Knox (Sexy Bastard #3) (22 page)

A
pril 14th
. The worst day of the year.

The anniversary of the day when I lost both of my parents in one fell swoop.

At the flower shop I bypass roses (too romantic), peonies (too festive), and pick out two elegantly solemn bouquets of white tulips, their petals still tightly closed. On this day of all days I wish Jackson and I were back on speaking terms.

I park in the cemetery lot with an ache in my stomach and a leaden sensation in my chest. Entering through the wrought iron gates in the early morning light, I slowly trace the steps I’ve taken so many times—on this date, but also whenever I’m overwhelmed by the urge to talk to Mom and Dad. When I’m sad, when I have big news to share, when I miss them so much I know I won’t be able to fall asleep without being near them.

Left at the oak tree, right at the tall obelisk, another left at the bench dedicated in the memory of somebody’s grandmother, mother, wife. My footsteps slow as I get closer, like part of me wants to delay this, delay remembering it all over again. Every time I blink I can still see the day we lowered them into the ground. The solemn pastor, the distant relatives shooting my brother and me pitying glances.

This time I see someone crouching down in the distance. I guess I should have figured he’d be here. We always came together, every year. Hand in hand, holding each other up when the other one couldn’t walk.

The tears that have been welling up stream down my face as I approach.

Jackson slowly rises, extends a hand as I get closer. I clasp it tightly and stand by his side.

There’s a chill in the air and I shiver in my thin blouse. Jackson wordlessly takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. We’re both in tears now, dabbing our eyes in our graveside best.

I lay the flowers on Mom and Dad’s graves and kneel beside them in the dewy grass. Jackson takes a knee too, his hand still clasped tight around mine.

“I miss them,” I whisper.

“I know.” He sighs. “Me too.”

When I rise Jackson folds me into a hug.

“Truce?” I mumble into his jacket lapel. I’m too tired to fight anymore. Too tired to talk about what went wrong. I just want my brother back.

To my relief, his arms tighten around me. “Truce.”

We obviously need to talk, but for now it’s enough to know that we’re bound by our common grief, two creatures of flesh and bone carved out of the same building blocks. To know that I’m not completely alone in this world.

I’ve got my brother back.

We slowly meander back to our cars in the cool morning light.

W
e go
for a coffee at Della’s afterwards, like we do every year. Ever since the first year, when I was crying so hard he carried me here and ordered me every item on the menu, just so I could pick which one I wanted to eat. We shared the rest with the other diners, and it almost made the day a little brighter.

Almost.

We sit in our regular booth, and the waitress brings us cinnamon rolls and coffee before we even order. Like I said. Regulars.

“So.” I pick apart my cinnamon roll without eating it.

“So,” he agrees, not touching his own food.

“You seen Knox at all?” I take a long sip of coffee so I can avoid seeing his reaction to Knox’s name.

He shakes his head. “Nope. You?”

“Nope.”

“Okay then.”

My eyes fill with tears again. I thought it would be better to get the Knox conversation out of the way. But the pain of losing him is still fresh, and just saying his name cuts me again, so deep and raw. Talking to Jackson feels like ripping the bandage off a wound that’s not even stopped bleeding, let alone started to scab over.

“Shelb . . . was this thing between you and him serious?”

I nod.

“Like, seriously serious?”

More serious than anything I’ve ever felt before in my life. What started as a flirtation, an ache between my legs, somehow turned into a breathless need to be close to Knox on every level—physical, mental, emotional. Yeah, you could call it seriously serious. Or at least, it was.

“What does it matter now?” I shrug. “We’re over.” In no small part because of the way Jackson reacted when he found out about us.

Jackson grimaces. Did he actually not know? I would have thought Ruby or one of the guys would tell him. “What happened?” he asks, like he honestly cares, really wants to know. Then his eyes flit back to his plate. “I mean, besides your big brother freaking out and punching the poor guy in the face.”

“Yeah, that certainly didn’t help,” I mutter.

He sets down his coffee, his embarrassment palpable. Jackson hates losing control just about as much as he hates fucking up. “I’m sorry, Shelby. I totally lost my shit. The way I acted wasn’t fair to either of you. I was just . . . caught off guard, and I let it get the best of me.”

I thought I would feel more relieved to hear him finally say it. Instead, I just feel hollow. Yeah, I know you overreacted. And I know you know you did. Glad we’re past that.

I heave a sigh. “Thanks. Now can you please just try to get it through your head, once and for all, that I’m an adult? I don’t need babysitting—and my love life isn’t anybody’s business but mine.” My now nonexistent love life is my own cross to bear.

