Chapter 3
Chapter three
Brynn
“Brynn Marlow!?”
I whip my head around, momentarily disoriented by the sea of bodies moving through the stadium concourse. My eyes find Kate Prescott half-jogging toward me with that same big grin I remember from high school.
“Kate?” My face breaks into a smile before I can stop it, and we meet in the middle of the crowd, folding into a quick, slightly awkward hug. I forgot how good it feels to see a familiar face.
“How are you?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She steps back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m good! Your mom mentioned you were moving back, but I didn’t believe it until I saw you standing here in the flesh.”
A little girl is tucked beside her, maybe three or four, with cheeks flushed from excitement and a half-squashed balloon animal clutched in her fist. I do a double-take.
“And who is this gorgeous human?” I crouch slightly to meet her eyes.
Kate beams. “This is Evie. My daughter.”
Daughter.
The word thuds in my chest like a door slamming shut. I try not to let the shock show too hard on my face, but God. How much have I missed?
“I guess I’ve been gone longer than I realized,” I murmur.
Kate nudges me playfully. “Six years, give or take. Evie’s four now.”
I offer my hand. “Hi, Evie. I’m Brynn. Your mom and I used to get in trouble for talking too much in class.”
Evie eyes me cautiously, then slowly places her sticky hand in mine. “Hi,” she whispers, half-buried in Kate’s jeans.
Kate sighs as she notices blue sugar on Evie’s chin. “Oh, dear. I guess the cotton candy took over. One second.” She dives into her mom bag and pulls out a pack of wipes. She tosses me one and starts cleaning Evie’s cheeks like a seasoned pro.
“Cotton candy is one of the best snacks at a football game,” I tell Evie, wiping off my own hand.
She nods, eyes huge and serious. I melt a little.
“You free Sunday?” Kate asks. “Let’s grab lunch at Penny’s. I want to hear everything.”
I nod. “Noon?”
“Perfect.” She effortlessly hoists Evie up onto her hip, and adjusts her bag. “We better head out. Sugar crash is incoming.”
She hugs me again, warm and tight, and I cling to it longer than I mean to.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she says.
I watch her go, Evie nestled into her shoulder. That ache inside me twists a little deeper.
So many things happened while I was gone. Birthdays. Breakups. Babies.
I gave it all up—for what? A scholarship? And then a job? And then a wedding that never happened?
My mom and dad appear a minute later, waving from the stands.
“Was that Kate?” Mom asks, looping her arm through mine.
“Yeah. We’re having lunch on Sunday. She has a kid.” I say it like it’s still catching up to me.
Dad chuckles. “There’s a lot you’ve missed, Brynn.”
Don’t I know it?
Mom gives my arm a little squeeze. “We’re heading home. Want us to drop you somewhere?”
“At nine-thirty on a Friday night? What, is the bowling alley still open?”
Dad grins. “You could always stop by Gordy’s. Kinsey’s bartending.”
Gordy’s. The name makes my stomach flip.
The same bar where I had my first legal drink and in turn, earned me my first real hangover. Also where I once slow danced with Knox Dalton to a terrible cover band and thought I was going to marry him.
Great idea, Dad.
But the idea of going home and staring at my old ceiling is worse. At least Gordy’s has beer.
“Maybe I will.”
Mom’s eyes light up. “That’s my girl. Rip off the Band-Aid.”
The neon flicker of Gordy’s Bar & Grill blinks at me like a dare.
I stand outside for a full ten seconds, fingers wrapped tight around my purse strap, trying to convince myself this isn’t a mistake.
I muster up the courage to pull the handle and when I step inside, the smell hits first—beer, fried food, and something oddly comforting. The scent of youth and regret. It’s like no time has passed at all.
I get two steps in before I feel it—the air shift. The hum of conversation dips, just slightly. Heads turn. Small-town radar in full force.
And then I see him. Knox Dalton.
I saw him briefly at the game, but now it’s like the spotlight’s been switched on. He’s at the back corner, leaning in his chair like a man who owns the place—which, if you ask any high school yearbook, he basically does.
He hasn’t changed much. Broader maybe. More solid. He’s still got that dark, brooding, football energy. A neatly trimmed beard along his jaw like he rolled out of a lumberjack fantasy. And those eyes of his. Stormy. Sharp. Watching me like he knew I was coming all along.
He raises his beer in a lazy toast. Like he’s daring me to walk over.
So I do.
Every step feels like a challenge, like I’m moving through molasses and memory. My legs want to turn back. My pride won’t let me. I stop in front of his table.
“Well, well,” Knox says, voice like gravel warmed by whiskey. “Look who finally remembered where home is.”
I paste on a smile. “Didn’t realize I needed your blessing to come back.”
He leans back, slow and casual. “You didn’t need it to leave either.”
Ouch. Right to the jugular.
“I came over here to be nice,” I say, folding my arms. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. Basic decency? We don’t have to be friends, but I’m going to be in Cedar Falls for a while. Let’s at least pretend we’re not mortal enemies.”
He shrugs. “Great idea. But I have a better one, let’s act like strangers.”
My teeth clench. “Wow. I can see one of us clings to the past a little too much.”
“Just trying to stay out of the way. Maybe you should do the same.”
“Fine,” I say, jaw tight. “I’ll pretend I never knew you, Knox Dalton.”
He lifts his beer. “Should be easy. You had a six-year head start.”
That one burns.
I blink, fighting the heat behind my eyes. I will not cry in Gordy’s. Not tonight.
“I already said I was sorry years ago,” I snap. “If you’re still bitter, that’s not my problem.”
“Oh, I’m not bitter,” he says smoothly. “I let go of the past a long time ago.”
Liar. No man who’s truly let go of the past would be this mean.
I want to scream.
“You’ve gotten rude,” I say. “What happened to the guy who used to bring me Cokes and leave notes in my locker?”
“He grew up.” His eyes lock on mine. “Too bad you weren’t here to see it.”
My heart pounds. My whole body shakes—frustration, adrenaline, hurt. “I never thought you would be this mean, Knox. It doesn’t look good on you.”
And then he says it. The nickname.
“Not mean. Just honest, Bunny.”
I freeze.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“What?” he asks, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” His voice drops. “You used to love it. Especially when I—”
“Finish that sentence and I will end you.”
He grins, infuriating and smug, and opens his mouth again, looking me straight in the eyes and slowly begins, “Bunn—”
I grab his beer and throw it in his face.
The room erupts in a mix of gasps and laughter. Somewhere, a pool cue clatters to the floor. Knox just blinks, drenched in foam, and for a second I swear I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
I lean in, low and slow. “Next time, I’ll bring a pitcher.”
And then I turn on my heel and walk straight to the bar like I didn’t just reenact an episode of Real Housewives: Cedar Falls Edition.
Kinsey’s behind the bar, gaping at me like I just pulled a live rabbit out of my purse. Sort of how she used to look at me when we were in high school, sitting in AP American History and I could rattle off dates at the drop of a hat.
“Oh my God,” she whispers as she hands me a dry towel. “That was so much better than a text.”
I wipe down my hands and slap the towel onto the bartop. “Thank goodness you’re here. Sorry I didn’t say hello before I had a minor meltdown.”
She reaches over the bar and grabs my hand. “No apologies needed. I should be thanking you for bringing some excitement to my shift. What can I get you?”
“One whiskey, neat. And maybe a mop.”
She laughs and pours it without question. “Welcome home, Brynn.”
I glance over my shoulder. Knox is still seated, dripping and glaring.
“Thanks,” I mutter, raising my glass.