Hard Bargain (Crossed Lines #2)

Chapter 1

Knox

Stockton smelled like rain and regret.

It was well past midnight when Knox Wolfe made his way home on foot, hood up, and a bag of groceries digging into his fingers hard enough to leave marks. The streetlights flickered above, weak and washed out, like they might give up at any second.

He kept his head down and moved fast. The city played by different rules at this hour, and he’d learned early not to meet anyone’s gaze unless he had a reason. Today, all he wanted was to get home without being pulled into someone else’s mess. He barely had enough energy for his own.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, harsh and insistent. Three missed calls. He didn’t need to check. It was always her.

The apartment building came into view: three stories of old brick and peeling paint, tucked at the far end of a street people avoided after dark. This was the part of town nobody talked about unless they had to.

Knox took the stairs two at a time, counting them out of habit. At the front door, he slowed, listening. His mother’s voice drifted through the thin wood, rising and falling, talking to ghosts that only existed in her head.

He unlocked the door, paused with his palm pressed against the chipped paint, and counted to three before pushing inside. The apartment was dim, shadows clinging to the corners. His mother sat curled on the couch, knees to her chest, gaze fixed on a TV screen that showed only static.

She looked… put together. Her hair was bleached nearly white and swept up high, roots barely showing.

Her makeup was bold as always—black liner, red lipstick, and a thick layer of foundation.

Long, bright nails tapped lightly against the arm of the couch, rings glinting on every finger.

Even on her worst days, she refused to look undone.

Too proud to let anyone see the cracks beneath.

She didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

“I know. Shift ran long at the gas station.” He dropped the grocery bag on the table. “Didn’t make it to the store till after midnight.”

She didn’t move. “Don’t leave me here alone, Knox. They come when you’re gone. The man upstairs… he’s watching me again.”

He wanted to tell her the truth, that nobody cared enough to watch, that the man upstairs worked nights and barely spoke English, but it wouldn’t matter. He swallowed the words.

The truth didn’t live here anymore.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked instead.

She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Don’t remember. They don’t work.”

Of course they didn’t. Nothing ever did.

Knox pulled out a chair and sat by the window. The wood creaked beneath him as he stared down at the street: wet pavement, empty sidewalks, the city humming softly as if settling in for the night.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands pressed over his face.

Twenty-two shouldn’t feel this old, but on days like these, exhaustion sat heavy in his bones.

It felt like it had carved out a space and decided to stay.

The weight of everything pressed in until there was no space left to breathe.

He bit down hard on his lower lip, like the pressure could keep the feeling contained.

Anger came next, twisting up inside him ugly and familiar, aimed at the fragile woman across the room.

He knew it wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked for any of this.

The sickness. The depression. The emptiness that seemed to follow her everywhere.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing she’d tried harder to get better—just once.

He knew exactly how bad she could get. He’d been the one to find her more than once.

That’s how he’d learned young how to press his fingers to her wrist and wait for a heartbeat.

How to lean close enough to feel her breathing.

How to grab the phone with shaking hands and call for help, trying to keep his voice steady while everything else wasn’t.

No one had taught him that. You just learn fast when the person who’s supposed to keep you alive is the one you have to keep alive instead.

Even on her better days, she never really saw him. There was never any room for what he felt, only for what she needed. His wants disappeared beneath the noise of hers.

He searched his memory for something warm—a word, a gesture, anything—and came up empty. He loved his mom, but most of the time that love felt less like comfort and more like a cage he couldn’t escape.

Sometimes, he thought about leaving. Most nights, he knew he wouldn’t. Leaving her alone wasn’t an option. Tomorrow, he’d do it all over again. Survive, repeat. But for now, he watched Stockton blur under the rain and waited for something—anything—to change.

Behind him, his mother spoke. “Did you get my cigarettes?”

He shook his head. “No. Didn’t have enough after groceries. I’ll get them tomorrow, okay?”

A sharp huff before she turned her face toward the window. “Don’t let me run out next time.”

Knox nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else.

He pushed himself up, crossed to the kitchen, and pulled open the cabinet above the sink. The pill bottles were right where he left them, lined up beside the chipped mugs and a half-empty jar of instant coffee. He shook out the pills, filled a glass at the tap, and brought them over.

His mother glanced up, lips pressed tight. She took the pills and swallowed them dry, refusing the water, eyes drifting back to the static-filled TV.

Turning away, he picked up the grocery bag from the table and made his way back to the kitchen, unpacking it all on autopilot.

When he was done, he headed for his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

He dropped his phone on the mattress, kicked off his shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed as a message lit up the screen.

Tara: You up?

He thumbed out a quick reply.

Me: Yeah.

Tara: Want to come over? Got the house to myself.

Knox stared at the screen, pulse kicking up—not because of her, not really, but because of what she offered.