“I do get that, Shelby. I promise, no more freak-outs. I just . . . ” He echoes my sigh. “Sometimes I think I hang on too tight because admitting you’ve grown up means admitting that you don’t need me anymore. Ever since that day Mom and Dad died, you became my responsibility, my world. I put all my efforts into keeping you from grieving and having a good life without them. I don’t think I stopped to grieve myself. And when I think of you not needing me anymore as your big brother, as your protector, my life feels like it has less meaning.” He looks up at me with deep regret in his eyes, taking in the hurt in mine. “Am I really the reason things didn’t work out?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Knox was so sure you’d disapprove that he kept putting off telling you again and again. Which made me feel like he didn’t take me seriously. And then once you found out, we were both so upset and stressed about losing you—he cares about you too, you know, a lot more than he’d ever say because he’s a guy and bromance or whatever, but still. Anyway, when he hurt his shoulder, he just pushed me away. I think that was the icing on the too-many-feelings cake.” I pause, taking a sip of my coffee while I collect my thoughts. Because really, why did it end? That’s a damn good question. One I’m not sure I can answer. “I think in the end, things just got too serious. Maybe I was the one making them too serious too fast.” I shrug. Or Knox got scared, when everything he knew seemed to be crumbling, and the person he lashed out at was me.

“I’m such an asshole,” Jackson murmurs. “I was so fixated on protecting you that I didn’t even stop to think that what you and Knox had might have been real.”

Apparently it wasn’t—for him at least.

“I’m sorry I blew up, Shelbs. You handle an entire team’s worth of football players. I should have known you could handle yourself around one little flimsy excuse for a baseball player.” He tries on a grin for size at that, and I can’t help cracking one back. He takes a sip of coffee and leans back in his seat. “But if you do want me to punch that piece of shit out again for breaking up with you, all you’ve gotta do is ask.”

All I can manage is a halfhearted smile. It’s not revenge I’m after. What I really want is to turn back time, have Jackson give us his blessing from the start. Take back all the secrecy and lies that got us into this mess, press rewind on my entire relationship with Knox.

My brother heads home for a conference call and I stay behind for a little while, putting off going to work as I sip my coffee and wistfully contemplate an alternate reality.

Where would Knox and I be today if we hadn’t started out with a lie, and then piled a hundred more on top of that? What would it have looked like to be able to bring our relationship out into the open? I think back to the day we spent together in Orlando. The tiny taste of normalcy we were able to experience before reality came banging on the door. What if that day had ended differently? What if Knox hadn’t thrown that bad pitch? Would we be sitting together right now?

What if.

The thought of being able to rest my head on his solid chest, feel his arms around me again on this day when I feel so much pain, is almost too much to bear.

I
’m sitting
on the red brick steps at Jackson’s place, a bottle of twenty-year-old scotch by my side as a peace offering. I don’t have anywhere to be, so I’ve parked my ass here for the foreseeable future, or until he shows up. Old-school move.

I don’t have to wait long before Jackson pulls into the driveway. He spots me from the street, sits in his SUV a minute before getting out. Maybe he’s deciding whether to clock me again. Though I’m pretty sure punching a baseball player with a torn rotator cuff is a move even one of Ryder’s street fighters wouldn’t get behind.

Finally, he climbs out of his SUV and I push to my feet as well. “We need to talk,” I tell him. He nods gruffly and unlocks the door, silently gestures for me to follow him inside. We walk over to the island at the center of his kitchen, and I get ready to state my case.

Turns out I’m not so good at apologies. I stumble right out of the gate. “This isn’t right. We should have told you sooner but—”

He cuts me short before I can get anywhere. “You’re sure as shit right about that.”

I pause, taking the measure of his response. “Shelby wanted to. But I was afraid you’d tell us we had no business being together. And I didn’t want to take that risk.”

Jackson listens, his expression unreadable. The guy’s always been able to throw up a brick wall when he wants to. That poker face would have made him a great catcher if he hadn’t become an architect.

“Look, I’m sorry for the way things went down. If I could go back in time I’d do it all differently. But you need to understand—I didn’t pursue any of this intentionally.” I clear my throat, searching for the words to make this right. I’m not sure either of us pursued this. It’s more like Shelby and I crashed into each other and then couldn’t stand to be apart. But I’ve got to try to make this right somehow. I cannot lose one of my oldest friends over this. I’ve already lost far too much. “When we first met, I had no idea who Shelby was, Jackson. But once I got to know her, I knew I didn’t want to be without her.”

