Chapter 21 Knox
Chapter twenty-one
Knox
Since Brynn moved back, I’ve been stopping by Gordy’s more than usual after practice. Sometimes with Cam. Sometimes just because I’m not ready to go home and stare at the wall I share with she who shall remain nameless.
Cam’s already in a booth when I walk in, fries in front of him and a strawberry milkshake in hand—his excuse always being “balance.” Ty, the new hockey coach, is across from him demolishing a burger. I slide in next to Cam.
“How was practice?” Ty asks between bites.
“Solid,” I say, reaching for a fry. “Drills are clicking. Defense is finally talking like a team instead of five guys screaming in five directions.”
Cam smirks. “I should record it. Use it as leverage.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
Ty wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You football guys are lucky. I had a kid throw up on the ice yesterday. Not from skating. From sheer nerves.”
“Underclassman?” I guess.
He nods. “Took one check and skated to the bench like he’d seen death. Then, bam. Technicolor yawn.”
Cam nearly chokes on a fry. “You sure it wasn’t conditioning?”
“Nope. Just panic.”
“The kid realize the season hasn’t even gotten hard yet, right?” I say, shaking my head.
“At least my players don’t cry over a broken nail,” Ty counters.
“You’d be surprised,” I mutter into my root beer.
Cam nudges my elbow. “So…went on a date Monday.”
“Oh God,” Ty says. “Already regretting asking, but how did it go?”
“Not so great. Karaoke night.”
“There’s your first mistake,” I say.
“She sang ‘My Heart Will Go On.’ And cried. On stage.”
Ty’s face contorts. “She cried?”
“Full tears,” Cam confirms. “Told me a psychic said she and Leonardo DiCaprio were twin flames in a past life.”
Ty and I stare.
“She believes she’s spiritually connected to Titanic Jack,” Cam says, deadpan. “I didn’t even get to sing my song.”
“What was your song?” I ask.
“‘No Scrubs.’ Had the whole intro memorized.”
I laugh. “You should marry her. Wait—did she ask you to meditate in a parking lot?”
“No, but she did text me the next morning to thank me for ‘opening her third eye.’”
Ty loses it, snorting into his napkin. I laugh too, and for a second, it’s good. The kind of easy night I used to look forward to— good company, good jokes.
Then Ty drops it. “Speaking of strange energy—I saw that ex of yours here yesterday. Brynn? During lunch.”
My grip on the glass tightens. “Yeah?”
He shrugs. “At the counter waiting on food. Talking to some guy. Tall, real peppy. She laughed at something he said. Seemed flirty.”
Cam shifts beside me, the table going quiet.
“Did she leave with him?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Ty shakes his head. “Nah. But she agreed to a date before she left. One of those green smoothie types. Probably counts almonds before bed.”
Cam leans back. “Smoothie guy?”
“Good for her,” I say, low and clipped.
Cam watches me. “You sure?”
“I said good for her.” The words taste like rust.
He eyes me. “Which explains why you look like someone just stole your cookie.”
I toss my napkin on the table and stand.
Cam grabs his shake. “Knox—”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’m not—” But I don’t finish. Just head for the door, jaw tight.
Ty calls after me, “Are you guys always this dramatic?”
Cam doesn’t miss a beat. “Only when ex-girlfriends are involved.”
By the time I’m in the duplex driveway, my fingers are tight around the wheel. The glow from Brynn’s living room window taunts me like she’s right there, happy, unaware that her existence is screwing up my ability to think straight.
I could walk to my side, open my door, watch film. Let it go. Instead, I’m on her porch, knocking—hard. Loud.
The door swings open. She’s barefoot, in tiny pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie that swallows her frame. Hair damp like she just showered. She blinks, clearly not expecting company.
“Knox?”
I shove my hands in my pockets. “So, you’re dating now?”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“That guy. At Gordy’s. Ty saw you.”
She stares. “You came over here because of that?”
“Are you going to go out with him?”
“You boys gossip as much as the bunko club. Why do you even care?” she snaps.
I step forward. “I don’t.”
“You’re literally standing at my door in your clothes from practice, looking like you just ran here.”
“I just think it’s a mistake.”
“Oh my god.” She steps back, motioning me inside with mock theatrics. “By all means, tell me how to live my life.”
I walk in. I know I shouldn’t. But I do it anyway. She turns on her heel toward the kitchen.
“This is so typical,” she mutters. “You hear one small rumor, then show up because you’re jealous?”
“I’m not jealous.”
She spins to face me. “You’re acting like it.”
“Fine, maybe I am jealous,” I bite out, raw frustration spilling out. “Is that what you want to hear?”
She doesn’t answer.
I move closer. “You make me insane.”
Her chest rises with quick, shallow breaths. “You don’t get to be this confused, Knox. You were the one who said we should act like strangers.”
“Too late.”
“I’m allowed to talk to men, Knox.”
“You don’t even know him. He could be some guy that likes smoothies.”
“Oh, some guy,” she echoes, eyes narrowing. “And what are you doing, Knox? Getting set up on dates by your mom?”
I flinch, just a little. “That’s different.”
“Really?” Her voice is sharp now, laced with disbelief. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly the same.”
