26. Knox #2
My nostrils flare, and heat spreads up from my chest. It’s not fine. If she thinks something’s off, then something has to be off.
“Sawyer. Get the phone.”
She must see how close I am to losing my shit, since she jumps up and hurries to the bedroom, returning in less than a minute with the phone.
I read through the messages. Specifically noticing the dates, and the lack of texts…conversations that must have been deleted.
My jaw is so tight it aches. I set the phone down on the table carefully, because if I don’t control myself right now, I’m going to put my fist through her kitchen wall and she doesn’t deserve that.
Owen. My brother. My blood. Who let me carry everything on my shoulders. The company, the family, the secrets. All while he got to live his perfect life. While he got to have my Sawyer. While he got to be beloved by everyone. And this whole time, he was going behind my back, behind Sawyer’s back.
“Knox.” Sawyer says slowly. She’s watching me the way you’d watch something that might fall over an edge. “Say something.”
“Give me a second.”
I push back from the table and stand, pressing both palms flat against the surface, staring at nothing. Breathing through it. Counting it down the way I learned to when I was seventeen and my father’s rages started bleeding into mine.
It doesn’t work as well this morning.
“Knox?”
“I need to go.”
I hear her sharp intake of breath and I look up at her immediately, knowing exactly what she’s thinking. She’s telling herself some bullshit right now, and my behavior isn’t helping.
“Hey.” I cross to her in two strides, cupping her face in my hands, tilting her up to look at me. Her eyes are already shuttering, already preparing for impact. “Look at me. This has nothing to do with you. You hear me? Not one fucking thing.”
Her jaw works. “But—”
“Nothing,” I repeat. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You never did.” I press my lips hard to her forehead and hold them there for a moment, eyes closed. “I’ll be back tonight, after your shift.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Sawyer.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “I’ll be back tonight.”
She searches my face, giving me a small nod after she sees the certainty in my expression.
I grab my undershirt and sweats from the bedroom floor, putting them on. Then I pocket my phone and keys. I’m careful to breathe, to make every movement slow and deliberate so I don’t lose it completely. I refuse to do that here, in her space, with her watching me leave again.
I get to the door and pause with my hand on the frame.
“I don’t want to ever hear you putting yourself down in favor of him.” I say without turning around. “He didn’t deserve you.”
I don’t wait for her response.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, needing the extra thirty seconds of movement, and by the time I hit the parking lot, my anger has subsided an inch. I still feel like punching something, though.
Owen, you selfish, hypocritical little son of a bitch.
I get in the car and sit there for a long moment, hands on the wheel, staring at nothing. How could the best night of my life turn into something so utterly fucked?
No, what Sawyer and I have is separate. It stays out of this. I have to keep it that way or I’ll fucking ruin everything before it’s even started.
My phone buzzes and my father’s name flashes across the screen. I answer it before I can think better of it. “What?”
“Where are you?” He sounds the same as always, like a dick with too much power.
“Out.”
“I need you here now, and you better not be smelling like booze and sex. Moretti’s on his way.”
My grip tightens on the wheel until my knuckles go white.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
I pull into my father’s driveway twenty-three minutes later. Close enough, especially if he’s drunk, which I’d bet he already is at 10 AM. Only sober Richard Aldrich watches the clock.
Before I head into the study, I run upstairs to the guest bedroom to shower and get dressed in some extra clothes I left here. Even before the accident, my father would rather do business here than at the office. So that meant keeping spare clothes, paperwork, laptops, all up in the guest room.
If living with them in this house didn’t make me physically ill, I’d probably just move back in like Owen did. Save myself paying rent on a place I’m rarely at.
I steel myself for the bullshit I’m so not ready for.
I’d much rather dig around in Owen’s room and on his laptop to find out the truth of what happened with Ella and him.
Actually, scratch that, what I really want is to be back with Sawyer, in her bed, with her naked body straddling mine, and my cock sunk deep inside her.
Reality fucking sucks.
The lights are on in my father’s study, which means Moretti arrived early to establish dominance.
Something he’s done the couple times I’ve met him.
Everything I know about Vince Moretti tells me he’s performative.
He controls every detail, from the expensive suits, to the quiet voice that gives off a deadly calm, to the words he chooses to use.
I shouldn’t let the guy scare me, but my rising pulse gives me away.
I find him exactly where I expect, seated in the leather chair across from my father’s desk, jacket unbuttoned, hands resting on the edge of the wood.
He looks completely relaxed. Then again, I’m sure he’s a man who’s never looked nervous in his life.
One of his guys leans against the wall near the door, looking less vigilant than I’d expect.
Does that mean he trusts us? I can only hope.
My father’s back is turned, pouring amber liquid into two tumblers. I give the doorframe a small knock, before walking in.
“Knox,” my father says, turning around. He flashes me a look, something like relief. It only makes me more tense. “Vince was just asking about you.”
Moretti turns, giving me that shrewd stare. He holds all the cards and he knows it.
I hold out my hand, but he only looks at it. “Knox.”
I nod and drop my hand to my side. “Mr. Moretti.”
My father crosses the room and hands me a tumbler. I don’t want it, but I take it anyway. Gives me something to do with my hands.
I cross the room to stand next to my father and across from Moretti. The air is thick. A gun powder haze, one spark and the whole thing’s blowing up.
Finally, my father speaks. “So, Vince, I wasn’t expecting to see you until next month. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
He makes a slashing motion with his hand, ignoring the question. “I don’t like this theme park mess. It’s bad for business. Not to mention, my Ella is traumatized.” His gaze trains on me now, and I’m not ashamed to admit my balls shrink up into my body. “You’re not doing your part, Knox.”
I keep my expression neutral. “I’ve been a little preoccupied. Given that I watched my brother die a few weeks ago.”
My father makes a low warning sound in his throat.
Moretti doesn’t blink, doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m aware of what happened. My condolences, again. But grief is a private matter. Business doesn’t pause for it.”
I take a slow sip from the tumbler, my hand trembling. “What exactly do you feel I’m not doing?”