15. Ava
FIFTEEN
AVA
My haphazardly packed bag topples off the toilet lid onto the floor, but I barely register it as I stare at myself in the mirror in the upstairs bathroom. The bruised face staring back at me is indistinct and hazy. My dark hair is as scraggly and unruly as the bits of the day that all run together, and it’s the headache that registers the most. That and my discomfort standing in Knox’s fancy bathroom on a fancy memory foam rug beneath my boots, gazing into a mirror over a fancy vanity. I’ve never felt so out of place, and with every creak of the house, I think Mitch will appear in the doorway.
Blinking, I stare at my overnight bag. For the first time in my life, Mitch might be the least of my problems. I have three pills left in my bag, and when they are gone...I’m afraid of what will happen.
My hand flexes at my side and the blisters on my palm sting. Glancing around the bathroom, I dare to hope I’ll find a Band-Aid or rubbing alcohol.
I open one of the dark-stained cabinets framing the mirror. This en suite is part of a man’s bedroom. Or, at least, it was at some point. Its sharp edges and masculine grays and blues scream as much, so I hesitate as I open another cabinet, uncertain of what I might find.
Hair products, an old toothbrush, and tweezers. A dusty, half-used bottle of mouthwash. Unable to see everything on the top shelf, I rise onto my tiptoes and feel around, knocking an electric razor off. I cringe as it hits the counter, then continue searching. My fingers brush a pill bottle that rattles, and an unexpected hope swells to life. I snatch the bottle with the tips of my fingers. Tylenol. Expired Tylenol.
I sigh, though I don’t know why. I already know there’s no stash of Clobazam or Depakene, but I can’t help but look all the same.
When I’m finished searching the top cupboards, I scour the bottom ones. There are no pill bottles, only clean towels and extra toilet paper, and a comb, dental floss, and nail clippers in one of the drawers.
The floor creaks behind me and I look up in alarm. Knox stands in the doorway, freshly showered and staring at me in the mirror. His bare chest is heaving slightly, and his hand clutches the towel around his waist tighter. I swallow thickly.
Knox’s shoulders sag a little, maybe with relief, but then a scowl hardens into place. “Looking for something?”
“I—uh.” A wayward droplet falls from the tip of his hair and carves a path between his pecs.
“Ava?”
My gaze snaps to his as his hazel eyes narrow, and his eyebrow arches skeptically.
I lick my lips. “I was just?—”
“Just what?” he snaps, a sharp edge of distrust filling each word.
My speechlessness subsides, and I grit my teeth. “I was looking for a Band-Aid.” It’s mostly true.
Knox makes a derisive noise, and my hackles rise anew. “What did you think I was doing? Stealing from you or something?” Rolling my eyes, I hold up my blistered hands. His absence of an answer is all I need. “You know what, forget it.” I lift my bag from the sink and shove what’s left of my meds inside as I gather my things.
I can see Knox staring at the pill bottle in the mirror, and I can only imagine what else he’s thinking—what poison his father has spread about me. Or maybe he hasn’t had to because Knox already assumes the worst.
“They’re prescription,” I reassure him, even if it bothers me that I feel the need to explain myself at all. But I am in his house, and Knox is helping me after essentially saving my life...even if it’s begrudgingly. His hard gaze meets mine in the mirror and we stare at each other until I can’t take it anymore. “God,” I mutter, “stereotype much?” I bend down to grab my backpack so I can get the hell out of here.
“ What ?” he grinds out.
“Just because my uncle has an addiction problem doesn’t mean I do.” I’ve been offended by his family enough to last a lifetime, and if these are my last days in this world, I won’t be spending them under his judgmental glare.
Pulling my bag strap over my shoulder, I brush past Knox and head for the stairs.
“So, I saved you hot water for nothing?”
I stop, staring over my shoulder at him in surprise. Slowly, he turns to the side and looks at me, his expression unreadable. When Knox said I could get cleaned up here, I didn’t realize he meant I could actually shower.