“You’re the one who left,” I snap, before I can stop it.
She pulls back like I struck her. Her breath catches. And just like that, the air between us shifts—charged and unsteady. I want to take it back, but the damage is done, hanging between us like smoke.
Her tone drops, not soft, but lethal in its clarity. “You’re dating, Knox. So why the hell can’t I?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, pacing like I can outrun whatever this is crawling up my spine. The guilt. The jealousy. The want I’ve been swallowing down since the second she came back.
“You can,” I mutter. “You can do whatever you want.”
“Then why are you here?” she snaps.
I stop moving and just look at her. All the reasons ring out in my mind. Because I can’t stand the idea of someone else touching you. Because I don’t want to care but I do anyway. Because I don’t know how to turn it off.
“I don’t know,” I say, voice low. “I just—” I can’t hold it in. “I just can’t stand the thought of you going out with someone else.”
Her brow pulls tight. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Brynn,” I say, every word heavy. “I’m still mad. I still feel the sting every time I see you. But damn it—you snuck right back under my skin, and I don’t know how the hell to get you out.”
Her breath wavers. “I’m under your skin?”
“More than I care to admit.”
She smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I think you just did.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just ache.
I run a hand down my face. “I know it’s fucked up, but am I alone in this? In feeling it?” I hold her gaze. “Can you really say there’s nothing still between us?”
She wraps an arm around herself like she’s holding something in.
“I don’t know, Knox. I don’t know what you’re thinking, or what I’m even allowed to feel.
” She spins away, flinging her arms wide.
“I feel like every time I turn around, you’re there.
You take care of me like you still care, then you become Cedar Falls’ hottest eligible bachelor the next day.
I just—” Her voice breaks a little. “I just wish you’d say what you want. ”
I step forward. Slow. Deliberate. No more hiding.
“Okay,” I say, tipping her chin up to meet my eyes. “I’ll tell you.”
I pause, letting the moment stretch, the air tight between us.
“I want to kiss you, Bunny.”
She goes still. Like I hit pause on her entire body. Her lips part, breath catching. “I thought you said you didn’t like me.”
I close the last bit of space between us, eyes locked on hers. “I said I’m still mad at you.” My voice drops to a growl. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
She swallows hard, and I see it. Right there in the way her chest rises, the way her blue eyes lock on mine like she’s about to jump and she’s hoping I’ll be there to catch her or fall right with her.
Her voice comes out soft but wrecked. “Then kiss me like you’re mad at me, Coach.”
That does it. That sentence tips the balance, slicing through whatever fragile grip I had left.
I’m on her in half a second, one hand cupping her jaw, tilting her face up to mine, the other dragging her flush against me by the waist. My mouth crashes to hers with years of frustration, weeks of resisting, and days of pretending we’re just neighbors and not a slow-burning fuse.
It’s not a kiss—it’s a firestorm. Tongue, teeth, heat.
Every part of me is aching to relearn every part of her.
She tastes like trouble and nostalgia. Like mint and memories I can’t quite shake. Her lips part on a gasp, and I take the opening like a man starved, moaning into her mouth when she fists the front of my hoodie and tugs me closer, like she wants me deeper, harder, more.
God, she’s still so soft. So warm. So fucking perfect.
My teeth graze her bottom lip, not gently—because nothing about this is gentle—and she whimpers, high and breathless, and it rips through me like a lightning bolt straight to my dick.
I’m already hard and aching, hips instinctively pushing forward, meeting the curve of her body like my own personal hell.
My forehead drops to hers, both of us panting like we just ran full speed into something neither of us meant to chase. My voice is rough, unsteady. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
Her answer is barely a whisper. “Then don’t.”
But her hands are still gripping my hoodie like a lifeline, and her body’s molded against mine like we were built to fit together. She’s not letting go.
And I’m so far past the point of stopping.
“Fuck it,” I growl, before crashing my mouth to hers again. It’s hungrier, deeper. It feels like I need her to breathe.
She stumbles back and hits the kitchen counter with a soft thud, and I follow, pressing into her—chest to chest, hips aligned, nothing between us but clothes and all the unsaid things that’ve been burning holes in the silence for years.
My hand slides under the hem of her sweatshirt, fingers grazing bare skin at her lower back. She arches into me like her body recognizes mine on instinct. My other hand fists in her hair, pulling her mouth open wider, slanting the kiss deeper until we’re both dizzy.
She’s kissing me like I ruined her. Like I broke her heart and she wants to break mine back. Like she’s furious and feral and desperate—and I can’t lie, I fucking love it.
We’re a mess of mouths and hands and memories, heat building like a bomb about to blow. I want her everywhere. Against the counter. Straddling me on the couch. Bent over the kitchen table. In my bed, where I can finally take my time.
But right now, we’re kissing like we’re fighting, like we’re proving something. That we still feel this. That we still want whatever’s left. That the space that time created between us hasn’t dulled a goddamn thing.
And as her fingers slip under my hoodie to skate along the ridges of my back, I know with full, brutal clarity—
This? This could be the worst kind of mistake. But I’m not walking away from it.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I know this changes everything.
I just don’t care.