Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Knox
Mom pulled Daisy into a second hug before I’d even dug the truck keys from my jacket. Dad shook my hand with one arm, slapping my shoulder with the other, the way he’d done since I was an adult—like I was heading off to war and he wasn’t sure when he’d see me.
Bea sidled up to Daisy, cupped a hand near her ear, and said whatever it was she said. Daisy’s entire face opened up at it—real laughter from somewhere unexpected.
I had to know what my sister said. I’d interrogate her for it later.
Daisy handled all of it better than most people would.
The loudness of our family of five. The way nobody asked permission before pulling you into a hug or conversation, deciding you mattered.
She didn’t flinch or shut down or smile that polite, blank smile people used when they were counting down the seconds to the door.
She became a part of us and probably didn’t even realize she was doing it.
A small turn toward my mom when she talked instead of away.
Her hand resting on the back of the chair, opening up instead of tucked against herself.
The ease in her shoulders when my dad told some long-winded story about a horse who’d once bucked him off.
Then Mom found out about the hotel we were staying in for the night. Her expression shifted, horrified.
“Absolutely not. You’re staying with us,” she insisted.
To Daisy, she said, “Now that the kids aren’t living at home, it’s so empty.
You can take Bea’s room; it’s next to Knox’s room.
And I’ll make breakfast in the morning before you drive back.
My blueberry muffins are much better than that dreadful free breakfast at the hotel. ”
I gave Daisy a look to check in with a subtle lift of my brow, an out if she wanted it. No pressure. No explanation needed. Personally, I’d hoped to get her all to myself in the hotel. Maybe in my bed if the stars aligned.
She smiled at my mother. “We’d love to stay with you. Thanks for your hospitality.”
Our drive to my family home on Zimmerman Trail was quieter than the drive to the arena had been.
We drove away from downtown Billings, through more suburban neighborhoods.
I kept one hand loose on the wheel. My elbow rested on the console, close enough to be aware of the space between us, doing nothing about it like reaching for her hand or resting mine on her knee.
“My whole family showing up like that wasn’t part of the plan. But you took it like a champ.” A whole apology took over my tone.
“They’re wonderful people. You’re lucky, Knox. You know that?”
I knew it. But the way she said it made me listen harder to what she was really saying—I had parents I could turn to anytime I needed them. I couldn’t imagine living without them, which hit that desire to be Daisy’s protector even more fiercely.
“You didn’t like your dad calling you the hero though.”
“Oh.” I exhaled slow. “You noticed.”
I tightened my grip on the wheel once, then let it go easily. The road stretched ahead, but Billings was still a small town despite being the largest in Montana. We’d be home soon, enough time to figure out how much to say.
“During my last deployment overseas, my unit came under heavy attack.” I swallowed back the visions of the explosions, the fire, all of it. “Everything went sideways faster than we could get ahead of it.”
Instead of images, the heat hit me again like I was there. The sounds played through my ears of gunfighting and screams and death.
“I got some of them out.” Some. That word did the hard work.
“But not all?”
I shook my head once.
“They called me a hero. Gave me medals. Held a ceremony.” I heard the roughness in my own voice and didn’t bother smoothing it out. “Didn’t sit right then. Still doesn’t.”
“You saved lives, Knox.”
“There are plenty of families without loved ones now who wish I’d saved more.”
The road hummed under the tires. Neither of us said anything for a minute, and I was grateful she didn’t try to fix it or hand me some polished version of comfort that would’ve bounced off of me. She simply let it be what it was.
“You’ve been my hero lately.” Her hand landed on mine on the center console.
I turned my head. She’d twisted to face me in her seat. I held her gaze for a beat longer than was smart on the dark side road.
“You make it easy to be that for you.” I meant it more than I should’ve and laced my fingers with hers.
We drove to the last driveway on Zimmerman Trail, just before the gate they lock in place every winter when the snow piles up too much for cars to pass to the top of the Rimrocks. Our house was there, sitting against the hillside, warm light pushing through every front window, awake and waiting.
Not a fancy place. Never had been. The cedar siding had gone silver with age.
Dad and I had added on the front porch ourselves and it still appeared in good shape.
Mom kept a neat garden on the left side of the drive as she had done every summer for the past twenty years or so.
