Broken Knight (All Saints High Book 2)
Broken Knight: Chapter 16

I hadn’t meant to pick up her call.

Unfortunately, life was hell-bent on fucking me in the ass, sans lube, the day I answered.

And in the great scheme of things, did it really matter?

Also, at least Dixie was alive. Val wasn’t.

Also, I was in no position to make a decision about my next meal, let alone my long-lost biological mother.

Also, was this an earthquake, or had I really drunk enough to make the world spin like the teacups in Disneyland?

Mom had been taken to the hospital again, and after spending two nights in a row under harsh florescent lights watching her wasting away, I took the Aston Martin for a ride. So far, so normal—only I did it with a bottle of my old, destructive friend, Jack Daniels.

The bottle was empty by the time I reached the beach.

It was cold, windy, and well past ten at night. I was pretty much alone, which was a relief and a lonesome curse. I threw the bottle into the ocean and screamed at the endless horizon until my lungs burned. How tauntingly beautiful and deceiving the world could be. With its palm trees and stupid oceans and Spanish villas and poisonous women who look like Nymphs rising from the water.

Woman. Not plural. Just the one.

I told myself the drinking problem I was unabashedly flirting with had nothing to do with Luna and everything to do with Mom. But that was bullshit, even to my own ears. First of all, I wasn’t flirting with the problem anymore. I’d moved in with the bitch, and put a ring on it.

Second, it had everything to do with Luna. Everything.

Fucking Luna, who’d just bailed.

Fucking Luna, who always went hot and cold on my ass, and I kept on coming back for more. After screwing FUCKING JOSH. After kissing Vaughn. And Daria, too. Shit, why was I so happy she’d let me finger her cunt? She’d probably seen more dicks than a public urinal.

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Collapsing on the sand like a sack of bricks, I held my phone in front of my face, scrolling the contacts. I didn’t want to talk to Vaughn, and Hunter was a shitbag. The rest of my friends were dumbasses with first-world problems and couldn’t relate to me if they had a fucking brain transplant. Dad had enough on his shit plate, and anyway, we still weren’t really talking. My aunts Emilia and Melody were at the hospital, fussing over Mom, and I wasn’t sure how much Trent and Edie knew about what was going down with Luna and me, so it felt awkward to cry in their laps.

My screen flashed with an image of a bull’s head and read Deadbeat Dixie. The bull’s head was my own personal sick joke. Because it was the shape of a uterus, and that’s what she was for me—a hub for nine months until she spat me out and gave me away.

There wasn’t even an inch of me that wanted to answer her, but I still did, because I was too alone not to accept the love of those I hated.

“Hello? Knight? You there?” she asked frantically, the desperation in her voice telling me I wasn’t the only one surprised I’d picked up.

The wind beat against her receiver, and I could hear she was outdoors.

I grinned, even though I’d never been so sad in my entire miserable life.

“Knight? Are you okay?”

No answer.

“Baby, tell me where you are.”

“What do you care?” I hiccupped. “You live in fucking Texas. Does it matter if I’m stuck in a sewer? You can’t do shit about it,” I taunted.

“Honey…”

“Honey,” I mimicked, letting out a wretched laugh, rolling in the sand. I bet it wasn’t a pretty sight. My grown-ass, six-foot-three quarterback figure drunkenly rolling on the beach like a whale trying to replace its way home. For some reason, I still had the phone to my ear.

“Knight, listen…” She hesitated.

“Now’s not the time for dramatic pauses. Kind of in the middle of being shitfaced here, and not really in the mood for coaxing your ass.”

“I’m here.” I heard her swallow.

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Talking about my feelings is low on my to-do list, Dick—can I call you Dick? Seems fitting.”

“No, Knight. I mean literally here.”

Godfuckingdammit, is anyone ever going to use that word correctly?

“Huh?”

“I’m here. In California. In Todos Santos. Where are you?”

