Chapter 4 Daisy
Aweek passed. Then two.
I settled into a rhythm. Mornings at the clinic, afternoons helping Lila with paperwork, evenings on Cal's porch watching the mountains turn pink and gold. It was quiet. Simple. The kind of life I'd forgotten existed while I was drowning in before.
I didn't see Knox.
That was a lie. I saw him everywhere. His truck parked outside the hardware store. His broad shoulders disappearing around a corner. His voice drifting from the firehouse when I walked past on my way to work.
What I meant was, we didn't speak. We existed in the same small town like two planets in separate orbits, close enough to feel each other's gravity but never colliding.
It was fine. It was what I wanted.
I almost believed that.
Friday afternoon, June showed up at the clinic with a gash on her forearm and a scowl that could curdle milk.
"Slipped with a wrench," she said, dropping into the exam chair. "Don't make a big deal out of it."
I pulled on gloves and examined the cut. Deep enough to need stitches, but clean. "This is going to need about six sutures."
"Great. Do it fast. I've got a Jeep waiting."
I prepped the wound, working efficiently while June watched. She had purple streaks in her dark hair and tattoos covering both arms and grease under her fingernails. The kind of woman who looked like she'd seen some shit and come out swinging.
"You're Cal's niece," she said.
"That's me."
"The one who dated Knox Parker back in the day."
My hand stilled on the needle. "We didn't date."
"Right." June's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "My mistake."
I focused on the stitches. In and out. Clean, even lines.
"He's not what people think, you know." June's voice was casual, like she was commenting on the weather. "Knox. Everyone sees the fights, the attitude, the chip on his shoulder. They don't see the rest."
"I'm not sure why you're telling me this."
"Because you're stitching my arm and I'm bored." She shrugged with her good shoulder. "And because I've known Knox for five years, and I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you in Mae's the other day."
I tied off the last suture. Snipped the thread and kept my face blank.
"You're imagining things."
"Honey, I fix cars for a living. I know when something's broken, and I know when it's just stuck." June hopped off the table, flexing her arm experimentally. "Nice work. You're good at this."
"Thanks."
She headed for the door, then paused. Looked back at me with those sharp eyes.
"Word of advice? Whatever happened between you two, whatever you think you know? Ask him. Actually ask him. Because the story you're telling yourself?" She shook her head. "I don't think it's the whole truth."
She left as I stood there for a long moment, gloves still on, the sharp smell of antiseptic filling my nose.
The story I was telling myself.
Like there was another version. Like the facts I'd lived with for eight years might not be facts at all.
***
That night, I made dinner for Cal.
It was something I'd started doing the second week, partly because I needed to contribute, partly because if I didn't feed the man, he'd live on coffee and Mae's pastries. Tonight it was chicken and vegetables, simple and hot, the kind of meal that felt like taking care of someone.
Cal came in from his shift looking tired. He hung his jacket by the door, kicked off his boots, and settled into his chair at the kitchen table like a man who'd been on his feet too long.
"Smells good," he said.
"Eat it while it's hot."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Cal wasn't a talker, and I'd learned to appreciate that about him. No small talk. No prying questions. Just presence.
"Got some news," he said eventually, pushing his empty plate back. "The deck's worse than I thought. Structural issues. Needs to be rebuilt before winter or the whole thing's coming down."
"That sounds expensive."
"Would be, if I was paying someone." Cal took a sip of his water. "Knox offered to do it. Cost of materials only. Says he owes me."
My fork froze halfway to my mouth. "Knox."
"He's good with his hands. Does work all over town. Rebuilt the porch at the firehouse last year." Cal's expression was unreadable. "He'll be here most days for the next few weeks. I wanted you to know."
Most days. For weeks.
I set my fork down carefully. "Cal, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?"
Because being in the same town as Knox was hard enough. Being in the same house? Seeing him every day, watching him work, existing in his orbit for hours at a time?
That sounded like torture.
