Knuckle Down

by Chantal Fernando

  I guess it’s insignificant.

  Knuckles said he’d go to war for me if I needed him, but at the first sign of battle, he’s turned on me.

  He has just as much faith in me as I had in him in the beginning, except he changed all of that, and I let him in.

  I fucking let him in.

  This is the moment I feel stupid, like I always do, and this is also the moment I go numb, shut off all my emotions, and go dead inside.

  “I told myself I’d never completely trust another woman after Flora,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head in self-hate. “I thought you were different, I thought I’d won the fucking lottery this time around, and look what happened.”

  And there it is.

  I’m not the only one with trust issues, apparently Knuckles has some of his own, baggage well hidden and unshared.

  “Well, lucky for you there won’t be any more distraction from me,” I tell him.

  Run, run, run floods through my mind.

  When things get hard, I bail. I leave. I seek higher, safer ground. To self-preserve.

  “I’m sorry the article was printed,” I tell him. “Tell everyone else that I’m sorry too. Now kindly leave me alone and don’t come back here.”

  He makes a scoffing sound. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

  Now I know why he had his helmet in his hands.

  He never planned on staying.

  He storms to his bike, and I unlock my door and go inside, leaning back against the door and sliding to the bottom until I hit the floor.

  This whole situation is fucked, but you know what? It’s going to be fine. I force myself to get off the floor and pull myself together. When I touch my cheeks I realize they’re wet, even though I didn’t know I was crying. I fill the tub and put a rainbow bath bomb in, hoping it will cheer me up a little, but when I climb into the hot, bubbly water, I just cry more.

  I’m in love with him.

  I told myself I was falling, but the truth is it was already too late—I was already in too deep.

  And now he’s gone just as fast as he came into my life.

  After about an hour I force my wrinkly body out of the bathtub and into my fluffy white robe. I’m about to throw on some clothes and take the dogs for a long walk when I hear someone knocking at the door. When I reach the peephole, I see Erin standing there. I quickly open the door and let her in.

  “Here to yell at me, too?” I ask her, sounding subdued to even my own ears.

  She closes the door behind her and tilts her head to the side, shoulders raising and lowering. “You should know me better than that. I’m not an idiot. You didn’t write the article. I’ve read every single article you’ve written, starting from back when you wrote for your high school paper, and I know your writing style, and it clearly wasn’t you. I don’t know how they knew that information, but I know that you sure as hell wouldn’t have just given it to them, so tell me what happened.”

  We move to the living room and sit down. I give her a quick rundown of the situation, and even play the recording I took.

  “What total assholes,” she whispers, head shaking in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. I think Knuckles feels guilty, he knows it’s not your fault—you know that, right? He will come around when he realizes it was as out of your control as it was his. Sure, you writing the draft was a little shady, a good story or not, the MC wouldn’t have wanted the publicity, but you didn’t publish it.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, leaning backward. “He didn’t even let me speak. Maybe it’s for the best. I knew it from the moment I met him he was going to be trouble.”

  “All the good ones worth fighting for are,” she fires back, smiling sadly. “No one blames you, Celina, know that. I spoke to my dad, and Ace, and they know the deal. It’s a shitty situation, but it is what it is, and you didn’t write that article. Those assholes played you, and you know what? They’re going to get what’s coming to them.”

  “Oh, I know that. They’ve definitely messed with the wrong girl; I’m going to take them down,” I promise, crossing my arms. “I just can’t believe they’d be so unprofessional. This isn’t some small paper, it’s the biggest one in the city, and if this comes out, which it will, it’s going to destroy them. They made false accusations, used made-up quotes, and don’t have any kind of proof to back up their statements. They basically thought I was just going to take this because they know I love my job, but they underestimated me.”

  That reminds me, I’m now unemployed and I need to start looking for another job first thing tomorrow. I also need to send them my resignation in writing so they can’t use that against me later.

  “They totally underestimated you. And hello? You were at the Cursed Ravens’ clubhouse, like the headline says, do they think that they’re untouchable? They are seriously going to regret their life decisions, and I don’t care if it’s me who has to make them do that,” my previously innocent baby cousin threatens.

  I hold my hands up. “It’s fine, Erin. I’m going to get them in the courtroom. I have the evidence, I made sure of that straightaway, so there’s nothing they can say to get out of it. I bet Robert will play the ex-boyfriend card, saying I’m holding a grudge or something along those lines, but what he says in the recording implicates them both for knowing what happened and going along with it.”

  “Fine, I guess we can do this the legal way, but for the record, both my dad and Ace offered to step in and do whatever they need to do to put these guys back in their place,” she says, looking smug.

  And while I appreciate the offer, it’s Knuckles who should be offering it to me, just like he promised.

  Except he’s not.

  My first letdown from him, and if I have any sense, it will be my last.

  22

  “Okay, Ms. Hutton, I will call you and let you know when the court date will be set,” Mr. Bentley tells me, glancing over everything he just wrote down. He’s a good-looking man, but more important, he knows his way around the law.

  “Thanks so much for fitting me in,” I tell him. “I know how busy you are.”