I
don’t
want to be without her. Present tense. But that’s a what-if I’ll have to give up on chasing.

Jackson, for his part, only looks angrier than ever. “You’ve sure got some way of showing her that, Knox. I’m not sure what to believe. You snuck around behind my back because you cared so much about my sister. Cared so much you broke her heart.”

“It all happened so quickly, and then my shoulder. These past few weeks have been unbearable. I know, I fucked up.” Believe me, I know. I swallow hard. Here goes. Moment of truth. “But I want to fix it.”

But that’s the thing: I can’t fix anything about me and Shelby without Jackson’s approval. I know that by now. After the way last time went, if I want to undo the damage that’s been done, we need to start over with a solid foundation. One not built on lies and deceit, but trust and friendship.

Jackson’s gotta lay the first stone, and then the rest is up to me and Shelby.

I hold my breath, awaiting the verdict.

He splays his hands wide across the granite countertop. “If you want another chance with Shelby,” he says, speaking slowly and deliberately as he looks me in the eyes, “You’ve got to promise me she’s not going to get hurt again.”

I’m already nodding. “You don’t need to worry,” I tell him. “If she’s willing to give this another shot, I’m all in this time. She’s the one I want, Jackson. I know how special she is.”

“You damn well better,” he says. Then he pauses, looks me over again, nods. All the air leaks out of me in a sigh of relief.
Holy shit.
Jackson smirks, but doesn’t rib me over how damn relieved I must look right now. Instead, he picks up the bottle of scotch and peeks at the label. “Wow, you really spared no expense.”

I shrug. “Thought if worse came to worse, I could buy your friendship back.”

Finally he breaks a real smile. “You’re a piece of work, you know that Knox?”

“Hey, I’m not the asshole who goes around punching his friends.”

“Yeah, about that? Don’t wait around for an apology.”

“Please. I hardly felt a thing.”

“So you gonna waste all afternoon drinking this with me, or you gonna go and start on the groveling for my sister’s affections?”

“Way ahead of you,” I call over my shoulder, already on the way out the door.

It’s only fifteen minutes to the Falcons’ HQ, but I make it there in ten.

The receptionist recognizes me, and after a little sweet-talking, she’s more than happy to let me into Shelby’s office. Someone should really talk to them about security here. Apparently I’m not the only one who got easy access, I realize as I step across the threshold. There’s already someone in there—a hulk of a dude with a hoodie pulled up over his head and a pissed off expression on what little I can see of his face.

No sign of Shelby.

“Oh, hey Dale,” the receptionist says, with an apologetic, yet somehow still flirty, glance at me. “Looks like you’ll have to get in line.”

Dale Hunter, the player who’s been giving Shelby so many problems. I saw his name on the news last night. Might be the only athlete in this town who’s having a worse week than I am.

He nods. “Hey.”

Not in a talkative mood. I get it. I lean against the open door, giving him some space.

“Fucked up way to start a season, man,” he says, gesturing toward my arm.

I shrug. “Hopefully one day we’ll both be looking back on this shit with a laugh.”

He snorts. “Fuck that. I just want to get this shit over with.”

Nice.

We wait in silence for a couple of beats, then Dale crosses his arms and leans back in his seat.

“I didn’t sign up for this PSA shit. I signed up to play football.”

I take a seat across from him. “I hear you. But when you’re playing at the level we are, people look up to you, whether you want it or not. And sure, we get sick of the newscasters and bloggers yakking about every time we fuck up. But you’ve gotta remember that it’s not just them watching us. It’s also that twelve-year-old boy who’s saved up for the entire NFL trading card collection and dreams of making the big leagues one day.”

Dale stares straight ahead, looking more like a kid who’s been sent to the principal’s office than a grown man. “I’m nobody’s role model, dude.”

“Yes, you are. That’s the problem. That kid is watching you, wanting to
be
you, and he’s gonna take what you do to heart. And it’s not just him. I mean, look at everyone who has to work to clean up your mess. You should be grateful that you have someone as hardworking and smart as Shelby in your camp.”

I can’t keep my voice from rising as I get to that last part. Anyone would be lucky to have Shelby on their team. I should know. “You would never want to disappoint your coach on the field, right? You should apply that same courtesy to the smart, dedicated people who work so hard to protect your public image. Shelby deserves better than this, man.”

Dale runs his hands over his head, turns to face me and opens his mouth to reply, probably with some more ignorant BS. Then a flash of surprise crosses his face and he stands, staring straight behind me. “Shelby. We were just waiting for you.”