Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel)

by Prescott Lane

  “You do sound like him,” she giggles.

  “She’s five,” Timothy answers.

  “Knox, what do you want?” Everly asks again, clearing having no patience with me.

  “Mommy,” Gracie says. “You sound mad.”

  Everly releases a deep breath. “Not at you, honey.”

  “She’s mad at you,” Gracie whispers to me.

  “I know,” I say.

  “Why?” she whispers back.

  Everly motions for Timothy to remove Gracie from this conversation. “Can you help Daddy refill customers’ cups?”

  She smiles broadly. “Remember what they teach us at school,” Gracie tells her mom, walking away with her dad. “It’s always better to be kind.”

  “Hope you follow her advice,” I say, as Everly draws another deep breath, watching them walk away. “She’s five, but last time I saw you was about five years ago, and . . .”

  “She’s adopted,” Everly says. “Timothy and I got married a few years ago, and he had a special needs sister who passed away young. So we always wanted to give a child a home who might not be adopted otherwise. Gracie was two when she came to us.”

  “And the coffee shop is yours now?” I ask.

  “Yes,” she says. “We are a bar, too. Stay open later.”

  “That’s . . .”

  “What do you want?” she asks again. “Because Mae has a really good life. She’s successful and happy, and I don’t want to see that get messed up.”

  “I don’t, either,” I say, wondering if Mae’s happily attached or happily single.

  “Then leave her alone,” she says. “You broke her heart once already.”

  She broke mine, too, but I don’t dare admit that to Everly. When you live your life in the spotlight, you learn to keep most of your personal feelings hidden. I didn’t realize when I became an actor, I’d be acting in my personal life, too.

  You get your heart broken, you still smile for the cameras. You don’t feel well, you still show up for work. You have a death in the family, you issue a statement asking for privacy and don’t leave your house until you can face the public eye.

  You get threatening letters, stalkers, crazy messages—you don’t complain, at least not publicly. No one has any sympathy when you’re living in the limelight, making millions of dollars.

  There are only a few people that really know me. My brother, Ryder, and Mae. Mae knows me the best. The whole world knows my name. They all think they know who I am. That’s why it’s called acting.

  “Look at you,” she says, waving her hands in front of me. “You got everything you ever wanted—money, fame. You have it all.”

  “I didn’t get everything,” I say softly, my eyes glancing at the door that Mae disappeared through.

  “You only have yourself to blame for that,” she says.

  “So you won’t help me?” I say. “Give me Mae’s address, phone number?”

  She just rolls her eyes. I stopped trying to figure women out years ago. Why they cry during movies? Or go to the bathroom in pairs? But I get this. I understand that Everly is Mae’s friend, and she can’t betray that. I knew this was a long shot, but Haven’s Point isn’t that big. I can find her.

  Reaching for my keys in my pocket, I head toward the door. “Bye, bear,” Gracie calls out, now coloring at a small table.

  I give her a little wave, catching a glimpse of Imogen and Everly talking at the far end of the counter. I don’t have to guess who they’re talking about. I’m used to people talking about me when I’m around. Used to the whispers and snickers when I enter a room, but usually those people are happy to see me. That’s not the case with these two.

  “Come by anytime,” Timothy tells me. “Gracie’s going to make a sign that reads ‘Autograph Free Zone,’ so you won’t be bothered.”

  Gracie gives me a little thumbs up. God, she’s adorable.

  “Appreciate it,” I say.

  He leans a little closer to me and whispers, “Mae’s not seeing anyone.”

  “Really appreciate that,” I say with a grin, suddenly realizing I was looking in the wrong place for help. Of course, women stick together, but so do guys. “Do you happen to know where I could find Mae?”

  He glances back at his wife. He’d be breaking about a hundred husband rules if he told me, and he doesn’t seem like a stupid man. “Can’t tell you that,” he says with one more glance. “But I can tell you that you should definitely go check out the lake. It’s pretty out there this time of year.”

