“Hey,” I say as I step out into the garage where Knox is working on his motorcycle during his lunch break. “Can we talk?”
He glances up, takes in my serious expression, and automatically glowers. But he nods. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m heading out tomorrow.”
He stares at me a beat as he wipes his dirty hands on a rag. “You said that two weeks ago.”
“I took a job.”
“Protecting another Hollywood actress or supermodel?” The way he says it makes it sound like my job is a total joke to him, but the mention of Jane feels like a punch to the gut. I’ve stayed away, even though I know her schedule so well I could run into her anytime I choose. She made it clear that she wasn’t going to forgive me, and I guess I can’t blame her. I fucked up. Sometimes when you fuck up, there’s no righting the wrong.
“Nah. An old musician. He’s like eighty and doesn’t really need security anymore, but I think he just likes the company.”
Knox actually smiles at this.
“Anyway, he’s paying double to get me there sooner, which is why I’m leaving so quickly. I transferred a few thousand into your account this morning and when I get paid again, I’ll send more. Maybe you can get a dishwasher that actually works or get someone out here to repaint the house. I fixed the leaky sink in the hall bathroom, but I’m not a plumber so you might want to have someone check that too.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on that.” His jaw hardens. Always so fucking defensive. It’s impossible to have a conversation with Knox.
“What is your problem?” I ask, feeling beyond tired.
He laughs, then mutters, “Where do I start?”
“I’m serious.” I get up in his space. “You’re not happy when I’m gone, you’re not happy when I’m here. What the hell is your problem?”
“You. You are my fucking problem. You show up here and think you have a right to judge us. Not all of us can be big shot professional athletes and live in fancy apartments.”
While accurate, I guess, it isn’t a true depiction of my life. My apartment is small, and I was a professional athlete. Now I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
“You walked out on us years ago and lost the right to have an opinion about how we do things here.”
I’m taken back by his words and the anger with which he spits them at me, but they find their mark, making me feel like shit.
He shakes his head, still wearing that pissed-off glare. “At least when Dad left, he had the decency to be honest that he didn’t give a shit about us. Do me a favor and don’t worry about us. We’re doing just fine without him and without you.”
“Just fine?” I laugh. “The milk is bad, the house smells like dirty feet, and the place looks like shit.”
“I’m gonna pick up groceries tonight.” His jaw tightens. “And we clean on Sundays. And why do you fucking care? You’re leaving, right?”
“Right.” I grit out. “You’ve got it all covered. My bad.”
“That’s right. Go back to L.A. See you again in another couple of years.”
He turns his back to me and returns to working on his bike, so I head inside more agitated and unsettled than I was before. I pack my stuff, so I have something to do with the adrenaline still racing through my bloodstream courtesy of Knox’s shitty attitude.
I made the best decisions I could at the time. He doesn’t get to make me feel bad for that. They would have lost the house and who knows what would have happened to Flynn. He might have been sent to live with some distant relative or put into foster care. No. Knox doesn’t get to act like I had a choice because I didn’t. I did what I had to do.
I’m still amped up an hour later when I hear Knox’s bike start and drive off. I’m so fucking tempted to get in my truck and go, but I can’t leave without saying goodbye to my brothers.
Instead, I change and head into the garage to work out. I lift the garage door and turn on some music. By the time I’ve wrapped my hands, I’m starting to settle down. I roll my shoulders back and stretch my neck, then beat the shit out of the bag until my arms are tired and my thoughts are empty.
