Chapter 14
Taylor
Knox’s fingers dig into the muscles of my lower back as I talk about Patrick. He doesn’t like it, but he needs to know that I understand not being able to let go.
He’s staring at my mouth with hazy eyes, so I place two fingers under his chin and tilt his head up until his eyes meet mine.
“The problem,” I continue, “was that Patrick had never been open about his bisexuality with Liam, or his wife, Emilia. He confessed to hiding that part of himself once he and Emilia started dating. He also confessed that being with me was easy because it didn’t feel like cheating on Emilia or her memory.
For six months, we snuck around. It was intense, passionate.
I let him use me to get through his grief, and in return, I was falling for him hard and fast. We’d made plans to tell our families over the holidays last year if things continued to grow serious, but before we had the chance, Liam and Damon came home to surprise Patrick for his birthday.
A birthday we were already in the full swing of celebrating… naked…in his living room.”
At this point in the story, I’m pretty sure Knox’s fingers are inside my muscles for how hard he’s gripping me, and I’m afraid his teeth are going to break. But I decide to finish anyway.
“Patrick was mortified, but instead of explaining what we’d become to each other, he pushed me away.
He accused me of using his grief to seduce him.
He spoke to my parents, apologized for what happened between us as if we’d done something wrong, and blocked my number.
He conveniently forgot to mention that he was the one who said I love you first. He was the one who begged me to give an actual relationship with him a try.
He was the one who said he needed me. And then he threw me under the bus.
My parents were furious with me for sleeping with him, and Damon lost his shit.
He accused me of being selfish and blamed me for jeopardizing his friendship with Liam.
” I huff out a sad laugh. “My own twin was more upset over the possibility of losing his best friend than he was over the reality of losing me. In the end, I lost them all to some degree.”
When Knox’s teeth start grinding together, I reach up and gently massage his jaw on both sides.
“The point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay to hurt…to be mad…to be sad. It doesn’t make you weak, and even if it did, it’s okay to let someone else be the strong one now and then.”
His jaw finally relaxes under my touch as his eyes close and his head falls back against the couch as he begins to speak.
“I’m not sure who I’m angrier with; Karen for leaving, or myself for being unable to get over it,” he admits.
“I know that feeling all too well. But have some grace for yourself. You were together a long time,” I say gently.
“I thought I was doing better, but then all my friends started dating their spouses within a year of each other, leaving me alone once again, so I’ve been in my head more than usual…
” he trails off, and I stay quiet, anticipating that he has more to say.
I’m rewarded a few short seconds later. “She called me a couple nights ago out of the blue and again last night. It’s the first I’ve heard from her in five years.
Left a voicemail that I haven’t worked up the courage to listen to yet. ”
I startle at this news.
How would I feel if Patrick contacted me? It’s only been six months since his silence began and already, I know it would cripple me for weeks to see his name on my phone again. I can’t imagine what seeing it after five years would do to me. No wonder Knox is so fucked up tonight.
“Do you want me to listen to it and give you a summary?” I offer.
He hesitates for a second and then nods. “Okay.”
Handing me his phone, I turn the volume all the way down and slide off his lap. I don’t want there to be any chance of him hearing her voice until he’s ready.
Once I’m a safe distance away, I hold the phone up to my ear and the voicemail begins to play.
“Hi, Knox. It’s um, it’s Karen. Something’s come up that I need to discuss with you in person. I’m in town for a few days, so give me a call when you get this.
Her voice makes me want to punch something. I don’t even know the woman, but her tone rubs me the wrong way. Like it’s somehow submissive and condescending at the same time. Too sweet, like poison disguised as the apple.
“Well?” Knox asks as I pull the phone away from my ear.
“She has something she needs to talk to you about and wants to meet in person. Asked that you call her back,” I tell him, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice. I came over here to help him process his shit, not to add fuel to the fire of hatred.
I watch as sobriety slowly overtakes his buzz.
“What do I do?” he asks.
Making my way back to him, I sit on the ottoman in front of him. “Do you think there’s any chance that seeing her again could bring you the closure you were denied five years ago?”
He sighs. “Maybe. Depends on what she wants, I guess.”
“You could always text that number back instead of talking to her directly. Find out more information before committing,” I suggest.
He nods at his phone, still in my hands. “Will you do it?”
“Sure.”
I type out a quick message and let him read it before hitting send. We both wait in the heavy silence for a response that may or may not come.
“Why are you more comfortable talking about this to me than to Phil, or Javi, or your other friends?” I ask as a way to keep my dick in check. Apparently, dealing with Knox’s ex-wife isn’t enough to make it mind its own damn business.
“I don’t know. That night at the bar, when you were literally on the bar, and we made eye contact, I swore my own pain was reflected in your eyes, and it sounds dumb as hell, but I felt this weird connection to you even then…it’s why I had to leave.”
His eyes continue darting to my lips and I’m about to ask if I can kiss him when his phone rings.
Motherfucker.
It’s her.
Before I really think through what I’m doing, I end the call and fire off another message saying we need to crawl before we walk, and we should start with a text.
I’m fully invested in the conversation, and it isn’t until Knox leans forward to look at his phone screen that I realize what I’ve done, and the choices I’ve just made for him.
“Fuck, Knox. I’m so sorry.” My first message to Karen literally said Knox wasn’t comfortable speaking on the phone yet and couldn’t agree to the meeting, and could she please provide more details. My second message wasn’t quite so nice.
Knox
I just said no to a phone call. That didn’t change in the last 30 seconds.
Knox’s lips twitch.
“She probably deserved that. Never did care much for my opinion, even when we were married,” he says.
“How did you end up with her?” I ask, genuinely curious.