“Why?” My voice suddenly sounded sober, but that was about the extent of it.

It just surprised me was all. I hadn’t known she was planning another visit so soon.

“The thing is…I kind of…well…” She sighed.

Please, God, I hoped she hadn’t gotten knocked up again, by someone local this time. Life was too short to deal with random half-siblings, and my life was doing a fine job being a train wreck without any added drama.

“I never left,” she finished.

“You stayed here through Christmas and New Year’s?”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I didn’t even know why I was laughing.

“Yes,” Dixie said seriously. “You looked like you could use someone, so I wanted to make myself available to you. Where are you?”

“I…” I looked around me before remembering I didn’t need a savior. Especially in the form of Dixie.

“Where?” she repeated.

“Nah. I think I’m good.” My smirk was back.

“Knight,” she warned.

“Aw. Look at you. Playing the doting parent and shit. Did you read a book about parenting? Bet you’re an expert now, huh?”

“Tell me where you are right now.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll tell your parents you’re an alcoholic.”

That made me choke on my laughter. Hilarious. I stopped rolling and stood up, swaying back and forth. Everything spun. My throat closed in on my last meal.

“You go do that.” I hung up.

She called again immediately. I picked up. I was looking for a fight. Hell, if Vaughn was here, I’d punch him in the nuts just to start one.

“Miss me?” I asked.

“You’ve been drinking a lot recently.”

“She’s sharp, too. Whaddaya think? Did I get my brains from you or daddy dearest? By the way, who is daddy dearest, exactly?”

“It’s not a conversation for now.”

“Guess it’s a conversation for never.”

She sounded like she was running. Where, I had no clue. I didn’t care, either. All I cared was that I had a punching bag I could go to town on.

“Knight, stop moving. You’re zig-zagging,” she snapped.

First of all, I didn’t even realize I was moving. Second of all, and more importantly, how did she…?

I looked up and realized she was descending the stairs from the promenade to the beach. Hot damn. She’d found me. I had no clue how, but she had. I turned my back, walking away from her. But my intoxication slowed me, and she was fast because of her eagerness to help. She caught me in three strides and yanked me by the back of my Balenciaga jacket.

“Knight Jameson Cole, you do not get to drink your troubles away and talk to me like this. I’m worried, you understand?”

I turned around, chuckling in her face. The laughter made my stomach feel even emptier. “No. I don’t. You’re nothing to me. A simple no one who has yet to understand her role in my life. My mother—my real mother—is dying in the hospital, and the girl I love is on the other side of the continent, fucking some douchebag named FUCKING JOSH she thinks she fell in love with. And I’m putting up with this shit and keep chasing her ass because…because…because I can’t not have her in my life. Don’t you understand?”

I pushed her. Not aggressively, but enough to make her stumble away from me. “You did this to me. Now I’m this broken puppy begging for love. I would take any crumb Luna throws my way. I’d self-destruct in order not to deal with what’s waiting around the corner for Mom. You made unconditional love conditional for me. You fucked nature in the ass, Dixie. You don’t do that. You don’t mess with nature.”

She stood there and took it as I pushed her again. She stumbled backward. The waves broke at our feet. I opened my mouth, and swear I got drunk again just smelling my own fucking breath.

“And all because of what? My biological father didn’t want you? Did he dump you for someone hotter? Didn’t want to put a ring on it?” I shook my head, chuckling. “Did you get pregnant to trap him? Did it not work? Did he bail because he was too young? Because he was too old? Because he was too married? Who’s the sad fucker who created me? Who’s the asshole I share DNA with, who was smart enough not to get trapped by your annoyi—”

She slapped me across the face. I tripped back, falling on my ass. She advanced toward me, and for a minute, I thought she was going to strike me again. Was I above hitting my biological mom? I was too drunk to remember. My gut feeling told me yes. I didn’t flinch. I let her run to me in full force. She stopped a few inches away, collapsing on the sand beside me and bursting into sobs.

