Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Knox
The quiet is too loud.
I’ve been pacing the living room for the last twenty minutes, the TV muted, a beer untouched on the coffee table, and Priscilla tracking my every step from the couch like I’m one wrong move away from shattering. She can read me like a book.
My brain’s been playing a highlight reel of that kiss on a loop. Brynn’s mouth on mine, her fingers in my hair, the sound she made when I pressed her against the counter. I can still taste her. Still feel her in my hands.
And God help me, I want more.
But then the other half of my brain rears up. The bruised, cautious, battle-worn side. The side that remembers what it felt like to watch her walk away. The silence that followed. The calls she never answered. The way I had to pretend she didn’t exist when every part of me knew better.
So now I’m split in two. Half of me stuck in the past, the other half clawing toward something that might already be doomed.
Priscilla gives a soft huff from the couch and nudges her nose against my leg like she’s had enough of my nonsense. I drop to my knees in front of her and bury my face in the scruff of her neck.
“What am I doing, Priscilla?” I murmur.
She responds with a low, contented grunt and nudges me again, licking at the edge of my jaw like she can fix it.
“You’re the only girl I can trust not to screw with my head,” I say, giving her a rough pat. “But if you ever learn how to text, I’m in real trouble.”
That gets me a tail wag.
I’m halfway through considering just going to bed when my phone lights up on the counter.
Brynn: You up?
Me: Yeah.
Brynn: Come outside. Back fence.
My stomach flips. God, I’m pathetic.
I grab a hoodie, Priscilla trots after me, and we step out into the backyard. I don’t turn on the porch light, hoping the darkness will help hide everything I’m feeling. And there she is—a soft silhouette behind the wooden fence, her blonde hair a halo in the moonlight.
I stop three feet from the divider like it might bite me.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
We stare at the fence like it’s something alive. A barricade of splinters and old grudges.
“I wanted to say thank you,” she says quietly. “For not letting that kiss become another mistake.”
I swallow. “Pretty sure it still counts as one.”
“Maybe.” She pauses. “But maybe it also counts as something else.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and unsteady. Priscilla sits at my feet and lets out a long sigh, as if she’s saying ‘get over yourselves.’
“Just like you said, I want to talk,” Brynn says. “Really talk. Not in Cedar Falls, though. Not where my mom can pass you a casserole or where Haddie Carmichael can post about us on that damn Facebook page. Somewhere neutral.”
“Roanoke?”
“Yeah. There’s a diner there. Olive Street Cafe. Good food, no familiar faces.”
I nod even though she can’t see it. “Okay. When?”
“Saturday? Late afternoon? I can meet you there.”
“Are you sure you want this?” I ask, hating how raw my voice sounds. “Because I can’t go backward, Brynn. I don’t know how to do that with you.”
There’s a breath, a rustle of fabric. Then, “I just need you to know the full story, Knox.”
And just like that, I’m not breathing.
The fence groans between us in the wind. I want to climb it. Tear it down. Replace every knot and nail with her name. But instead, I stay where I am, fists clenched, heart thudding.
“Goodnight, Knox,” she whispers.
“Goodnight, Bunny.”
Before she walks inside, she turns back toward me. “And Knox?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop calling me ‘Bunny.’ I’m a grown woman and deserve a better nickname.”
Damn her and her sass. “Noted.”
And then she’s gone. Just like last time. But maybe—maybe this time, she’s not walking away.
I stare at the fence for a long time after she’s gone, Priscilla leaning into my leg like she knows I need the anchor.
It’s just a fence.
But tonight, it feels like the only thing standing between me and everything I’ve ever wanted.