Knox (A Merrick Brothers Novel)

by Prescott Lane

  She watches the movie, and I watch her. I know her by heart. I know when she cocks her head to the side slightly, she’s smiling. I know when she bites her bottom lip, she’s trying not to cry. I know how she tastes, how she moves, how she moans when I’m buried deep inside her.

  And I know I have to have her in my life. All my dreams of getting away from this small town, becoming famous, rich—those were the dreams of my childhood. And they were wrong.

  Mae is my dream.

  There is no The End at the credits; instead, the last frame of the movie reads The Beginning.

  When the movie is over, she sits, staring at the now blank screen. I place my hand on her thigh, hoping this little reminder worked, hoping she remembers who we are, everything we had.

  “We are so much more than how we ended,” I whisper.

  She looks back at me, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “We are,” she says softly.

  “Can you forgive me?” I ask.

  She takes my hand from her leg, moving it to the back of her seat, before leaning back into my arm, her head landing on my shoulder.

  “I can,” she whispers. “Play it again.”

  *

  She hasn’t stopped smiling since we left. She insisted we watch the movie four times. I told her I had a copy made for her, but she said it was better on the big screen.

  We need more people like her; the movie business is quickly becoming something we do in our homes, by ourselves, separated from others. Going to the movies now means going to the sofa just as often as it does going to a theater. Movies should be experienced with other people.

  I stop in front of her house then hop out to open her door. Taking her hand, she looks up at me. If this was a movie, I’d kiss her, but this is real life, and you can’t rush everything into a two-hour window.

  “Now what?” she whispers.

  She wants to know where we go from here. After you forgive someone, what’s the next step? We can’t go back to how things were, just pick up where we left off.

  “How about a walk by the lake?” I ask.

  She nods, a coy smile on her face. She looks relieved that I’m not initiating some big, serious conversation. We start walking toward the lake, the sun still high in the afternoon sky, making the colors of the wildflowers look more vibrant. Or maybe it’s the woman beside me making everything brighter.

  “I guess I need to watch your movies now,” she says, bumping me with her shoulder.

  “You can skip . . .”

  “Nope. I’m going to watch them all.”

  “Be kind,” I say. Criticism is hard from anyone, but having someone you care about judge your work is even harder, and Mae’s opinion is important to me.

  In my career, I’ve never gotten hung up on reviews, or what critics thought of me. I work hard, do my best, and let the chips fall where they may. I think that attitude comes from losing my mom so early in my life. A negative review isn’t the end of the world when you color everything through that lens. Still, I want Mae to be proud of me.

  She turns to me, grabbing my shoulders. “I have the best idea. Let’s stay up all night like we used to. We can watch all your movies. It’s binge watching Knox Merrick with Knox Merrick!” she says with a giggle.

  I never watch my movies once the premiere is over, but I’m not about to turn down her offer. Eleven movies is about twenty-four hours, give or take. I can’t think of a better place to be than with Mae.

  She takes both my hands, walking backwards toward her house, her eyes on mine, a sweet smile on her face. I know that look. She’s got more than watching movies on her mind. Or at least I hope so.

  “What’s your new movie about?” she asks. “The one coming out next month.”

  “Period war drama,” I say flatly.

  “You don’t sound too happy about it,” she says, releasing my hands and walking toward her house.

  I pull out my phone, knowing it’s going to blow up with notifications when I finally power it back on. “Lots of problems post-production. I’m learning a lot about what not to do in my own company.”

  “You have your own production company?” she asks, opening her front door.

  “Just started it,” I say. “I wanted some say in what goes in front of an audience.”

  She turns to me, pausing in the doorway. “Like what?”

  “I want to specialize in book to film adaptations,” I say. “I’m hoping to tap into the indie author market. There are some really great writers out there that people need to know about.”

  “I kinda love that,” she says. “But you better be careful. The book is always better than the movie!”

  “I’m going to change that,” I say, following her inside.

  She kicks off her shoes, drops her purse on a side table, and walks into the kitchen talking about books she’s read that I ought to consider.

  I see an alarm panel on the wall, but it obviously wasn’t set. Her place is relatively small. The den and kitchen are combined. The only eating area I see is at the kitchen island, which holds a vase of wildflowers. There’s a fireplace made from this old grey stone that matches the floors. There are two sets of French doors that lead outside with great views of the lake. I have to smile at the fact we both have water views.

  The decor is a mix of colors and fabrics. And I know immediately that, unlike my houses, no designer has touched this place. It’s completely Mae, and I love it. There’s a framed poster and a coffee mug touting her radio show. We’ve got that in common. Branding is everything.

  My eyes land on her bookshelf, an old, battered cassette player resting there. That has to be the one she used to record all our tapes. She kept it. She kept that little piece of us. Like me, she never totally let go. I wish I’d known that sooner.

  “Hungry?” she asks, looking at me from behind the refrigerator door. She’s got a baby blue refrigerator. Of course, she does!

  “Yeah.”

  She holds out two bags. “Frozen fries or pizza rolls?”