Jesus H.

“Uh…” I stared at her blankly, getting more and more sober by the nanosecond. The chilly air and the train wreck also known as Dixie was like a bucket of water. She was crying so hard I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something.

“I believe it is my turn to have a meltdown, ma’am,” I pointed out dryly.

She wiped her tears away, her eyes meeting mine, zinging with fury. “You wanna know why I never mentioned your dad to you? Not because he dumped me. Or because he was married. Well, maybe. Maybe he was both those things. The truth is, I never told you about him because I don’t know his name, okay? I didn’t even know I was pregnant for the longest time.”

I scratched at my imaginary stubble. How dumb was she, exactly? How had she not known she was knocked up, and for how long?

“Explain,” I gritted out.

We were still on our knees, on the sand.

“I was a cheerleader in high school…”

“Big surprise.”

“Knight,” she warned.

I waved at her to continue.

“I was a cheerleader in high school. It was sophomore year. We got invited to a college party in Dallas through one of my friends’ older brothers. Somethin’ big. I was a good Christian girl, Knight. I didn’t want to have sex before marriage. We were dancing…drinking, but not too much. I remember feeling dizzy and sitting down. Then the next thing I remember was waking up in my own bed, feeling numb all over. My body was sore, but seeing as I’d danced all night, I didn’t think much of it. There was some spotting in my underwear, but I figured I’d gotten my period. I’d only had a couple spiked punch cups, and I drank lots of water throughout the evening. I didn’t want to start probing and asking questions, to be a problematic, hysterical chick. As far as I was concerned, everything was okay. My girlfriends had known I wasn’t feeling well, so they’d taken me home.”

Well, spank my ass and call me Sandra. I had a feeling I was about to hate myself a little more after hearing my how-did-I-get-here story. For the first time, I didn’t throw shit at her and let her finish.

She took a deep breath. “Three months later, the symptoms started. They were creeping in on me slowly. You were so smart, Knight.” She shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Even in the womb. I was hungry all the time, and my breasts were tender. I didn’t have any nausea or anything, so at first, I chalked it up to hormones. I remember polishing off two plates of chicken fried steak and my mama telling me I ate like a pregnant girl, and that’s when I remembered I hadn’t had my period in a while. The next day, I went to buy a pregnancy test. I told myself there wasn’t a chance I was pregnant. I’d never had sex in my life, and when you’re young, your period is not always regular. Imagine how shocked I was when all three tests were positive.”

I hung my head, drawing in a breath. I had to admit, she was unlucky more than she was an asshole.

“I dug into my memory, trying to figure out what happened. Then I remembered the party. I went and confronted my friend’s older brother, the one who threw the party, but he was cagey and insisted no one had touched me, said I was making it up because I wanted to pin the pregnancy on some frat boy with a rich daddy. The news about my pregnancy broke. My parents were crushed. They couldn’t show their faces at church. Neither could I. I dropped out of cheer. My grandmamma stopped taking my calls, crossed the street when she saw me walking by. My friends took a step back. Nobody wanted my reputation to rub off on them. Two weeks after I became public enemy number one, I found a note in my locker. Anonymous.”

She reached for her bag and hunted inside it, producing her purse. She sniffed as she explained as an afterthought, “I take it with me everywhere I go. Every time I think about you, Knight, and feel like I don’t deserve to live in this world for giving you up, I read this. Horrible, I know. I’m not proud of it either, you understand? Just because something bad happened to me, I went and did something bad to my baby. Only I always knew I was protecting my boy. I was introduced to Rosie and Dean before I was sure I was giving you up. The adoption agency made the connection, and giving you up became bearable, because I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what kind of mother Rosie was going to be.”

Dixie handed me a crumpled piece of paper. It was yellow, torn. Dissolving at my fingertips like fairy dust. I unfolded it with careful precision, knowing how much it meant to her.

Dix,

They would never tell you, so I guess I will.