Escape. He always needed something: adrenaline, sex, or just a good argument, any kind of thrill that might cut through the heaviness and snap him out of the suffocating gray his life had settled into.

Tara was easy: no strings, no questions, just heat and distraction.

Me: On my way.

* * *

Tara opened the door before he could knock, all bare legs and dark curls, one eyebrow lifted like she’d been waiting hours, not ten minutes. “About time,” she said, half-grinning. “Was starting to think you found someone better.”

He snorted. “Not a chance.”

She stepped aside, letting him in. The house had that easy, lived-in feel, music humming in the background, family snapshots everywhere, and fruit left out on the kitchen counter.

Her house felt normal. It always threw him off, but Tara never did. With her, everything made sense. She was exactly the kind of trouble he understood.

She was gorgeous: smooth, deep brown skin that caught the light, dark eyes that never missed a thing, and a mouth always half-cocked like she was about to make fun of you. Her curls spilled wild around her face, and even in an old T-shirt and shorts, she looked sexy as hell.

They’d met in school, back when neither of them had any use for rules. She was always the first to call bullshit and the first to dare him into trouble. Somewhere along the line, things had gotten physical—no promises, no mess, just relief when they needed it.

“You hungry?” she asked, swinging open the fridge.

Knox leaned against the counter, eyes dragging over her legs, her hips, the way her shirt hitched up a little. “Not for food.”

The fridge door swung shut with a soft thud, her lips curving. “Then come here and prove it.”

Two steps and his hands were on her waist, pulling her in for a kiss. Her laugh tangled up with his mouth as she kissed him back, eager and willing, exactly what he came here for.

Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt as she pressed closer. The kiss deepened, turning into something familiar, her body soft against his. They stumbled toward the couch, laughing between kisses, a jumble of limbs and want.

For a while, he let himself get lost in her, chasing that rush that made it a little easier to forget everything else.

After, they lay tangled on the couch, skin still slick with sweat, catching their breath. Tara stretched out beside him, scrolling through her phone while Knox leaned back and stared at the ceiling, biting at his lower lip in that restless way he never seemed able to stop.

The afterglow was already slipping away; that brief, electric high gone too fast. Sex gave him a quick hit of adrenaline that made him feel almost awake for a while. But it always left him feeling worse, like waking up enough to realize how numb he’d been.

What he needed was something that might actually reach him.

This wasn’t it.

Not even close.

“Okay,” Tara said, looking up from her phone. “You gonna tell me how you’re actually doing, or you just gonna keep making that face?”

He smirked, not looking at her. “What face?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know. The one that says, ‘my life’s a trash fire but I’ll die before I admit it.’”

Knox snorted, but she wasn’t wrong.

She poked him with her foot. “Seriously. You okay?”

He shrugged. “Same as always. Work. Paying the bills. Making sure my mom doesn’t burn the place down.”

Tara tilted her head, her voice softer now. “It’s a lot, huh? Since your dad died.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah. He didn’t leave much behind. Just bills and an apartment that’s falling apart.” After a pause, he added, “Wasn’t like he was of much use when he was around, either. Spent most nights drunk or yelling at the TV. Never worked more than a few months anywhere.”

Knox’s mouth twisted with bitter memories.

“He used to tear the house apart when he was pissed. Broke plates, punched holes in the walls. Never hit us, not really, but he knew how to hurt people without laying a finger on them. Could ruin a night with just a look. We’re better off without that asshole. ”

Tara was quiet, letting him have the silence.

“He used to think the world owed him something,” Knox went on, voice flat. “All he ever did was drag us down with him. That heart attack… It was almost a relief. Just left me to clean up the mess. Six months, and I’m still the only one holding it together.”

Tara nudged his knee again, gentler this time. “That’s not on you.”

A short laugh slipped out. “Feels like it, though. Somebody’s gotta pay the bills.”

“Your mom still not doing any better?”

He shook his head. “She barely gets out of the house. I try, but…” He trailed off, frustration edging into his voice.

Tara’s foot pressed against his leg, grounding him. “You’re doing everything you can, Knox. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

He let out a slow breath, staring at a crack in the ceiling. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Nothing ever does,” she said.

He looked at her then, searching for any sign of judgment, but found none.

Eventually, Tara stood and stretched, hair falling in her eyes. “You wanna stay?” she asked, unbothered either way.

He looked at the clock. It was late—later than he’d meant to stay. The thought of going home made his stomach twist, but he shook his head. “Should get back. My mom…”

Tara nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

She walked him to the door, their shadows stretching along the hallway. At the threshold, she hesitated, arms folded tight. “If you ever need something—anything—just call, okay?”

He nodded. “I know.”

She stepped in, gave him a quick, tight hug, and then lingered a moment longer before letting go. “Be safe, Knox.”

“Night, Tara.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned for home, the heaviness settling back in as he walked. He didn’t expect anything to be different tomorrow. But as he closed his eyes briefly, he found himself wishing for it anyway.