  You know you’ve gone Hollywood when the first thing you think is that your trainer and nutritionist are going to kill you. This is a far cry from the women I’m used to, who wouldn’t eat processed food to save their life. “Both,” I say.

  “Good man,” she says, starting the oven.

  She pours both the fries and pizza rolls on the same baking sheet, sticking them in the oven before it’s even preheated. Who knows if they are even supposed to be cooked at the same temperature! Silly little things like that about Mae make her so fucking adorable, and she has no clue. She never has.

  “Bathroom’s through there,” she says, pointing out some doors. “That’s the spare bedroom, which I use for an office, and my bedroom’s through that door. That’s the grand tour. I’m sure you’re used to bigger places, but it’s the perfect size for me.”

  “I like it,” I say. “You said earlier you were proud of me, but I don’t think I told you how proud I am of you. How great your show is. I can’t believe my Mae has her own radio show. I mean, I always knew you’d be great at whatever you did. You never talked about radio, but you’re a natural.”

  “Thanks,” she says, walking over and handing me a bottle of water. We both sit down on her oversized sofa. “I haven’t been to the store. This is all I’ve got.”

  I know she doesn’t like beer, and it makes me happy she doesn’t have any. Beer often indicates a man has been around. From my brief glimpses, I don’t see any photos of old boyfriends. That’s a good sign.

  “I just kind of fell into the whole radio thing,” she says.

  She places her bottle down, staring out the window toward the water. Suddenly, she looks like she’s a million miles away. I follow her lead, putting my drink down, and inch closer to her on the sofa. “Everything okay?”

  “I was interning at the radio station after we broke up. One Sunday night, the host didn’t show up, and they threw me on the air. I didn’t know what to do, and they just told me to talk abo
ut me. Even though it had been a while, our breakup was still fresh in my mind. That’s how The Breakup Bible was born.” She looks over at me. “I wouldn’t have my career if we hadn’t broken up.”

  “I probably wouldn’t have mine, either,” I say.

  “Yes, you would,” she says. “You were on your way when we ended.”

  It might be forward and fast, but fuck it. Five lost years is enough. I don’t want to play games. Looking into her blue eyes, I whisper, “I’d give it all up to have never lost you. To have those five years back.”

  Her breath catches, and she looks down. “But then who would save the world from all those alien attacks?” she teases, making fun of the worst career choice I’ve ever made.

  Her little joke lets me know she’s not ready to talk about what this is between us. Not yet. “I’m glad you didn’t see that one.”

  She smiles a little, reaching for the ends of her hair, twirling them. “Today? What you did with the movie, that was really something.”

  “Something,” I repeat, scooting closer, feeling the something between us growing, expanding, filling up the whole room. One of us better do something soon before we combust.

  “Definitely something,” she says, her eyes falling to my mouth.

  That’s it. Those two little words are enough to reassure me that she finally admits there is still something between us. That’s the only go ahead I need.

  There’s no director here yelling where to place our hands, how to angle our bodies. There’s no lighting crew making sure the mood is right. There’s no wardrobe person or makeup artist to make sure we look our best. It’s just me and Mae, the way it’s meant to be.

  Placing my hand on her cheek, I urge her to me, drawing her closer with each beat of our hearts. There’s so much I want to tell her, say to her, promise her, but no one is handing me a script to read from. I have to figure it out myself.

  Fuck it! Actions speak louder than words, anyway.

  Impatience takes over, and I yank her to me, seeing her smile, but before my lips land on hers, a knock comes from her front door.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

  She laughs a little, getting to her feet. “I’m not expecting anyone.”

  “Amazon Prime order?” I joke.

  “Nope. Although, I do love that two-day shipping,” she says, opening the door.

  A camera immediately flies in her face. From my position on the sofa, they can’t see me, but I sure as hell know what’s going on.

  “Denver Daily News!” the man says, practically yelling at her. “Reports are all over town of Knox Merrick sightings last week and this week. Rumors are swirling that you and he . . .”

  Jumping to my feet, I slam the door, looking down to find Mae standing frozen. Shit! I should’ve predicted this. I can only hide out for so long. Eventually, word spreads, and the media want their story. Why am I in town? How long am I staying? Who am I screwing? They think they’re entitled to all that.

  I place my hands on her waist. “Mae?”

  She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t say a word. I’m so fucked here. If she’s not ready for us to talk about whatever’s going on here, she’s certainly not ready for it to be splashed on the front page. It was only a Denver paper, but it won’t be long before it hits national entertainment news outlets. This is why people who live their life in the limelight tend to date each other; you don’t want to drag someone else into the chaos. It’s hard for others to understand if they don’t live it. As much as I hate it, I did choose this career and all that comes along with it. Mae did not.

  “Mae,” I say again.

  Her eyes shift to mine. “That pile of shit!” she curses, so loud I’m sure he heard it. She opens the door again, ready for a fight.

  The guy is still standing there. His eyes shift from me to Mae then back to me again. Clearly, he has no idea what to do at this point.

  “How much will it take to make this story disappear?” I ask. “Leave her name out of it?”