You were roofied, girl. Dragged into one of the upstairs bedrooms when things at the party started getting out of hand. There were five guys. All of them from a Dallas college. Didn’t give their names. They had just lost an important football game, they said, but who knew what division they were, who they played for? There was shouting and screaming inside the room you were in. Your friends…maybe like a couple of them, tried to open the door, but other guys kept pushing them away. No one saw because there was a fight going on downstairs. Your little friends were damn scared, girl. Too damn scared. By the time the three girls threatened to call the police, it was too late. They already did the deed, and everyone knew. But the girls didn’t want to get in trouble with the boys, and telling you would mean facing what they did.

I know it’s too little, too late, but it was not your fault, Dix.

It was not.

Remember, the only way you could have prevented it was not showing up to that party.

I hope your parents will replace it in their hearts to understand what happened, because it kills me to see you so sad.

Smile, Dix, maybe something good will grow out of this.

P.S. Please don’t try to trace this letter back to anyone. You’ll never replace out who I am.

—Sorry.

I handed it back to her, the air pregnant with whatever response I was going to give her. I was still undecided on what I wanted to say. Frankly, I didn’t want to say anything, but I knew I had to at some point.

She stood and offered me her hand. I didn’t take it, but followed her to my feet. So. My dad was a rapist with rapist friends. She was undoubtedly a victim. She’d stayed here during the holidays because of my miserable ass. She gave me up because she didn’t know I existed until it was too late. She probably would have gotten rid of me with a hanger if she could have. Didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore.

I blew out air, fishing for the joint in my back pocket.

“I need to get back to the hospital.” I started for the stairs leading to the promenade, shaking with rage and humiliation and all-consuming guilt for not responding to her story.

Dixie ran after me, her footfalls silent on the cool sand.

“In this state? No way I’m letting you.”

“Refresh my memory. When exactly did I ask for permission?”

“Let me give you a ride.”

“No, thanks. Last time someone rode you, I was the result. Didn’t work out too well for me.” I wanted to throw up on myself. But I’d still said it.

“Why are you doing this?”

She was crying now. I’d made her cry. But I couldn’t stop myself.

“Shit, where are my manners? I’m sure you’ve been screwed plenty since then. I’m good.”

“Good? You’re drunk!”

“So?” I turned toward her, amused. “I can count on one hand the times I’m not drunk these days.”

She dug her fingernails into my forearm, spinning me in place. I jerked my arm away, baring my teeth like an injured animal.

“How dare you.” She slammed her little fists in my chest. “How dare you talk to me like this after I opened up to you. How dare you belittle my tragedy, just because you’re so consumed with yours.”

Stumbling backward, I took her in. For the first time since I’d met her, she stood up to me. I didn’t know what to make of it. I just knew I’d undoubtedly screwed the whole thing up, and it was ten minutes in my life I couldn’t take back, even though I knew they’d haunt me the rest of my days.

“Shit,” I mumbled. “Sorry. You’re right. Those last two comments were bullshit. I know you didn’t ask for it. I’m just a little stunned, replaceing out about my father being…”

“How dare you treat life so fleetingly, knowing what Rosie is going through,” she continued, ignoring my apology and shoving me upstairs, toward the promenade. “Even if you have no regard for your own—what about others? What if you run over someone else’s parent? Hurt a child? An elderly woman? Anyone, really. You get behind the wheel, you put everyone at risk, not just yourself.”

“Dixie, I…”

“You are a disgrace to men, not only for talking so ill of a rape victim, but for constantly getting behind the wheel when drunk.”

Whoa. How did she know that?

“How do you…”

“You get your butt into my car right now, young man, and pick up your car tomorrow morning, after a hearty breakfast and a long shower. Am I understood?”

Speechless, I stared at her. She sounded so boring and moral and…right. I sidestepped, allowing her the space to slip past me.