  There are a shit ton of lakes in Colorado, but I know the one he’s talking about. I’ll never forget it. Mae and I spent a lot of time out there as kids. It has to be the one.

  *

  I’ve listened to enough of Mae’s radio shows to know she was faking her response to me at The Tune Up. She’s given the same advice over and over again to callers. Don’t let him see you sweat. That smile she gave me when I walked in—that was faker than half the tits in Hollywood. She’s never faked anything with me before, and I’m not about to let her start now.

  A slow rain falls as I head out toward the lake. My rental car is a simple four door sedan, not luxury, not a sports car. It’s just a normal, everyday car. I have a few cars back home in California. Every single one of them is just like this one. Simple. I don’t want a car to get me noticed. I want a car to get me from point A to point B, help me move something, and not cause a riot when I drive down the street. A red Ferrari cannot go undetected, but a black Toyota blends right in. And I prefer the latter.

  The one exception to my practical car rule is a vintage blue convertible. My dad, my brother, and I rebuilt it together one summer. The last summer that Ryder lived at home. I hardly ever drive it. When dad died, I wanted my brother to have the car. Their relationship wasn’t always great, but this car represented the good times they had before it all went to shit. Still, Ryder wouldn’t take it. So I’ve kept it. I kept it for him. You’d think losing our dad suddenly and our mom when we were young would have made us both realize that you have to hold on to the people in your life, but I still screwed things up with Mae, and Ryder . . . well, his demons run deep.

  My houses are another story. They’re not necessarily huge. I don’t buy them to be flashy. I buy because they are very secluded—private. I have a beach house in Malibu, a penthouse in New York, and I still own the property in Haven’s Point where I grew up, although it’s just an empty lot now. My brother, Ryder, doesn’t even own a house, but that’s a whole other story.

  There are very few houses by the lake. Supposedly, there’s some city ordinance about how many houses can be placed there to protect the wildlife or something, or that’s the story they always told us as kids.

  Wildflower Lake was named for all the flowers that bloom there. You’d think they could come up with something more original, but they simply named it Wildflower Lake. Local legend says there was some debate about whether to name it Lake Wildflower or Wildflower Lake, but that’s as interesting as it gets.

  As teenagers, we used to come out here and have bonfires. Mae and I spent many nights out under the stars talking about what we wanted out of life, dreaming. We spent just as much time kissing and making out, but I never got past first base out here. All of that came later, in college.

  Because there’s just a few houses, it shouldn’t take me too long to figure out which one is Mae’s. Most of the houses here are big log cabins. I figure anything with a swing set or an ATV parked out front probably doesn’t belong to Mae.

  I round the curve of the lake, and I see a little cottage in the distance. I remember the house that used to be there. It was pretty rundown. I can’t believe this is the same one. It looks totally different now. Slowing down, a peace settles over me. This is where Mae lives. It must be. It just feels like her—warm.

  As I get a little closer, I slow the car to a crawl, seeing Mae sitting in an Adirondack chair next to the edge of the water, the chair’s wood worn by the sun. She doesn’
t have an umbrella. She’s not wearing a raincoat. She’s just sitting there, staring, the soft rain falling on her.

  Her brown hair looks even darker. She’s got her knees pulled up, holding them in a little hug. I can’t see her face, but I know she’s crying. She’s using the rain as a cover, but she can’t fool me.

  Even from a distance, I know.

  When things end with someone you love, you go through stages of sadness and anger. When things went south with Mae, it hurt. It pissed me off. At the same time, my career was just taking off. Everyone around me said it’s better to be single, relationships can’t handle the stress of a new career in Hollywood. Other actors told me there were too many hot women, and I should explore that—I certainly took that advice.

  But in the quiet moments, I always thought about Mae. I thought about her a lot, more than I should’ve, but I believed her when she told me she never wanted to see me again. Mae wasn’t an option. God knows I explored other “options.” Then when I heard her voice coming through the radio, everything came rushing back—all those years listening to her on cassette, all the feelings. I had to see her again.

