Page 93 of Burnout
“How was your day?” I ask, snuggling up to his side. It hadn’t occurred to me until right this second that maybe this was goodbye. My heart races and panic slowly creeps in.
“Long. How was yours?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Good. Sorry I had to cancel on our training.”
“It’s fine. I ended up needing to deal with something anyway.”
“Is everything okay?” I can’t go another minute without knowing. I don’t think he’s cold enough to come over, hook up, and then say peace out forever, but it does cross my mind.
At first, I think he’s going to wave off the question or dodge it, but he quietly mulls over his answer and then says, “My dad showed up at the track today.”
“Oh.” My relief is second to my surprise and I struggle to figure out what to say next.
“Yeah.” He laughs bitterly.
“Does he come around a lot?”
“No.” A muscle in his cheek flexes. “He was never really in the picture. My parents separated when we were little, and he came and went as he pleased. Then my mom died when I was in junior high. Cancer.”
“You’ve been taking care of Flynn since you were in junior high?”
He shakes his head then says, “Well, kind of. Right after she died, there was a long stretch where he stuck around. A year or so. He drove a truck so even then there were times we had to fend for ourselves while he was on the road. As time went on, he showed up less.”
“And no one else knew you guys were on your own?”
“He popped in every couple of weeks. Often enough that no one really asked any questions, and we weren’t about to say anything. None of us wanted to be split up or end up in the system.”
My stomach clenches. My parents wouldn’t even let me stay home alone until I was almost thirteen. I had thought it was dumb and I griped about not needing a babysitter. So no, I can’t imagine.
He couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old with only his older brother to look out for him, and three younger ones to worry about too. A fierce protectiveness surges through me, which is ridiculous because Knox doesn’t need me. He’s constructed his life so he doesn’t need anyone.
“We managed,” Knox says as if he can read my thoughts. “Then Hendrick got a full-ride scholarship for football. I don’t think he wanted to leave us, but he wanted to get away from it too, you know?”
I don’t know. I can’t even wrap my head around it, but I nod.
“That’s when our dad’s absences got longer and longer until he just stopped coming around at all.”
“How did you survive?”
“I dropped out of school and got a job. Arch pitched in, Brogan too. He’s not even related by blood, but he did whatever he could to help us.”
“Brogan isn’t your real brother?” I ask.
“He’s a brother, for sure, but no, not by blood.” He brings his hand up to cover mine resting on his chest and runs his thumb over the top of my knuckles. “He and Archer have been best friends for as long as I can remember. Brogan didn’t have the best home life. I mean, not that our house wasn’t dysfunctional, but we had each other and we had Mom. He was an only child with two parents who didn’t give a shit. Our mom took him in,always let him stay over, got him presents at Christmas and on his birthday just like he was one of us.”
I wrap an arm around him and squeeze as hard as I can. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”
“Yeah, she was cool.” He lets his head fall over to rest on mine. “I can remember her watching the Olympics when they were on. She loved women’s gymnastics. She’d be super impressed by you.”
“What did she do?” I ask, wanting to know more about the mom that he obviously loved very much.
“She owned The Tipsy Rose. Well, it was called Rosie’s Place then.”
“Really?” I smile. “I wondered about the name.”
“It’s a nod to Mom.” He confirms my suspicion as I let my gaze fall over his left arm. It explains his tattoos too. Roses—so many of them.
I sit up and look him in the eye.