The tension in his jaw softens, along with his features—only slightly—and he runs his hand up the back of his head, sending a few more droplets flying, as he lets out a deep breath. “I assume you saw the towels during your search?”
The thought of a shower sends chills over my skin. I nod and glance at the bottom cabinet ravenously.
“I’ll get you a first aid kit with bandages from downstairs,” he says. “Do you”—his gaze rakes over me from my soiled t-shirt to my boot-clad feet—“need anything else?”
I shake my head with far too much enthusiasm to be normal in such close proximity to Knox Bennett. “No.” I sound more astonished than I mean to, but I’m grateful he isn’t being a total dick about this situation we’re in. “I have what I need. Thanks.”
With a final survey of me up and down, Knox passes me in the hall, careful not to let our shoulders touch. The crisp scent of citrus and deodorant wafts behind him, and squeezing my eyes shut, I tell myself to ignore it and focus on getting through the next hour without making anything worse.
* * *
The water smells mildly sulfuric, but it’s a small price to pay as it washes over the rawest parts of me. I never thought I’d want a hot shower in the dead of summer, but the heat is soothing, and I let my weariness consume me. I’m too tired to feel, too wrung out to cry, and I welcome the exhaustion.
After the crusted blood is washed from my scalp and the dirt scrubbed from my skin, I linger under the spray for only a few moments more to wash the suds away. The water starts to cool as I shut it off, and I pull down the towel I’d flung over the glass door. It’s the plushest towel I’ve ever used, but I miss the rougher, well-worn ones I’ve grown so accustomed to at home.
I try not to think about home, though, because it’s not real, not anymore.
Drying off, I glance at my clothes strewn around the bathroom. It looks like a bomb detonated in here from trying to find my shampoo and shower stuff Knox shoved haphazardly into my bags with everything else. I make a mental note to sort through my things tomorrow, to see what else Ty might’ve stolen with my meds. But that’s a task for a fresh mind, when my head isn’t pounding and it doesn’t hurt to blink.
I wrap my hair in the towel, ignoring my headache. Clicking the shower door open, I step onto the memory foam mat awaiting me. That is a feeling I could get used to, and I find I can’t stop thinking about the bed in the other room, wondering if the mattress will feel as magical when I finally get to lie on it. Since the Bennett family is one of the richest, oldest families in Sutton County, I expect sleeping on their plush bed in the extra bedroom will be the best night of rest I’ve ever had.
I pull on a pair of underwear and pajama shorts, then a tank top, before I collect my things from the shower. I leave them in the sink to drip dry, and I gather my dirty clothes. The pants and shirt I wore earlier today are stained with blood, and while I would prefer to throw them away, my wardrobe is limited.
I contemplate asking Knox if I can wash them, then drop it all again where I stand, resolved to deal with it tomorrow when I can see straight.
Tugging the towel from my head, I drape it over the shower door to dry, then brush through the tangles. It’s mundane and routine, but it’s never felt so good. The seconds pass, and when I hear a noise downstairs, I stir again. Blinking at myself in the mirror, I notice the circles under my eyes look more like bruises, and the pink cut across my cheek stings a little in the cool air. But even if I look like hell, I feel a thousand times better.
More content than I could have hoped to be only hours ago, I toss my brush onto the counter and turn for the door. The instant I open it, sleep is forgotten. A first aid kit sits outside the door, but that might as well be forgotten, too, the instant the scent of bacon hits my nose. My stomach turns with a savage hunger, and while it might be presumptuous to think Knox is down there making food for both of us, I can’t recall the last time I ate something, and I pad down the hall and then the stairs on bare feet.
My stomach rumbles again. If Knox isn’t prepared to share, I’m not above begging. Or at least scouring his cabinets for crumbs.
The wooden stairs are sturdy and don’t make a sound as I wind my way down to the living room. The house looks and feels less like a home and more like a lodge with its warm tones, rich woods, and plush furniture. While most of the house is devoid of personality and looks unused, the sitting room attached to the kitchen looks lived in and comfortable, like this is where Knox and Mitch spend their time. The rest of it—the fancy dining area and library and the living spaces upstairs, are all just furnished rooms.
