Page 24 of Rocky Top

We moved into the kitchen, where Knox was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes shadowed. He gave me a nod that saidthank youwithout words. I nodded back.

“You alright?” I asked him quietly.

His jaw ticked. “More worried about her.”

I didn’t press. Knox wasn’t a talker unless it was life or death. Or Eliza. And even then, it came in gravel and steel. However, I wasn’t as dumb as I looked. It didn’t take a genius to suspectan outlaw biker of having the connections to get someone in prison killed. Not that I would rightly blame him. Mark was a real stinky piece of dog shit that Eliza could never quite scrap off her comfortable shoe.

Regardless, this fact would make Knox far more dangerous than Eliza suspected. My best friend was supposed to be the smart one, with her teaching degree, but she’d fallen for the charity car washes and rides. She thought the Royal Bastards were beefy boy scouts.

I wouldn’t mention my doubts to Eliza tonight, but I’d have to, eventually.

Emma’s light was still on, so I poked my head in. She was sittin’ up in bed, little face puffy and red-eyed.

“Hey, sweet pea,” I said gently, coming to sit beside her.

She looked up and tried to smile. “Mama is upset with my daddy, again.”

Of course, she didn’t know what was really happening. “I know, baby.” I brushed her hair back, trying not to cry. “It’s okay to be sad.”

She nodded, repeating what she heard from Eliza’s lips. “I think I’m more confused than sad.”

That made two of us.

“I’m here if you need me, okay? Always.”

Emma leaned into me, and I held her, letting her be a little girl who just lost a piece of her past, even if that piece wasn’t all that shiny to begin with.

Eliza and I ended up on the back porch later, bundled in blankets with plastic cups of wine, watching the moon rise over her quiet neighborhood.

She sighed. “It’s like… I thought I’d feel free. But now it’s just more questions. Like what kind of person does that make me?”

I sipped my wine. “It makes you human. A damn strong one.”

“I don’t even know how to tell Emma the rest of it someday. The truth.”

“You will when she’s ready. And when you’re ready.”

“What am I going to tell them at school?”

“You don’t owe anyone the full story before you’re ready to share it.”

She turned to me then, her eyes glassy but clear. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I grinned. “Probably end up married to a serial cheater with a coke problem. Who has a whole other family in the next town.”

She laughed, as I talked about what a true piece of shit Mark was, the sound like a crack of light through the dark.

I reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m serious, though. You’ve been there for me through every awful Tinder date and career meltdown. I’ve got you, nomatter what.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. “You always have.”

We sat there in the dark, two women with messy lives and big hearts, drinking bad wine and holding each other up with nothing but faith and love.

That night, I didn’t go home. I stayed in the guest room. And when Emma had a nightmare around 3 a.m., it was me she crawled into bed with. Her little hand found mine under the covers, and I held on like it was my job.

Because in a way, it was.

Being there.

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