Page 71 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, resting her cheek in the crook of my neck. “No one deserves what you went through.”

When I turn my head, our faces almost touch. If I believed in heaven, I’d say Dad is looking down at me and winking.

She looks at me tentatively. “Does grief get easier over time?”

I think about it. “I’m not sure if easier is the right word. Manageable, perhaps. There’ll be days on end when I’m in great form, then bang, something will remind me of what happened. I’ll see one of the Wicks family on the street or something.”

“That’s shocking he was never convicted for it. That must make it all the worse.”

I smile sadly. “Yeah, I have this belief that I’ll find closure if Dad’s murder goes on Wicks’s record. Some day.” I frown. “I know work and life can get in the way and it seems like there is always tomorrow but don’t lose sight of what matters. I took my dad for granted. It’s good you’re visiting yours.”

She nods and we are quiet for a moment.

Eventually, I clear my throat. “Come on, let’s get my badass Robin home safe.”

19

Bonnie

Six-foot-two recruitment manager Christopher is not the distraction I was hoping for.

I’m on my first non-Max date infiveyears. We’re in a gorgeous Cuban bar in Knightsbridge with yummy cocktails and salsa dancers and I’m grinding my teeth into stumps with frustration.

We’ve had a one-way conversation for sixty minutes. He hasn’t asked me a single question.

Christopher describes himself as an entrepreneur. My view is it’s a tad dicky to call yourself that unless you’re confident you’re nailing the title.

He works in recruitment and left his job to start his own company, but it sounds like he’s trying to steal all his old company’s leads.

We’ve been chatting daily over Bumble, but the online Christopher seems much less obnoxious than the offline version.

His lips move. They have been for twenty minutes.

He’s talking about Jack. Why is he talking about Jack?

Oh no, he’s still talking about thegym,not Jack.

Gah. I’ve got a problem.

“Takes a lot of dedication,” Christopher drones on. “Especially now that I’m running my own business. I’m in the gym religiously six days a week, 6 a.m. on the dot. It’s worth it, though.My body fat percentage is down to fourteen.” He folds his arms over his chest to showcase his biceps. I’m not a fan. “Muscle mass hit forty percent last week. Pretty good, huh?”

Why’s he telling me this? Does he think I’m a doctor?

I stifle a yawn. My architect partner, Steve and I spent the entire day at the factory reviewing everything in detail. I’m so tired I have the social skills of a slug.“That’s great that you’re happy with your stats. I wouldn’t want to keep you late this evening since you have to stick to your regime. Six tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Tomorrow is strength training rather than cardio. I can afford to be a little tired.”

As he launches into details of his strength training regime, I realise that if I maintain eye contact and a slight smile, he thinks I’m listening.

When I narrow my eyes into slits, he looks vaguely like Jack.

Jack.

I wonder what he’s doing right now.Is he with Michelle Allard? The alpha-hole thing of making sure I got home safely last night was kind of sweet.I keep replaying our conversation in my head. Does it change anything that he apologised for what happened to my dad?

God, the way he looked at my lips last night. . .

I squeeze my thighs under the table.

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