The wood floor is cool beneath my feet as I pad around the couch toward the open, industrial-grade kitchen. Cricket sounds hum through the screen door, and Lucy, or so I’ve heard Knox call her, lifts her head from her dog bed by the stone hearth. Her butt wags happily, but she doesn’t get up.
I pause in front of the giant, muted television mounted above the mantel. Images of flooded cities and smoking volcanoes flash across the screen, but I don’t want to think about any of that right now so I continue to the island in the center of the kitchen.
Knox moves seamlessly from the counter to the stove, and if he notices me, he doesn’t bother looking up. Seeing him in a faded Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, black sweats, and bare feet feels strangely intimate, and having already ogled him tonight, I look away.
Plates sit on the quartz countertop, and my gratitude mixes with relief. Two plates.
“I figured you might be hungry,” he says, still not meeting my gaze. Knox shuts the gas stove off, and lifting the pan, he scoops a fried egg out for each of us.
“I’m starving,” I admit.
Knox removes a paper towel from another plate on the countertop, exposing a row of fried bacon, and my stomach rumbles again, loud and overly obnoxious. This time, Knox does look up, his eyes scanning me, briefly landing on my stomach before lingering on my chest. Catching himself, he clears his throat and meets my gaze.
I blush, feeling more naked than I ever have in a tank top and pajama shorts. “Can I—uh—help with anything?”
“You can grab a couple of waters from the pantry,” he says, glancing toward a closed door on the other side of the kitchen. “It’s not safe to drink from the faucet anymore.”
Nodding, I walk around the island and stop short so I don’t run into Knox as he passes in front of me, headed for the toaster. The pantry is stocked with cans and boxes of food—not so much food that I think he’s a prepper or a Moonie, but enough that I can tell he and his father have been prepared to hole up here for a little while if need be.
Grabbing two plastic bottles, I take a final look around, curious if Knox means to stay here until he’s forced to leave, then head back into the kitchen.
With a sigh, Knox sets a butter dish between our plates, then scans the counter to ensure he’s thought of everything. Tapatío, salt, pepper, and a bottle of ketchup are clustered in the center, and when he pulls silverware out of the drawer behind him, I begin to salivate all over again.
“Thank you,” I breathe, staring at this unexpected gift. Eggs, bacon, and toast—so simple and yet so mouthwatering. I lift onto a padded stool at the breakfast bar.
“Sure.” He climbs onto the stool beside me.
As I butter my toast, Knox squirts ketchup on his fried egg in silence, then drizzles some Tapatío on it, followed by a dusting of salt and pepper. I don’t usually like ketchup, but he makes it look amazing, so I do the same, wanting all the things on my plate. Then we dive in.
The food is orgasmic against my tongue: ketchup, eggs, bacon, wheat bread—none of it has ever tasted so good.
At first, I’m content to keep quiet, trying as best I can to not eat like a complete savage. But as our silverware scrapes our plates and the intermittent chatter on the radio fades into the background, our silence feels expectant, even if Knox hasn’t looked at me once.
I swallow a bite of toast. “I’ve never had breakfast for—” I glance at the microwave clock. I knew it was late, but I didn’t expect it to be nearly ten. “An almost-midnight snack.”
“It’s the best,” he replies simply, and licking his lips, Knox opens his bottle of water and chugs it down.
“I know you have limited supplies, so I appreciate you?—”
“It’s fine,” he says, wiping the water from his lips with the back of his hand instead of his crumpled napkin. “I’m not a total dick. I wasn’t only going to make food for myself.”
“I know, but after everything that happened today, I’m just—I’m really grateful. You didn’t have to bring me here at all, but you did. And now I’m having what is probably the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”
He looks at me, skeptical. “You work at a diner.”
“Yeah, well, Kyle’s breakfast never tasted this good.” I bite off a hunk of bacon, and with a huff, I shake my head, completely incredulous of our situation.
“What?” Knox shovels the last of his egg into his mouth.
