Page 48 of Pucking Knox
"You want the real me?" Something dark uncurls in my chest. "Fine. The real me wants to put my father through a fucking wall every time I see him. Wants to fight anyone who looks at youwrong. Gets so jealous when other guys talk to you that I can barely think straight."
"Good." She steps closer. "What else?"
"The real me is possessive and angry and scared of how much I need you." The words pour out like blood. "Scared that one day you'll realize I'm just like him – violent and selfish and—"
"Stop." Her hands fist in my shirt. "You are nothing like him. Nothing."
"You don't fucking know that."
"I do." She rises on tiptoes, forcing me to look at her. "Because he runs from his demons. You face yours. He hurts people he loves. You protect them. He's weak, Knox.Youare the strongest person I know."
Something breaks in my chest. "I don’t know what you think this is. I take your virginity, fuck you mad, and then what? Huh?" I glare at her. "I can't be what you deserve."
"I don't want what I deserve. I want you. The real you. Not some perfect version you think I need."
"The real me," I laugh. "You wouldn’t last two fucking minutes with the side of me that I bury, the side that I fight every single fucking day to keep hidden. Why the fuck do you think I’m so good at hockey, huh? There’s a whole fucked up side to me that you don’t know. The side that that man back there raised me to be. So yeah, if you want to be mad that I’ve put on the act of being the perfect fucking boyfriend. A solid hockey player to secure my future, then so fucking be it, Kennedy. You would leave me if you knew." I chuckle. "If you only fucking knew."
She shakes her head vigorously.
I step to her. "You would leave in a fucking heartbeat."
Tears fall from her eyes as she’s still shaking her head. "I wouldn’t." She grabs my face even though I’m fuming. "I would never leave you. I'm tired of pretending. Tired of watching you try to be something you're not. I see you, Knox. I do."
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in. "I don't know how to do this. I don’t know, Kenny."
"Do what?"
"Be loved by you."
Her breath catches. "Maybe time?"
But I can't. I’m already fucking it up, and she knows it. That’s why she’s crying. Because loving her – really loving her – means risking everything. Means being vulnerable in ways I don't know how to be.
"The two weeks..." My voice roughens. "I can't..."
"Can't?"
"Can't take that from you." I pull back, hating myself. "Can't be this ideal boyfriend you've built up in your head. Can't handle the pressure of your expectations on top of everything else."
"I don't expect—"
"You do." The words taste bitter. "You want some epic love story. The bad boy changes for the good girl. But I can't be that, Kennedy. I can't be your perfect man."
Hurt floods her face. "You can, Knox. Listen to me. Yes, you can."
"Can’t I? The countdown to losing your virginity? The campaign appearances? The family photos?" I laugh bitterly. "You're so caught up in the idea of us that you forgot that I'm just a person. Someone who fucks up and gets angry and can't always be what you need. I cannot always be a good fucking person."
"Knox—"
"No! I’m human. And I can't do this anymore." The words feel like glass in my throat. "Can't keep pretending and acting like I deserve you. I don’t. I can't keep trying to live up to impossible standards."
"So, you're ending things?" Her voice breaks. "With me?"
"I should have let you blackmail me." I step back, putting distance between us. "That would’ve been a lot easier than this."
"This has always been real." Tears spill down her cheeks. "Knox. Always. At least for me."
I force myself to turn away, to walk to my truck without looking back. Because if I see her crying – if I let myself acknowledge the pain in her voice – I'll break.
