Page 55 of Pucking Knox
I hit call.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Chapter 21
I lay Knox's things out on my bed like a post-mortem of our relationship.
Three hoodies, stolen over months of pretending.
A worn Gatsby paperback with his notes in the margins.
My favorite photo of us at team dinner, his smile real and unguarded.
A half-empty bottle of his cologne that I definitely didn't spray on my pillow last night.
Ace stands in my doorway, looking uncertain. "I am throwing it in his room because fuck him."
I fold each hoodie with military precision. "This was stupid…for me, but you don’t have to stop being friends with him because of this."
"Of course, I do. You’re my sister."
"Do whatever you want. I’m tired of trying to help people."
Ace is standing there, watching me. "You can’t forgive him, Ken. Don’t do all of this and then change your mind later."
I ignore his big brother advice, carefully placing everything in a box. "Just give him his things. Tell him..." My voice catches. "Tell him nothing. Just give him the box. Please. It’s so stupid, I know." I hate how my voice shakes. "I need to focus on fixing our family image. Dad's campaign team is in damage control mode after the bar photos. This was all really out of character anyway, right? Not me."
"Screw Dad's campaign." Ace sits beside me. "What about what you want?" He grabs my wrist. "You’re shaking. Are you okay?"
What Ineedis to stop seeing Knox's face every time I close my eyes. Stop remembering how he looked at me in that parking lot, like I was trying to fix something that wanted to stay broken.
"I’m okay. I need to be smart." I close the box firmly. "No more rebellion. No more bad decisions. No more Knox." I hand him the box. "Now go. I have a campaign dinner to prepare for. I have to kiss dad’s ass because of this mess."
He takes the box but pauses at the door. "He'sa mess, you know. Sleeping in his truck. Playing like shit at practice."
I grin. "Not my problem."
As soon as Ace cuts the corner, the bold and strong Kennedy is gone. I look at the ceiling to prevent the tears from spilling because god, it hurts to hear he’s not doing good. Hurts to picture Knox sleeping in his truck, hurts to imagine him ruining his future. Hurts to know he's suffering and still too stubborn to let anyone help.
The campaign dinner that night is an exercise in control. I wear a modest blue dress, laugh at all the right jokes, play the perfect daughter role I was born for. My father beams with approval.
"Much better," he says during photos. "That unfortunate rebellion phase seems to be over."
I smile and nod and pretend my heart isn't screaming in my chest. Because, holy fuck, it is. But here I am, daddy’s perfect little girl. Still a virgin and all.
The next morning, I see Knox across the quad.
He looks terrible – unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. Our eyes meet for a moment and electricity crackles across the space between us.
Don't, I tell myself.Don't run to him. Don't try to fix him. Stop looking at him.
He keeps his eyes on me, takes a step in my direction, and I turn away. I walk quickly toward the library with my spine straight and my eyes forward, ignoring how every cell in my body screams to go back.
Sawyer glances at me when I find her. "You okay?"
"Perfect." But my hands shake as I pull out my books. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Maybe because the love of your life––"