Gingerly, she soldiered toward her rental car, glancing back every now and again to check I was still here. As I rounded her vehicle to the passenger seat, I caught a glimpse of a freshly glued phone case quote, Do you follow Jesus this closely? and shook my head.

“Sorry,” I said again when I buckled up. “About my dad. Not about being born.”

“Zip it, Knight.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Three things happened simultaneously after my soap opera encounter with Dixie:

One, I stopped answering her calls again. I still sent her text messages informing her I was okay, even though I was not, but I just couldn’t face her.

Then she’d been an annoying little background noise. Now she was a reminder of my dark, debauched existence.

Two, school started. After what had happened in the treehouse, Poppy finally—finally—got the hint. She steered clear of my ass like I was radioactive. Which, to her, arguably, I was. Of course, that created a whole other set of problems. I passed her locker that first morning, noticing it was spray-painted in hot pink: DUMPED BY KJC. Someone had plastered a photoshopped Instagram picture of her with a dumpster fire in the background. I ripped it off before she could see it, but rumor was she still spent the vast majority of the day locked in the bathroom, presumably not taking five hundred shits.

Three, Mom was discharged from the hospital.

I headed home straight after school. I discarded my backpack at the door, scrubbed my hands clean (germs and Mom weren’t tight), and padded upstairs toward her room. Usually Hunter and I hit the gym straight after off-season. Not today. I wanted to see for myself that Mom was okay. Maybe it’d inspire me to go the entire day without drinking a bottle of who-knows-what.

Okay, who was I kidding? The entire morning.

Fine, an hour. Whatever.

I pushed Mom’s door open, stepping into her bedroom, and stopping on the threshold.

Dear God,

I’m a decent guy. I always buy the toffee-tastic cookies from Girl Scouts, knowing no one else in their right mind would buy the sandy motherfuckers. I explained masturbation to Lev so my dad wouldn’t have to. And I didn’t kill Vaughn, even though he touched Luna. Why do you hate me? What gives?

Not-so-faithfully,

KJC

“The fuck?” my dad grumbled, snapping his head in my direction. He was butt naked, and I do mean it literally—his ass staring back at my face—in bed, with Mom underneath him, his face strategically…there. I shook my head.

“Get out!” Dad grabbed something from the bed and hurled it toward me.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Please, God, if you still have any remorse toward me, let that shit not be a dildo or a vibrator.

I heard something rubbery and hard falling to the floor.

Really, God? For real?

“Dean!” Mom chastised.

I slammed the door so hard its wooden frame cracked at the edges, and I dashed down the hall to my room. My lunch was shooting up my throat, and I was glad it was one of the rare times I didn’t have a hangover or was simply plain drunk.

Fuuuuuuck.

I needed to tell someone. Who? Vaughn and Hunter would taunt me into my grave and beyond. All my other friends had the mental maturity of a La Croix can. I texted Luna on a whim, conveniently ignoring the fact she hadn’t answered my last trillion messages. I didn’t know what had made her flip, but I’d been working extra hard on being a douche before sticking my mammoth fingers into her, then pretending nothing happened, so she had a variety of reasons to choose from.

Knight: I just saw something.

Knight: You cannot ignore this.

Knight: I caught my dad going down on my mom.

Knight: I can’t unsee it, Moonshine. It’s burned into my retinas. Forever.

Knight: Answer me for fuck’s sake. Seriously? It was just a bit of fooling around. Nothing has changed. You’re still my best friend.

And my only lover.

And the reason I woke up every day instead of giving up.

I had to keep her in my life, even at the price of making said life unbearable.

She could still have FUCKING JOSH.

Fuck him. Love him. Build a shrine to him.

And I’d still be here.

Waiting. Pining. Watching the time stretch between us, like an endless ocean.

I tossed my phone onto my bed, letting it drown in heaps of black satin, then plopped down next to it. I rubbed my eyes like I could wipe off the memory of my dad doing what he’d done to Mom.