It was home, and would always hold a distinct family feel to it unique to us.
Daisy’s gaze moved over the house the way it sometimes moved over a horse she was sizing up.
Mom and Dad stepped outside and welcomed us again—with another round of hugs.
We sat for a brief spell on the couches of the sunken living room, where Dad built a fire in the river rock fireplace.
Mom had the kettle going for tea. Dad eventually retreated to his recliner, the universal signal for the night winding down.
Bea and Maddox hadn’t come with us, both living away from home now, elsewhere in Billings.
Daisy noticed photos on the side table next to Mom’s chair.
She politely asked about each of them. Of course, Mom lit up like somebody had flipped a switch, happy to tell her tails of our family and the tiny town in upper Montana where she was from, one even smaller than Forest Grove.
I listened to them talk for thirty minutes straight.
Dad caught my eye from across the room. Just a look—the corner of his mouth lifting, like he knew damn well Daisy was mine and I shouldn’t let her go.
I glanced away before he got any further ideas because we weren’t quite there yet. Daisy still had walls that needed to come down.
We made it downstairs eventually, where my bedroom and Bea’s were side by side, already made up with the fresh sheets my mom must have put on the minute she got home from the game. Daisy dropped her bag at the foot of Bea’s old canopy bed, turning back as I leaned against the doorframe.
“Tired?” I asked.
“Not especially.”
Good. Because I wasn’t ready to call it a night.
“Feel like a little sightseeing?”
She blinked. “This time of night?”
“Believe me, it’s the best time for it.”
She grabbed her jacket from the bed. We strode back through the house. I grabbed Dad’s keys and announced I was taking her up to the Rims for the view.
“Be careful up there,” Mom called.
“I’m always careful with precious cargo,” I quipped to Daisy and caught her hand in mine, squeezing it as we left.
We drove from the house all the way up Zimmerman Trail, the dark road narrow and curvy and wooded, until we reached the top of the Rimrocks, where the views spread out wide.
I’d driven it so many times growing up that my hands knew the curves well.
But I watched the road with more attention than usual, fully aware of her beside me, the way I used to be overseas.
Kept me on alert when the stakes were high and the margin for error was thin.
Different stakes now. Same alertness.
“Billings is famous for the Rimrocks.” I explained about the outcropping of the sandstone cliffs rising above the city, formed over millions or years. “People hike and bike up here during the day. The views are nice, especially at night.”
I pulled into the overlook and cut the engine. Didn’t see another car about. The radio was set to Dad’s favorite old country station, playing a love ballad I didn’t recognize, but I left it for the ambience.
Daisy scooted forward on the seat, both hands on the dash, her breath catching as the hundred and eighty degree view opened up in front of us. The whole city stretched out below, lights twinkling. The big sky above hung clear, dark, and thick with stars.
“Beautiful,” she breathed.
“Yeah.” She was.
“I’ve been to Billings plenty of times over the years, but I’ve never come up here.”
“I never paid much attention to the view either, honestly, until I got older.” I leaned back, one arm resting across the back of the seat. “Back in high school this was mostly just the place you brought a girl to make out.”
She turned her head, eyes narrowing. I sensed the tease of a question forming before she said it.
“And how many girls did you bring up here?”
I let the pause stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. I dragged my gaze over her just to watch her expression sharpen. “More than a few.”
“A playboy. I knew it,” she quipped.
“I wouldn’t say that. But Maddox and I weren’t exactly hurting for company.”
“Sage says you’ve still got plenty of admirers back home.” She tilted her chin slightly. “Says the ladies in Forest Grove keep close tabs on you.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
“No?”
“Nope.” I let the word settle before I kept going, because some things were worth the buildup. “There’s only one woman I’ve got my eye on. The apple of my eye.”
She snorted. “You did not just say that.”
I grinned. “I did. And you know exactly who that is, don’t you, sweetheart?” I reached over and squeezed her hand. The air between us charged the way it did before a storm—that moment right before lightning struck and everything changed.
The last note of the old country song faded out and the radio filled with an even slower ballad, drawing out all my romantic feels, trying to get me in trouble.
Daisy pretended to still watch the city below. I knew exactly what I wanted to do about that.
“Come here.” I crooked my finger for her to come closer. Didn’t know if she would.