Page 30 of Pucking Knox
Ace hesitates. "I don’t know."
"Come on." I force a grin. "For old times' sake."
Two hours later, I'm six shots deep and remembering why I don't drink much anymore. Everything's too loud, too bright, too much like my father.
"Slow down," Ace says when I reach for another shot. "What's really going on?"
"Nothing." The whiskey burns like guilt. "Everything's great. Perfect. Draft's coming up, scouts love me, got the perfect girlfriend."
"About that." He takes the shot glass away. "Where is she?"
We had our first fight, and I clearly can’t fucking handle it. I hurt her. And she hurt me. Harvey fucking Reynolds? Seriously? And I'm a coward who pushed her away the moment things got real.
"She's fine."
"Is she? Sawyer said—"
I stand too quickly, the room spinning. "I need air."
The back porch is quieter, colder. I check my phone again.
No messages from Kennedy. Three more from my father.
Dad: Really need that cash son
Dad: Would hate to ruin things for your girl
Dad: Christmas 2019
Rage and whiskey war in my blood. I want to hit something. Want to fight. Want to protect Kennedy from my mess of a life.
Because that's the truth I've been avoiding. I didn't push her away because of the draft or the deal or any of our original reasons.
I pushed her away because I care too much. Because watching my father destroy my mother taught me what happens when you love someone more than you love yourself. Because Kennedy deserves better than an enforcer with anger issues and a criminal father.
But god, I miss her.
Miss her laugh during team dinners. Miss how she fits against me during movies. Miss the way she handles my demons like they're nothing special.
My phone buzzes. Finally Kennedy?
No. Wilson.
Wilson: Three weeks to combine. No distractions.
I laugh bitterly. Too late for that. Kennedy Walters became a distraction somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings. Between helping with my father and defending her to snobs. Between pretending to care and actually falling.
"Knox?" Ace appears in the doorway. "You good?"
"No." The whiskey makes me honest. "I think I'm in love with your sister."
Fuck.
The words hang in the frozen air between us. Ace doesn't move, doesn't speak, and the silence stretches until I want to take it back.
"You're drunk," he finally says.
"Doesn't make it less true." I sink onto the porch steps, head in my hands. "I fucked up, man. I fucked up so bad."