He shrugs. “I’m a traditionalist. Wanted to settle down, have a family, and work my fingers to the bone doing something I loved.
Times were different when we started dating.
Thought she wanted the same shit I did. By twenty-six, she still wasn’t interested in having kids.
Would shut me down every time I brought it up.
Slowly, I began to let go of my dreams and focus on keeping her happy, but that didn’t work either. ”
I place my hands on his knees. “Knox, you can’t light yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. Other people’s happiness isn’t your responsibility.”
Learned that one the fuckin’ hard way, didn’t we? my brain chides.
The phone goes off again.
Karen
It’s too much to type.
I raise a brow at Knox, silently asking if he wants me to continue. He shakes his head, grabs the phone, and hits the call button followed by the speakerphone button.
“Knox, what are you do—”
“Hi,” the feminine voice breathes, cutting me off. I watch as ten different expressions of pain paint Knox’s features, and I can’t stay away from him any longer. I’m not sure why he thought this was the best plan. Perhaps more of the alcohol remains in his veins than I thought.
Wanting to pour my strength into him, I climb back into Knox’s lap, straddling his thighs this time.
“Karen,” he grits out.
“H-How are you?” she asks, making me want to vomit. Knox pinches the bridge of his nose, already at his limit.
“What do you want?”
She sighs, but takes the hint and dives in. “Do you remember the cabin on my parents’ property?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when my father died, he left it to us…both of us,” she says.
“Your dad passed away six years ago,” Knox answers. “Wasn’t this accounted for in the divorce?” His voice is softening now.
I shake my head, wanting him to stay strong.
“Apparently not,” she says. “I have some papers I need you to sign to have your name taken off the deed.”
“Can’t you mail them to me?” Knox asks.
“I really need them signed by the time I leave. I have a deadline to get this sorted out,” Karen explains.
“A deadline,” Knox repeats. It’s not fully a question, but it’s obvious he wants to know more.
“Um, yeah. I’m…getting remarried. At the cabin. It feels weird doing that if we still own it together.”
The phone slips from Knox’s hand, and his brows pinch together in another wave of pain.
Needing to ground him and bring him back to me, I place my left hand on the side of his neck while my lips attack the right.
Afraid my voice would be picked up by the speaker, I convey all my thoughts in the way my lips brush against his skin, the way my tongue follows in their wake.
I suck lightly, soundlessly, trying to keep him tethered to the moment.
Telling him the past holds nothing for him, and it’s in the present, with me, that he’s wanted.
I hate that this is the way my lips reconnect with his skin for the first time, but I’m desperate. Knox may be a protector, but I have a savior complex a mile wide. I just want people to be able to live as honestly, genuinely, and happily as they can.
Thankfully, it works, but one look at his face and I realize he’s more startled about what I’m doing than the fact that his ex-wife is on the phone going on about her upcoming nuptials.
“Karen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can figure something out.”
Knox disconnects the call before she can answer.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I just wanted you to—”
“Shut up,” Knox growls as he grips my face and kisses me, hard.
It takes every ounce of self-restraint I possess—and some I borrow after leveraging my soul in a silent prayer—to not grind against Knox right now. My hands itch to undress him. To feel his skin pressed against mine. To ride this defiant wave until it crashes against the shore of reality.
But this needs to be about him.
Take, I silently beg, but his resolve doesn’t last long.
“Shit. Fuck, Taylor. It’s my turn to apologize.”
“I don’t want your apology. I want you to keep going.
Please.” The desperation in my voice should be embarrassing.
People say you should never beg another person for anything.
That you should know your self-worth and begging is pathetic.
But I say fuck that. If I know what I want, I will do whatever it takes to get it.
Sometimes, people need to be begged in order to know their worth.
We all play a role. And right now, I’ll happily be a beggar.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this shitstorm,” Knox continues, his fingers still tracing my skin through the holes of my shirt as his forehead lands on mine.
“You didn’t,” I remind him. “It was my idea to come over here. And I’m glad I did. You shouldn’t go through this alone.”
Knox rolls his lips inward, his gaze still not meeting mine as he says, “Thank you for coming when I needed you.”
I brush a hand across his cheek, and he nuzzles into my touch. When his eyes finally find mine, they’re glassy from alcohol, but there are no tears. I have no idea how much he drank before I arrived, but it was enough to make him text me in the first place.
I don’t like it.
But I understand it.
I also understand it means we aren’t going any further tonight. Not when he could regret his consent in the morning.
“Come on,” I tell him, sliding off his lap once more. “Let’s get you to bed.” His eyes widen, and I laugh. “Alone,” I clarify. “Go do what you need to do. I’m going to grab a glass of water and mill around until I find your ibuprofen.”
“Drawer next to the fridge,” he mumbles.
Since he was able to make it down the hallway and into his room without issue, I heard the toilet flush and the sink run, and his words aren’t slurred, I don’t think he runs the risk of aspirating. But just to be sure, I plan to tell him to sleep on his side with a wall of pillows behind him.
Except when I enter his room, he’s face-down on his comforter, already snoring softly, in nothing but tight black boxer briefs.
Miles of tan, bare skin are before me. How does he look even bigger without clothes on? The muscles in his back are on full display as they taper down to his waist. I set the water and four pills on his nightstand, and look…I try to back away without touching him. I really do.
But my God.
The mounds of his ass have my knees buckling, and the veins in his arms are begging to be noticed. Worshipped. Who am I to deny them?
But at the last second, I pull my hand back, Livvy’s words ringing in my ears. You realize you basically just assaulted that guy, right?
A sickening feeling is left in their wake as an unnerving thought slams into me.
Maybe I did take advantage of Patrick.