Uncle Vicious had once jokingly said life was not an easy phase in one’s existence. I now understood what he meant. Life felt like a chain of calamities strung together. What helped me go through it was reminding myself of famous people who went through bad shit and were still alive. It was kind of creepy, but it helped. Like, Joaquin Phoenix had watched his brother die, and had to call 911. Keanu Reeves had lost his stillborn baby and the love of his life eighteen months apart. Oprah Winfrey had been a fourteen-year-old runaway after being sexually abused. Charlize Theron watched her mother shoot her father to death in self-defense.

These people still lived. Laughed. Breathed. Got married. Had babies. Moved on.

Statistically, I could, too.

Yet sometimes, I watched from the outside and wanted to fist-bump myself for still functioning. Staying in bed for eternity was goddamn tempting.

“Hi.”

The small voice jerked me from my thoughts. I sat upright in my bed. Mom. She was clad in a green robe that hugged her thin waist. Her face looked flush and young. Almost healthy. Happy. Like Luna after I gave her an orgasm.

Note to self: Never put your mom and orgasm in the same sentence. Even in your head.

“Yo.”

“You were early.”

“And you were busy.” I propped my chin on my knee, not giving a damn it was kind of feminine, looking up at the ceiling.

She let out a breathless laugh, pushing off the doorframe and taking a seat beside me. Her leg pressed against mine. She nudged me. It took everything in my two-hundred-pound body not to roll my eyes like a fucking Kardashian.

“How about we don’t talk about it?” I wasn’t above begging.

Was I really above anything at this point?

“Come on. I’m sure you know all about the birds and the bees.”

“Right. So we are talking about it.”

“Sex is natural.”

“Not the type Adriana Chechik taught me.”

“Adriana Chechik, the porn star?” Mom’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

“No, the astronomer. Don’t play coy now.”

She laughed, tousling my hair. “How are you feeling?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I arched an eyebrow.

“I’m feeling great, actually.” She chuckled. “And you? How is my son?”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

I’ve been drinking at least a bottle a day since Luna left, but fine.

“Great, great, great.”

I can’t fucking breathe without thinking about life without you.

But unloading on her would be a bitch move. Talking to Dad about it was out of the question. We both needed to cool down. He fucked my mom. With toys. Not cool.

She cupped my face and tilted my head up. Our gazes locked.

“Knight Jameson Cole, you build your walls high and thick, but I see through them. Tell me what’s bothering you. It can’t be my health, because I’m here and feeling better. Is it about a certain gray-eyed girl who flew across the country recently?”

She bunched the collar of my shirt in her fist, lowering me to her. She placed my head in her lap, threading her delicate, pale fingers through my hair, running them back and forth over my skull. Goosebumps rose all over my skin. She used to do this to me all the time when I had meltdowns as a kid. Calmed the hell out of me.

“Talk to your mama, boy,” she whispered.

My words spilled like acid, a tsunami of confessions. I told her everything: About what had happened at the dog shelter. About kissing Poppy in front of Luna. About Luna kissing Daria in front of me. About the night I’d sneaked into Moonshine’s room again (omitting the sexy parts—just because my dinner was ruined didn’t mean Mom couldn’t eat this decade, too) and about how I tried forgetting about her. About how I’d invited Poppy to our treehouse to settle the score with Luna.

“Maybe she saw you.” Mom pursed her lips.

I frowned at the wall in front of me, painted black with the Raiders’ logo on it. “Fat chance.”

“Why’s that?” Mom persisted.

“Because Luna would have flipped.”

She’d almost killed me with her glare when I’d fondled Arabella, who was about as relevant to my life as a thoroughly used condom.

“Would she? Does that sound like Luna? Flipping out on you? Especially seeing as you did nothing wrong technically, simply spent time with your girlfriend?”

Inside my girlfriend. Or that’s what it had looked like, anyway.