“Oh, nothing, other than the fact that, before today, we haven’t spent more than twenty minutes in the same vicinity. Now, I’m in your house, eating your food.”
“Yeah, well, everything is upside down. So, it seems fitting.”
I snort. “True.”
His eyes dart to me and then we eat the rest of our breakfast with the noise of our crackling water bottles and scraping silverware filling the kitchen. Lucy yawns audibly from her bed, then walks over to her kibble bowl by the back door.
With a yawn of his own, Knox rests his elbows on the countertop as he runs his hands over his face. “Where were you and Scott headed?” After the day we’ve had, I can only imagine how much his body hurts—probably worse than mine.
My meal, barely settled in my stomach, threatens to churn as I meet his gaze—a beautiful mix of copper and green that’s fixed directly on me. “He was heading to Missouri.”
“And you?” He stares at me, and Lucy comes up to sit beside his stool. “You were going to Missouri with him?” He reaches down and rubs her head. It’s disarming that a man with a stare so sharp it could cut glass can seem so utterly gentle at the same time.
I discard my napkin on my empty plate and push it away from me. “Scott was taking me to Sweetwater,” I admit.
Knox waits a beat before asking, “Who’s in Sweetwater?” There’s something about his tone that makes me think he already knows. And of course he would. His father didn’t start coming to the trailer park, cursing my existence in a drunken rage until Julio was released from prison. When Julio never came back to Sonora, for obvious reasons, it was as if Mitch needed to take his aggression out on someone, and Julio’s only kin seemed to suffice.
Regardless, I knew this question would come eventually. I just hadn’t wanted Knox to ask it so soon, not when we are on somewhat common ground at the moment.
Bracing myself, I tell him. “Julio.” I can’t bring myself to look away, needing to see Knox’s reaction. Disgust at the thought of my uncle’s face? Regret for helping me? Fury at the gull I have to think Knox might take me there? But it’s none of those.
Knox’s brow, tanned from working in the sun, twitches, but other than that, he looks deceptively unfazed. Then again, anger has never been Knox’s MO. He’s always kept himself closed off around me instead.
“I don’t know what your plan was, bringing me here,” I start, preparing myself for whatever he decides next, “but I get it if you want me to leave.” I step down from the stool and collect our dirty plates.
Knox doesn’t answer as I set them in the sink. “I promised Scott I would help you,” he finally says.
“What?” My eyes snap over my shoulder to him. “What do you mean, you promised him?”
Elbows still perched on the counter, Knox rubs his hands over his face again, scrubbing his hair like it pains him to answer. “It was the final thing he said.”
I collect the dirty pan and spatula, swallowing the emotion thickening in my throat. That Scott would be worried about me in his final moments is almost too much to bear right now.
“You’ve already done enough, Knox.” Roughly, I clear my throat. As much as I hate to think about being on my own, it’s true. He’s helped me more than I ever could have hoped for today—he even fed me.
“So, you’re going to, what, take the bus?” he asks dryly.
“I’ll figure something out.” I’m nothing if not a survivor. At least, that’s what I tell myself, and I let the faucet water run over my fingers as I wait for it to warm. “He shouldn’t have asked that of you.”
“I’m going to take you to Sweetwater, Ava.” Exhaustion riddles the sigh that follows, and his stool scrapes against the tiled floor.
“Knox—”
“We can argue about it later.” His eyes don’t meet mine when I look back at him. “I’m going to bed. You should have everything you need upstairs.”
Without another word, Knox disappears down a hallway, and Lucy trots after him. The moment I hear his door shut, I turn the water off and brace my hands against the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Staring at the dirty dishes, I try and fail to keep the tears at bay. I learned a long time ago not to rely on anyone other than Mavey, and this was why—this unbearable weight in my chest, knowing the burden I’ve become. I felt it with Scott, but he didn’t have the reluctance in his voice that Knox does. There was no convoluted history to wade through, and I didn’t have to wonder how much Scott resented and hated me every time he looked in my direction, or avoided meeting my gaze.
Now, the person I know wishes me miles away is the very person I have to rely on. Again.