60. Knox
SIXTY
KNOX
Iget to the diner ten minutes early and take my usual seat at the counter.
Sage is in the middle of marrying ketchup bottles.
Her hair is pulled back, her apron looks like it has been through it, and there is a sheen on her skin that tells me it has been a long, busy day.
Still, she looks settled. Comfortable. Like she belongs in her skin in a way she didn’t a few weeks ago, when every movement was tight and every swing of the door made her flinch.
She doesn’t flinch anymore.
“Hey, big guy.” She smiles when she sees me. She hustles behind the counter and slides a root beer to me without being asked. “You’re early.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, and she bites her lip to keep the grin from spreading.
But it spreads anyway. It’s in this moment I know for sure what I’ve known for a while now—I’m head over heels for this girl.
As strange as this arrangement is, the sharing and the being okay seeing her being intimate with the other guys, I know in my heart that I’d never ask her to ever stop being exactly who she is.
Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.
The thought of her controlled and compliant breaks me. She’s the best thing I’ve got. I’d die to keep her safe, and I’d die to keep her smiling.
She goes back to the ketchup bottles, and I drink my root beer and watch.
Three stools down, a guy is looking between us with open, unashamed interest, a forkful of meatloaf suspended halfway to his mouth.
I’ve seen him a few times now. Jamie, I think. He’s a weird guy, but Sage likes him and he makes her laugh so he’s all right in my book.
Jamie’s eyes ping-pong between us. “This is tonight’s date?”
Sage shoots him a look. “Jamie.”
“What? I’m making an observation. A very large, very handsome man sat down and you lit up like a Christmas tree.” He gestures at me with his fork. “Hi. I’m Jamie.”
“Knox.”
“Knox. Great name. Very action hero.” He leans toward Sage and drops his voice to a stage whisper that I can hear perfectly well. “This one is my favorite.”
“Please stop talking,” Sage says, but she’s laughing.
“I will not. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me all week and I’m including the day I found twenty dollars in my coat pocket.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully, looking me over. “So, Knox. What are your intentions with my bestie tonight?”
“Dinner,” I say.
“Dinner! See? Simple. Romantic. I approve.” He points his fork at Sage. “You should get out of here. Danny, tell her!”
Danny, the cook, pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Scram.”
“See? Now, I’ll finish my meal in peace. You can tell me everything tomorrow.”
“What if there’s nothing to tell?” Sage teases, waggling her eyebrows.
“There will be. Go.” He waves her off. “And for god’s sake, take the apron off first.”
She unties it and heads out back. She’s gone for a few minutes, but when she returns she’s changed out of her uniform into a short summer dress and my brain goes pleasantly blank for a second.
It’s yellow. Soft, thin fabric with little white flowers on it, cut high on her thighs and low enough at the chest to make me think violent, unhelpful things in a public diner. Her hair is still tied back, but looser now, wisps around her face.
Jamie makes a low whistle. “Rude. If I looked like that, I’d ruin lives for sport.”
“Jamie,” she warns, hooking her bag over her shoulder and coming around the counter. Jamie catches her arm as she passes and says something quiet that I can’t hear. Whatever it is makes her squeeze his hand and smile.
She reaches me and loops her arm through mine. “Ready?”
“Ready. You look stunning, Fury.”
She grins. “Thanks.”
“Have fun, kids!” Jamie calls after us as we push through the door. “Use protection!”
The bells jangle behind us and the evening air hits, warm, salt-tinged, golden. Sage is grinning.
“He’s a good friend to you?” I ask after a block.
“He really is.”
“What does he know? About us.”
“Not much. He knows I’m seeing people. Plural. He doesn’t know names or details. He’s running on his own assumptions. Thinks I’m playing the field.” She smirks. “Sowing my wild oats, as he says.”
“And he’s not judging?”
“Oh, god no. He says he’s living vicariously through me.”
I nod. A friend with no details is fine. She needs someone outside of this. Someone who sees her as Sage the waitress with a busy love life, not the woman five killers are in love with.
We walk in silence for a minute. The evening air is warm and salt-heavy, the light going golden the way it does on the coast this time of year.
I check my watch. The others should be getting ready to head out to Pinecrest about now.
They’d be gathered at Unholy Desires, going over the plan in the backroom before driving out to the country club and waiting for Hudson to finish his workout around nine.