  The son of a bitch cocks his chin up, like he can’t be bought. Like freedom of the press is incorruptible. Dealing with the press is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I need them to promote my movies, but times like these, they are intrusive and overstep. Sometimes I wish someone would shove a camera in their girlfriends’ face and see how they’d like it.

  “No,” Mae says, holding her hand up to stop me. “You won’t pay him a dime.”

  I look down at her, taking her hand. Normally, I find it best to keep the press happy, to smile. Fake politeness can go a long way. My brother, Ryder, has the opposite approach, known for throwing them the middle finger, but I’ve found it easier to just play nice. “Mae, you don’t have any idea . . .”

  “Mae?” the reporter repeats, a smug look on his face, like I just gave him some piece of information he didn’t already know. He’s standing on her front porch, for fuck’s sake, I’m sure he already had her name.

  “Yes,” Mae says. “That’s M-A-E, not May like the month. Make sure you get that right. It’s a pet peeve of mine when people misspell my name.”

  What the hell is she doing? I know she’s not with me for fame. I know she’s not an attention whore, looking to get her name in the paper. What game is she playing?

  “And your name is?” she asks.

  “Vincent Jones,” he says.

  “Perfect,” Mae says. “You see the road back there?”

  “Yes,” he says, looking back over his shoulder.

  “And to the left, that clearing past the wildflowers?”

  “Sure.”

  “And on the right, all the way at the end, there’s that pole.”

  “I see it.”

  “I own all that land,” she says.

  “So?”

  “So, Mr. Jones, you are trespassing on my property, and if you don’t get your ass off my porch, I’m going to call the police. And if you print anything about me or Knox, we’ll both sue you, and while we may not win, we will make sure to run your paper into the ground with legal fees.” She flashes him a big smile. “Now, have a good night.”

  His jaw on the floor, Mae waves her hand at him, shooing him away. She may have just handed him his balls, but he looks pissed about it. She just made him an enemy. He starts off her porch. Her threat might have worked this time, on a Colorado paper, but it won’t when it comes to the bigger outlets.

  She looks up at me, a satisfied smile on her pretty face. “He won’t be the last,” I say. “You can’t threaten them all.”

  “No,” she says. “But I can keep them off my property.”

  “Mae,” I say, taking her hands and leading her back to the sofa.

  “You can skip the warnings,” she says. “You’ve spent the past two weeks working your way back into my life. You can’t try to warn me off now.”

  She’s right.

  Mae’s always been smart, tough. I know she can handle herself. Plus, she has me.

  “I think you promised me a movie date?” I say, letting her know I’m all in. We both plop down on the sofa when a smell comes from the kitchen.

  “Oh no!” she cries. “If that asshole made me burn the fries and pizza rolls, I’m going to be so mad.”

  *

  Under the guise that movies are best watched in the dark, I closed all the curtains in Mae’s living room. Really, I wanted to make sure that, if there were other reporters out there, they couldn’t get a shot. I briefly turned on my phone and checked to make sure there weren’t any reports online anywhere. There was nothing, so at this point, I think it was just the Denver press sniffing around.

  Mae decided we should watch all my movies in the order in which they were made, which means the first one we watched was the movie that led to our breakup. The one I promoted by walking the carpet and denying being in a relationship. I didn’t have a huge part, but it was still weird to sit next to her and watch it. Thank God, there weren’t any intimate scenes in this one. I’m not sure how I�
��m going to sit next to her and watch her watch me kiss someone else. That’s fucked up.

  The second movie we watch is my first featured role. I remember being so nervous to act alongside two Hollywood A-listers in the film, but judging by the look on Mae’s face, I held my own. Midway through, Mae leans back on the sofa, her feet across my lap, the hem of her dress inching higher every time she moves.

  This was our go-to television viewing position as teenagers. My dad walked in once while we were watching a movie, found Mae’s head was in my lap, and you would’ve thought she was giving me head right then and there. So after that, only her feet could rest in my lap. Long after we weren’t living at home, we still maintained this position.

  I wonder if her other favorite positions are still the same. She used to love it when I was on top or took her from behind. I really hope she hasn’t lost her adventurous, dirty side. I’ve missed it. Casual sex with semi-strangers doesn’t lend itself to the naughtier side of things. At least not for me, it hasn’t. One has to be careful when you don’t really know the other person. Straight up vanilla sex tends to be the name of the game in those situations. It’s a bit harder to tie up someone that you just met.

  With my fingers, I trace small circles around her ankles. The skin of her legs is smooth and soft. Mae is a strong woman, sassy, feisty—as the newspaper guy just found out—but in the bedroom, she likes to be taken. I love that about her. She trusts me to give her exactly what she needs. She puts her pleasure in my hands, and I make sure to deliver.

  Well, I used to.

  My eyes wander up her long legs. Dresses are a man’s best friend. Hike it up, yank her panties down, and I’m in. Hell, I don’t even have to take her panties off. I could just push them aside. Panties are the single worst item of clothing ever created. They just get in my way. Bras do, too. Mae should do away with all her undergarments completely. I can’t help the small grin that comes to my face with that thought.

  I really shouldn’t be thinking about her naked, or what I’d like to do with her naked body. I haven’t even kissed her in five years.