Mom had a point. Maybe Luna had seen. Maybe that was the deal breaker. I’d said I wouldn’t rest until we were even, but now, when she thought we were, it didn’t feel too good.

No. It didn’t feel too fucking good at all.

“Do you love her?” Mom asked seriously.

“No,” I shot out.

Yes.

Why was it so hard? Because it was pathetic? Because it was unrequited? Because I wasn’t even sure who Luna was anymore? Talking and fucking and living without me, across the country, while I was losing my mother to cystic fibrosis.

“Well, then.” Rosie threw her hands in the air on a breezy smile. “No harm done, then. We don’t need to talk about it anymore, do we?”

She was about to stand up. I straightened from her lap, sitting.

“Wait.”

“Hmm?” Her lips pursed in a victorious smile.

“I do. I love her.” I paused. “I love her, but I’m not sure I know her anymore.”

“You love her, but maybe despite growing up together, you also grew apart?”

I shook my head. No. That wasn’t it. “I can’t outgrow Luna. It’s like outgrowing your heart. Impossible. It grows with you. What do I do?” I ran my hand across my close-shaved jaw. “What the fuck do I do, Mom?”

“Well, that’s an easy one.” She smiled. “You go after her. You grovel. You win your girl back. Life’s too short not to be with the person you love.”

Going to Boon in the middle of the school year, with my mother sick, was insane. I knew that. But leaving things unfinished with Luna was, somehow, even crazier. How many hits could our friendship take before exploding like a piñata?

I was done hitting the piñata. I didn’t want the candy inside it. I just wanted the fucking piñata. Was that too much to ask?

“I can’t leave you.” I took Mom’s hand.

I was playing a dangerous game, cajoling her into giving me permission to do it. Truth was, I was demented enough to up and leave, taking my chances. I tried to reason with myself. Mom had just gotten discharged from the hospital. She could handle being without me for a long weekend. Or for a day. Jesus. It might just be one day. Maybe Luna didn’t want to patch shit up. Maybe she had finally given up on my sorry ass.

“You must.” Mom squeezed my hand.

“Why?”

I humored her. Rosie Leblanc wasn’t big on having me away from school. As it was, I wasn’t the most accurate dick in the urinal. I wasn’t a bad student per se, but I’d be lying if I said Ivy League colleges were lining up at my doorstep.

“Do you want me to be honest?” She scrunched her nose.

“No. Please lie through your teeth.” Another eye roll nearly commenced.

Mom looked down, flattening her palm over my linen and brushing it absentmindedly.

Bad idea. This shit is ninety-nine percent spunk, one percent fabric.

“I need you to do this for my peace of mind.” Her gaze cut to mine, her blue eyes shining with emotion. “From a selfish point of view, I want you to win Luna back, because knowing you two are together would make me so happy.”

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. I wanted to tell her to stop talking nonsense, but I couldn’t do that, either. Finally, I got up, tucked my chin, and regarded her with the same cool, lazy expression I’d learned from my father. From his friends.

Nothing gets in. Nothing comes out. If bottling feelings was a sport, I’d be representing my country in the Olympics.

She stood up and took my face in her hands, pressing her nose to my pecs. I froze before wrapping tentative arms around her. I kissed the crown of her head.

“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispered into my shirt, sending warm breath to my chest through the fabric.

I didn’t say anything. Of course she could.

“I love your brother and your father more than I love myself. I would die for them. Fight for them until the bitter end. Go against the whole world for them. But you…” She dragged her face up to look at me. Her eyes were full of tears. “I’ve always loved you just a tiny bit more. My regal, rebel boy. My legendary hellraiser, my sad prince, my unlikely savior, my beautiful, broken Knight.”

I gulped, looking down at her.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

But I couldn’t not say it. The moment seemed too real and raw.

She brushed my cheek and gave me a smile so genuine and powerful, I thought it could outshine the sun.

“What if tomorrow never comes?” I whispered.

“Then, my darling boy, we’ll make the best of today.”