  Now I’m not sure whether I can leave again.

  Her smile at the coffee shop was fake, I knew that much, but this is real. Me being back here is making her cry. I thought she might be angry, and maybe she is. I thought she might yell at me, throw her drink at me, knee me in the balls. None of that would’ve surprised me, but I didn’t expect tears. Mae didn’t cry often. I heard her cry over me once before, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen again. I broke that promise. I knew I did, but knowing it and watching it are vastly different.

  I can leave her alone, or I can do something about it.

  I’ve always been more of a doer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cassette

  Mae to Knox

  Age Sixteen

  I’m coming to Haven’s Point. Don’t ask me how, after last summer’s debacle, but I’ve convinced my parents to let me spend the summer with Gigi. They wanted me to spend the summer doing college tours before senior year starts, but I convinced them otherwise. If all goes well, I have plans to convince them to let me do my senior year in Haven’s Point with you! Well, I didn’t tell them you’re the reason, but I’m sure they suspect. I’ve been dropping hints about how it would be nice to experience American high school traditions like prom, but one battle at a time. And I won the first one. Summer with you.

  And this time when you see me, you better not act like an asshole. You hear me, Knox? This is your second chance. Don’t blow it.

  *

  Mae

  Goosebumps cover my skin as the rain slowly falls from the gray sky. I was soaked from riding my bike home in the rain, so I figured it didn’t matter if I sat outside in it now. I couldn’t be inside, my thoughts too big, too all over the place. They need space to roam. Unfortunately, my thoughts are all leading to one place, to one man.

  Raindrops patter across the lake, creating a rhythm. Looking up at the gray sky, the mountains in the distance, it seems like Mother Earth herself is crying, a curtain of rain flowing down. When the rain stops, the wildflowers will look brighter, but right now they droop, the heaviness of the storm weighing them down.

  Knox Merrick just casually strolled back into my life, like it was nothing. Why would he do that? Show up after all this time? Why does my heart care so damn much?

  This is probably the wrong place to be right now. Knox and I have a lot of memories at this lake. Truthfully, we have a lot of memories all over Haven’s Point, but they usually don’t attack me like they are right now. I’m usually better at stuffing things, feelings, thoughts, that aren’t convenient for me at that moment. I get that from my dad. Military man—he can’t exactly freak out while holding a loaded weapon. The freak out happens later. I think that’s why so many of our finest suffer from PTSD. A person can only stuff everything down for so long, before it eventually has to come out.

  Mine is choosing this moment to rear its ugly head.

  It wasn’t far from here that Knox and I had our second kiss. Our first kiss took place when we were six, and it took us ten years to have our second. And for me, the second kiss is the one that counts. First kisses get all the attention in movies, books, talks with girlfriends. No one ever talks about their second kiss, but I think the second kiss is the litmus test. The first one, you’re nervous, not quite sure of the other person, but the second kiss, you can really sink into it.

  I remember that night so well. It was my first night back for the summer. The previous summer had been such a bust, I was nervous to see him. Everly is the granddaughter of one of Gigi’s friends, so Gigi thought it would be a good idea if we got to know each other. I think she was trying to get me to focus my attention on someone other than a boy, namely Knox. So my first night back, Gigi insisted I go to some bonfire with Everly. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t make a fuss, so I left a note for Knox telling him what happened and promising I’d see him after.

  I’ll never forget sitting around the fire. There was a crispness to the air even for late May, and the stars blanketed the sky. It seemed like every local kid was there, and I felt like everyone was sizing me up—the boys trying to decide if I was make-out material, the girls trying to decide if I was friend material.

