Chapter 38
Chapter thirty-eight
Brynn
The Uber ride back to the duplex is only seven minutes, but it feels like forever. It’s silly that I didn’t ride back with Knox, but if anyone had seen me get into the passenger seat of his truck, our cover would have been blown.
The night was fun. Easy. A mix of familiar faces and new rhythms. It should’ve been perfect. But the whole time, I felt like I had my foot on the brake. Smiling at the right times, laughing when I should, while every cell in my body was straining toward Knox.
The driver stops in front of our place and I climb the steps to the door, no sign of Knox yet. I unlock the door and step inside, taking off my shoes and casually flipping through the pile of mail on my entryway table, mainly for something to do.
A minute later, there’s a soft knock on my door. When I open it, he’s there in his black hoodie and jeans, the sleeves pushed to his forearms, his eyes soft. “Still feel like sharing a bed with me tonight?” he asks, voice low.
I don’t answer. I just step back and let him in.
We don’t talk much after that. We brush our teeth in silence, trade tired smiles, and slip under the covers like this is normal. Like we’ve done it a hundred times.
Priscilla hops up and takes her spot at the foot of the bed. Knox stretches out beside me and lifts his arm like a silent invitation. I go without thinking, curling into his side, head tucked against his chest, one hand fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt.
His body is warm and solid, and his heartbeat thuds a calm, steady rhythm beneath my cheek. He smells like clean laundry and aftershave.
And I melt.
Tonight, it’s about comfort. The quiet. The fact that I don’t have to explain why I didn’t want to be alone, because he already understood. I feel his hand drift through my hair, slow and gentle. My throat tightens.
We spent the entire night pretending we weren’t together. Sitting across from each other like strangers with history, like a love story waiting to implode. I hated every second of it.
But I know it’s for the best—for now.
We’re figuring things out. Untangling knots. Building something new, even if it looks a lot like what we had before.
Still, I can’t help wishing I’d gotten to lean over and kiss him at the table. That I could’ve laced my fingers with his under the string lights instead of keeping my hands folded in my lap.
But here, in the dark, I have him. And for tonight, that’s enough.
I wake slowly to the smell of coffee and eggs.
For a second, I think I’m dreaming. Then I hear pans clinking in the kitchen and the quiet, low thrum of Knox talking to Priscilla, probably giving her cooking tips.
I roll out of bed, tug on a sweatshirt, and shuffle into the kitchen to find him barefoot, flipping toast and pouring coffee with the ease of someone who’s done it a hundred times.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still rough.
He glances over his shoulder, grinning. “Morning. I made eggs and toast. Hope that’s okay.”
I smile and lean against the doorway, just watching him.
He grabs a mug and fills it, then adds a splash of milk and one sugar—exactly the way I take it. When he hands it to me, our fingers brush, and something soft and warm buzzes under my skin.
“You remembered how I take it.”
He shrugs, casual. “Course I did.”
We eat at the counter again, plates between us, Priscilla snoring nearby like she had the hardest job of all.
“I forgot how good your eggs are,” I say around a mouthful.
“High praise coming from someone who once set boxed mac and cheese on fire.”
“It was one time. And the instructions were misleading.”
He grins and wipes a smear of butter from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. The casual intimacy makes my stomach flutter. A comfortable silence settles, until Knox clears his throat.
“Can I ask you something?”
I set my fork down. “Yeah, of course.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes at first. Just stares at his plate, jaw tight.
“I’ve been reading about POI. Trying to understand what it really means. What it’s like for you.”
My breath catches.
He looks up, eyes steady. “But I don’t want to just read about it. I want to hear it from you.”
I stare at him, heart cracking open. “It’s…hard. I mean, obviously. Physically, it wrecked my hormones. I felt like I was living in someone else’s body for a while. I still get hot flashes. Mood swings. Some days I’m bone-tired for no reason.”
He nods. “That makes sense.”
I look down at my plate, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks. “And sometimes I’m not always…ready. You know. When it comes to sex.”
“Okay.” His voice is steady, his eyes warm. “We’ll take our time. Just tell me what you need—I’ll always listen.”
I nod, not knowing how to respond to this man. He’s willing to ask, he’s willing to listen and care for me. And as much as I love it, it brings the memories of Henry back too quickly.
“But the mental part?” I swallow hard. “It felt like my future just disappeared. Like this picture I always had of what life would look like—family, kids, holidays with a dog and a toddler wrapped around my leg—it all just went blank.”
Knox is silent, listening like every word matters.
“And it wasn’t just about kids,” I add. “It was about choice. The option being taken away.”
He reaches across the counter, takes my hand. “That has to be unbelievably hard.”
I nod, looking at my plate. “The fact that my partner made it more about him than about what I was going through was really hard too.”
Knox runs his hand down his face. I can feel the frustration coming off of him. “Brynn, that never should have happened. I might be biased here, but I’m glad he showed his true colors before you committed a lifetime to him.”
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “I guess I just…I need to know that you don’t see me as less. Less of a woman. Less of a partner.”
He squeezes my hand. “Brynn, nothing about this changes how I see you. Or what I want with you.”
I let the words settle deep in my chest. Let them anchor me.
I blink fast, then laugh through the tightness in my throat. “You’re gonna ruin me with all this emotional maturity.”
He grins. “I’ve been listening to a podcast. It’s hosted by women who would destroy me in a bar fight.”
I snort, and he leans over to kiss my temple.
“I like this,” I say softly. “Us. Breakfast. Talking.”
He brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “Me too.”
I glance at him over my coffee, heart so full I can barely hold it.
Maybe we’re not shouting this to the world yet. Maybe it still feels new and fragile. But here in my kitchen, over eggs and toast and coffee made just right, I don’t feel broken. I feel like I’m being built again. Piece by piece.
And Knox? He’s the safest place I’ve ever landed.