"We have history," I said carefully. "It's complicated."
Cal's eyes sharpened. For a moment, he almost looked guilty.
"What kind of history?"
I hesitated. I'd never told Cal about that summer. I never told anyone except my college roommate, who'd held me while I cried and called Knox every name in the book.
"The kind that ended badly," I said. "A long time ago."
Cal was quiet for a long moment. "He's not the same kid he was eight years ago, Daisy. People change."
"Do they?"
"Some do." He stood, taking his plate to the sink. "Knox has worked harder than anyone in this town to prove himself. Whatever happened between you two, I'm asking you to give him a chance. For me."
For him. Cal, who never asked for anything. Who'd opened his home to me without question, who'd given me space and safety when I needed it most.
"Fine," I said. "But I'm not going to pretend we're friends."
"Didn't ask you to." Cal rinsed his plate, set it in the rack. "He starts Monday."
I spent the rest of the evening on the porch, watching the stars come out, trying to convince myself this was survivable.
***
Saturday morning, I woke early and drove to the Hollow Peak Hot Springs.
I needed to think, and the springs had always been my favorite place in Hollow Peak. It was a series of steaming pools carved into natural rock, overlooking the valley. The kind of place that made your problems feel smaller.
Ingrid Sorensen was at the front desk, tall and blonde and vaguely terrifying in the way only Scandinavian women could be. She raised one eyebrow when I walked in.
"Daisy Taylor. I remember you. You used to sneak in after hours."
My face flushed. "I was nineteen."
"And now you're paying like everyone else." She handed me a towel and a locker key. "Third pool is empty. Best view."
The third pool was perfect. Steam rising from mineral-blue water, mountains sharp against a pale sky, nobody else in sight. I slipped in and let the heat soak into my bones, closing my eyes and breathing deep.
Knox was going to be at the cabin. Every day. For weeks.
I'd have to see him in the mornings, before I left for work. See him in the evenings, when I came home. Watch him build something with his hands while I pretended not to notice the way his shoulders moved, the way his forearms flexed, the way he still made my stomach flip even after everything.
This was a terrible idea.
But Cal had asked. And I couldn't say no to Cal.
I sank deeper into the water, letting it cover my shoulders, my chin. Wishing I could drown the part of me that still cared what Knox Parker thought of me.
Eight years. I should be over him. I should feel nothing but cold indifference.
Instead, I felt everything. Anger and hurt and something deeper, something I refused to name. Something that had lived in my chest since that night at the overlook, curled up tight, waiting.
I thought about what June had said. The story you're telling yourself. I don't think it's the whole truth.
What did that mean? What truth was I missing?
Knox hadn't shown up. He hadn't called or explained. Those were facts. Those were the things that had happened, the things I'd lived with for eight years.
But facts could be true and still not tell the whole story.
I thought about the Knox I'd seen in town. That was someone who'd changed. Grown. Become something more than the reckless kid I remembered.
Why?
What had happened in the years I was gone?
I stayed in the pool until my fingers pruned and my head felt clearer. Then I got out, dried off, and drove back to Cal's cabin with a new resolution forming in my chest.
I wasn't going to ask Knox for answers. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I still cared enough to wonder.
But I was going to watch, listen and pay attention.
Because June was right about one thing. The story I'd been telling myself for eight years was the only story I had. And maybe it was time to find out if there was another one.
***
Sunday passed in a blur of laundry and meal prep and trying not to think about Monday.
I failed.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind push through the trees outside my window. My body was tired but my brain wouldn't stop spinning, running through scenarios, imagining conversations, preparing for a battle I wasn't sure I wanted to fight.
Knox would be here in the morning.
This was going to be a disaster.
I rolled over, punched my pillow, and forced my eyes closed.
Sleep came eventually, but it wasn't restful. I dreamed of the overlook. Of waiting in the dark. Of headlights that never came.
When I woke, the sun was just coming up, and Knox Parker's truck was already in the driveway.