Page 228 of The Perfect Spiral
But the lightness of the moment fades when she turns to face Knox. “Did you ever consider that maybe that was his own foolish choice?” she grits out, her voice laced with tension. The room grows quiet, and Kyle’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Am I missing something here?” Kyle asks, his gaze darting between Andy and me. Andy meets my eyes for a brief moment before turning back to my brother.
“I just don’t like her. Plus, he could do so much better,” she says, forcing a smile at Kyle. She knows. Sam told her and Hannah what we saw. They’re both furious.
I’m fairly certain my older brothers and Knox’s older brothers are in the know as well. But not Kyle, Tyler, Brett, and Wes. I glance over at Sam, who’s glaring at Knox from the love seat. Tyson sits next to him, awkwardly chewing on his pizza.
“I know,” Knox says quietly, taking a sip of his water. Is he acknowledging that she doesn’t like her, or that he could do better? I’ll never know.
His words are cryptic now, filled with hidden meanings that I can’t decipher. Drop it, Alex, I tell myself. It’s not worth the effort. He’s moved on. So should you.
But the look on Kyle’s face tells me he’s not entirely convinced. He doesn’t say anything, though. That can only mean one thing: he’s going to try to find out. If he does, both Knox and I are screwed.
Chapter 81
Days pass in a blur, each morning finding me waking in a cold sweat, my screams echoing in the silence. Exhaustion clings to me like a second skin, the lack of sleep etching its mark on my face.
Dark circles, bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair, and a caffeine addiction that has me shaking sporadically. I yawn unattractively, slapping my cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake.
Between my own vivid nightmares and the living one that unfolds across my room each night, I yearn for the soothing rhythm of the ocean.
But instead, I trudge downstairs, past the moans of her calling his name in a loop. “Oh, baby! Yes, right... there Knox! Mmmm!” is the soundtrack to my mornings, while he remains silent.
I find myself flipping through papers on the table, surrounded by Sam, Tyson, my mom, and Miranda, all engrossed in a discussion about table centerpieces.
I’ve figured out his routine, his escape route after he’s done with her. I was lounging on the deck, my feet propped up on the railing, swirling my Jameson in its glass.
The ice cubes clinked against the sides before I took a generous sip. The back door slid open and slammed shut, pulling my attention. I twisted my neck to see him, and our eyes met.
He paused, our gazes locked in a silent exchange before he continued his path to the sand.
He glanced over his shoulder one last time, pulling his hood over his head before he took off down the beach, running. Fast. As if he was trying to outrun something.
I finished my drink and refilled my glass until I was on my fifth round and sleepiness started to creep in. I was drunk. Very drunk.
Now, Sam is cycling through every color of the rainbow for the flowers in the table centers. I’m sitting here, next to Tyson, trying to help our resident bridezilla.
I’m tired. I’m hungover. I’ve had three hours of fitful sleep. Terrified to sleep, yet dreading staying awake. It’s a lose-lose situation. I suffer in silence.
“Babe, I honestly don’t mind what flowers you pick,” Tyson tries to soothe my sister. The wedding is fast approaching and she’s in a frenzy, constantly changing plans.
She teeters on the edge of tears one moment and is ready to rip someone’s head off the next. “I don’t know what colors I want... like do I get ones that match the bridesmaids’ dresses?... or my favorite color?... or ones that will match the lighting I’ve chosen for our first dance? ... or should I let the florist decide?”
She huffs, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She looks like me. Exhausted. Mentally drained. Physically drained. Tyson had given up offering his opinion a month into the planning.
It’s not that he doesn’t care, he just understands that Sam wants everything a certain way. She’s meticulous like that.
“Sweetie, maybe you should take a break for a little while. You look ti-” my mom gently interrupts her daughter’s spiral.
“Mom! I need to get this sorted or I will have more stuff to do! Ugh, I’m so indecisive-” Sam’s hands cradle her face, frustration seeping from her every pore. Her shoulders start to shake. She’s crying.
Tyson is by her side in an instant, comforting her. He’s crouched down in his sweatpants that are hanging low on his hips.
Hanging on for dear life, I might add. Tyson is well built, with a six-pack, bulging biceps, a V line, the works. Like every NFL player. He’s attractive, but modest about it.
He’s the kind of guy you find good-looking but wouldn’t act on it, like Hannah’s brother James.
His strong arms cradle his fiancé. She leans into him as he whispers ‘I love you’ to her. Her sniffles become more frequent and she buries her head in the crook of his neck.