There are still hours until the rope drops, but every op starts well in advance, the team’s movements timed to perfection.
My brain runs through every step, every contingency on autopilot.
But I push it all down. Not tonight. Tonight I’m here. Tonight, I get Fury all to myself.
“Hungry?” I ask.
She looks up, surprised. “Starving, actually. We were so busy I skipped lunch.”
“I made reservations.”
“Reservations? I thought we were just grabbing something on the boardwalk.” She stops walking. Tugs my arm so I stop too. “Knox. Are you taking me on an actual date?”
I look at her. “Yes.”
Her face lights up with surprise then folds into delight before softening when she ducks her head. Like she doesn’t want me to see how touched she is. She fails at hiding it. I see all.
“Okay,” she says, and her voice is a little unsteady. “I wish I’d dressed up a little more. But a dinner date it is.”
“You look perfect. Don’t sweat it.”
The boardwalk is quiet for a Wednesday evening.
Most of the tourist crowd has thinned out, leaving the locals—couples walking dogs, kids on skateboards, a guy playing guitar outside the ice cream shop.
The restaurants along the water are half-full, string lights swaying in the breeze, the sound of waves underneath everything like a pulse.
I take her to a seafood place at the far end. It’s small with checkered tablecloths and candles in wine bottles and a menu that never changes.
The hostess seats us by the window overlooking the water. Sage slides into the booth and looks out at the ocean, and the candlelight catches her face, and I have to look away for a second because the feeling in my chest is too big.
“This is nice,” she says. “Fancy.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a man of many words tonight, Knox.”
“Got a few saved up. Waiting for the right moment.”
She smiles and picks up the menu. I already know what I’m getting. I’ve been here before, on surveillance or killing time between shifts at the club. The fish tacos are good. The lobster roll is better. But I’ve never sat across from someone while I ate here. Never wanted to.
We order. She gets the shrimp basket. I get the lobster roll. She steals one of my fries like it’s her God-given right, and I let her because it is.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, dragging the stolen fry through my tartar sauce.
“Mm.”
“How are you so calm right now? Knowing what’s happening tonight?”
“Because it’s handled,” I say, giving her my honest answer. “The plan is good. The team is good. They don’t need me to get it done. My job tonight is you. If I’m thinking about the gym, I’m not doing my job.”
“Kitten duty.”
“Fury duty,” I correct.
She grins. “Right. Fury.” She eats the fry and takes another. “Do you worry about them?”
“I trust them.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She’s right. It’s not. “I trust them to do the job,” I say. “And I trust that if something goes wrong, they’ll handle it. Worrying doesn’t change the outcome. It just takes me out of this.” I gesture between us.
“Out of our date,” she says, testing the word.
“Yes. Our date.”
She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. My hand is twice the size of hers. Her fingers barely reach my knuckles. She traces the ridges of my scarred knuckles, the thick veins across the back, the calluses on my palm.
“I like your hands,” she says.
“They’re too big.”
“That’s what I like about them.”
We eat. She tells me about her day—a customer who paid for a meal entirely in quarters, Danny’s ongoing crusade to get her to try his experimental chili recipe, the kid who came in with his mom and left his stuffed rabbit under the booth and Sage chased out the door to return it.
I listen. Her voice is a gift.
She finishes her shrimp and leans back, satisfied, if a little sleepy. The sun has dipped below the water line and the sky is going from gold to violet.
“Walk?” I ask.
“Walk.”
We leave the restaurant and take the boardwalk south, toward the quieter end where the shops give way to dunes and sea grass. She loops her arm through mine again, pressing close, and the warmth of her against my side is something I want to memorize.
“Knox?”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for tonight. For taking me on a date. I didn’t know I needed it.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Because it’s normal, I guess. Something that feels like what other people have.” She looks up at me. “I like how you make me feel, Knox. Like I’m just a girl on a date with a guy she really, really likes. No murder. No secrets. Just . . . us.”
I stop walking, mindful that if we go much further we’ll be able to see the jetty. She stops with me. The boardwalk is empty this far down, just the two of us and the sound of waves and the last light fading from the sky.
I touch her face. Cup her jaw in my hand, thumb resting on her cheek. She leans into it, eyes closing, her exhale warm against my palm.