  I felt his arm land lazily around my shoulder as he sat down beside me. Effortless, but there was meaning behind it. He was telling the world that I was his without saying a word. My heart fluttered, and the heat from the fire suddenly seemed hotter. I looked up at Knox, and he turned his head. His blue eyes searched mine, and I realized he wasn’t concerned with the world, but asking me if it was okay. I reached up and intertwined our fingers, giving him my answer.

  He kissed me that night. We walked home together, and I remember wondering if he was going to kiss me when we got to my front door, but instead, he stopped a good twenty feet from my house, pulled me close and kissed me, whispering he couldn’t wait a second longer.

  “You’re going to catch a cold,” Knox says from behind me, stirring me from my teenage memories.

  Normally, when someone surprises you, you jump, but I think I’m too emotionally spent to be surprised he found me—again!

  “Go away,” I say, resting my head on my knees, abandoning my plan to act unfazed by him, which clearly hadn’t worked. “Don’t you have some movie to star in? Some red carpet to walk?”

  He kneels down beside me, not caring that it’s raining. “I’m in-between projects right now. I have a premiere next month, but until then . . .”

  I get to my feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you on the radio,” he says, like that’s some sort of explanation.

  “And what? You thought you’d just pop in to see me? Call my show? Put my identity at risk? You even used your own name,” I say, heading back toward my house.

  “I didn’t mean to do that,” he says, following me. “What name should I have used?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Don’t celebrities use aliases all the time, like Scooby Doo?”

  “You wanted me to say I was Scooby Doo?”

  “You’re missing the point!” I say, throwing my hands up.

  His eyes soften. “I heard your voice and wanted to get in touch.”

  I turn around to face him, and his steps falter slightly. He’s over six feet, and I’m five-five on a good day, so I cock my chin up to be extra intimating. “Did you think about me at all when you made that decision? Or was it just about what you wanted?” I don’t give him time to respond. “Of course you didn’t think about me, what I wanted, whether I wanted to see you. Nope! As usual, it’s all about Knox Merrick,” I say, continuing to walk through the grass to the safety of my back porch.

  His hand lands on my waist. No, it doesn’t land there, he grabs me, not hard or rough, but with just enough tension to let me know he’s not going anywhere. “Don’t call me that.”<
br />
  I push his hands off me. “Your name?”

  “My full name. It makes me sound like I’m not a real person.”

  “How did you imagine this would go?” I ask. “Honestly? What did you think my response would be to seeing you again after all this time?”

  “I guess, I hoped you’d be as happy to see me as I am to see you.”

  That sounds like one of those perfect movie lines that are designed to make a woman’s heart melt. Let’s just say it’s not achieving the desired goal.

  He reaches for my hand, touching my fingers just briefly. My goosebumps triple in size with that one small gesture. A slideshow of memories flash through my mind, like one of those classic red View-Masters you have as a kid. Each click of the button shows you a new image.

  Snap! His hand brushing my hair back.

  Snap! His fingers sliding down my thigh.

  Snap! His hands holding my hips.

  “You’re cold,” he says. “Let’s go inside.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “You’re not coming inside.”

  He raises an eyebrow at me, and I know exactly what his dirty mind is thinking. He’s remembering the time we were having sex from behind, and he pulled out and released on my butt because he didn’t have a condom. I was on the pill, but we usually doubled up on protection.

  “I seem to recall you not liking it when I come . . .”

  Yep, that’s it. I do my best not to smile, but a little one sneaks out. “Be quiet.”

  “That’s better,” he says.

  “You’re still not coming in.”

  His dirty mind is working overtime today, his grin growing. “Not yet.”

  “Goodbye, Knox,” I say, opening the door, slamming it for good measure, and disappearing inside.

  *

  Gently, I pull back the curtain on my front porch window to make sure he’s gone. What the hell? The rain has stopped, and I see him leaning against his car, his cell phone to his ear. He’s the complete picture of a movie star, sexy and cute, with a devilish little grin.

  Does he plan on staying here all night? Should I just talk to him and get it over with? Maybe he just wants to talk about old times.