Page 51 of Pucking Knox
I turn to leave, then pause. Strip off Knox's jersey and let it fall to the dirty bar floor.
"Goodbye, Knox." My voice is steady even as tears threaten. "I hope being alone is everything you think you deserve."
The drive home passes in silence. Ace keeps reaching for me like he wants to help but doesn't know how. I stare out the window, watching the town blur past, and make a decision.
I'm done.
Done trying to prove my love is real.
Done fighting to be seen as more than a princess in need of saving.
Done letting Knox Thompson break my heart in new ways.
My phone buzzes with texts – probably Sawyer checking on me – but when I look, it's my father.
Dad: Come home. Now.
Attached is an image from tonight: me in tears reaching for Knox while he bleeds and rages, looking every inch the violent enforcer everyone warned me about.
The caption reads:Senator's Daughter in a Bar Fight.
And for the first time since I blackmailed Knox in that equipment room, I wonder if everyone was right.
Maybe some things are better left unfixed.
Maybe some hearts are better left unbroken.
Maybe some love stories are better left untold.
I delete Knox's number from my phone and text my father back.
Kennedy: You were right about him. I'm done with him.
Kennedy: But I’m not coming home right now. I need to cool off.
Kennedy: Dad, I’m sorry about all of this.
Kennedy: It won’t happen again. Love you.
Time to stop being the girl who loves too hard, believes too much, tries to save people who don't want saving.
Time to be the senator's daughter again.
At least she never got her heart broken.
Chapter 20
She drops my jersey to the floor like it means nothing. Like we meant nothing.
"I hope being alone is everything you think you deserve."
The words hit harder than any punch. I watch her walk away, spine straight and head high, looking every inch the senator's daughter I have no right to love.
"Hate to see her go, but I like to watch her leave." A voice sneers from behind me – one of the Providence players I'd fought earlier. "That ass of hers." He blows a whistle.
Something snaps.
I turn and hit him before he can blink, feeling cartilage crunch under my knuckles. He goes down hard but I follow, rage and whiskey and self-hatred fueling each punch.
