Maybe,” she concedes, “but you’re dealing with it now. That’s what counts.” Her smile isn’t just reassuring; it’s a promise, a silent vow that she’ll be there, holding a light no matter how deep I dive into my darkness.
I take a shaky breath, trying to tether myself to the moment, to her brightness. “I was so terrified… of ending up like them, of hurting people just because I could. I guess part of me still is. And then,” my voice cracks, “I hurt you.”
Her smile is understanding as she steps closer to me. “You kept me at a distance, Dax, and some of your comments were harsh, but you never hurt me the way your fathers hurt you. I couldn’t forgive that, but I can forgive this. I can forgive the man in front of me who is showing all his open wounds and vulnerability to help us build a future together. You’re your own person, Dax. You’ve made your own path, and it’s led you here, to healing… to us.”
“Us.” The word hangs between us, heavy with possibility and a future I never allowed myself to imagine.
“Always us,” she affirms, her smile brighter than any stage spotlight she’s ever stood under. And in that smile, I find something I didn’t even know I was looking for—acceptance, not just from her, but for myself too.
“Thank you, Oli,” I say, and the relief that floods me is palpable. It washes over me in waves, leaving a sense of peace in its wake. “For listening. For understanding. For being here.”
“Where else would I be?” she responds, her voice playful yet sincere. “Besides, who else will ensure you don’t become a grumpy old man before your time?”