  “No problem. I don’t want these guys to get away with this, and Tim Derek has been on a power trip for the last few years, if you ask me. It’s about time someone decided to stand up to him,” he says, placing some money on the table for our coffees before I’m able to.

  “Don’t be silly, I can pa—”

  He doesn’t even let me get the word out. “Do I look like a man who lets a woman pay, Ms. Hutton?”

  I sigh, unimpressed. “No, I guess not.”

  He grins, amused. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

  As soon as we leave the café, I hear the rumble of motorcycles. Assuming it’s random people, I quickly glance their way but soon realize it’s Knuckles, Ace, and Rogue, all of them stopped at the traffic light. Yeah, I’d recognize both his form and his bike anywhere. And I’m walking down the street with Jaxon Bentley.

  Shit.

  Actually, you know what? Maybe this is a good thing. Let him see me with a good-looking, successful man in an expensive suit. I hope the jealousy burns his sharp tongue.

  We stop at my car and Jaxon shakes my hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Great, thanks again,” I tell him, waving ’bye and getting into my car. I don’t look in their direction again, but I hear their bikes speed off, so I know they’ve left. When I pull up at my house though, there he is, waiting for me. Did he ride straight here after he saw me? What the hell?

  “What are you doing here?” I ask as soon as I’m out of the car. “Pretty sure I told you not to come here again, but that’s right, you don’t listen, do you?”

  “Who did you have lunch with?” he barks, storming toward me. “We have one fight and you’re already out with some other guy? What the fuck, Celina?”

  “One fight, is that what we had? I believe for a fight to take place, two people need to have their say. You said what you had to, then yo
u left. That’s what I call a breakup. Is it still called that when you’ve only just met? Let’s call it a lack of judgment. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day ahead of me. Good day,” I say, rushing to my front door.

  I have bigger problems right now than Jack motherfucking Chester. I need to find a job so I can pay my mortgage and do other things, like eat. I have some savings, but it won’t last long. Money just seems to fly, and everything adds up.

  The tightness in my chest that he left simply fuels me.

  “Don’t walk away from me, Celina,” he calls out, and I can hear the agitation in his tone. Does he really think I’d be with another man so soon? I never picked up on the fact that he might have some trust issues, but maybe I should have. There has to be a reason we fit so well together, and maybe it’s because we saw some of ourselves in each other.

  “You already did that, Knuckles,” I reply, going inside and locking the door behind me.

  And when he knocks, I don’t open the door.

  He only came here today because he saw me with Jaxon. If he wanted to make up, he would have tried harder, and been charming and regretful, instead of accusatory and mean, and he would have said what he needed to.

  But he didn’t.

  So you know what? Fuck him.

  Sure, I could have not closed the door on him, but he could have fought a little harder too.

  I apply for four jobs, then take my dogs for a long walk to try to clear my head.

  I feel like there’s something missing now, and I hate that I gave him so much so soon, that I allowed myself to feel something for a man I just met. Instalove is real, the connection is all too real, but none of that dictates if the relationship is going to last.

  In the dating world nowadays, the person who gets attached the most loses.

  And I fucking lost everything.

  After doing freelance work for a few weeks, I get another offer, this one writing an article on a new cruise ship. I take it up in an instant. Not only do I get to go away on a short vacation, I get paid to do it, and it could even open more job opportunities for me. Maybe I could become a travel blogger and get paid to travel or something like that. Excitement fills me at the prospect. Maybe this is exactly what I need to clear my head. There’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to go anywhere with how things are right now, but I’m not going to turn down this opportunity, especially with my current employment situation. Or unemployment as it is.

  Erin tells me she will stay at my house while I’m gone and look after my dogs. I’m so thankful for her, because otherwise I would have had to put them into kennels, and I wouldn’t have been able to really enjoy myself.

  I pack my suitcase in a day, eager to leave, taking my laptop with me so I can apply for more jobs or freelance work if anything else comes up. I know that I’m either going to have to freelance full time or work at a smaller newspaper, and I’m okay with both options. Whatever new job I get, I can do it with my pride intact, but if I went back to my old job, I wouldn’t have that. As always, my pride wins. I’m a qualified woman, and although I’m guessing I won’t be getting a good reference from Tim, my work and my position speak for themselves.

  We need to talk.

  I delete Knuckles’s message, because no, we don’t need to talk. The time for talking is over. I know that Erin would have told him my side of the story by now, so he knows the truth, and I hope he feels bad for not letting me explain. If it’s the guilt he feels because he put the club under the spotlight, well I kind of understand that. If he hadn’t gotten involved with me none of this would have happened. I get that. Even though it wasn’t my doing, I’m still the reason this happened.

  Erin had asked me who the man was that I was with, so I know the gossip had reached the clubhouse, and when I told her it was my lawyer she lost it laughing and told me that it was brilliant because Knuckles was losing his shit, and he kind of deserves that after being a dick to me.

  I say ’bye to my dogs and leave, knowing Erin will be here later using the spare key.

  Time for a change of scenery.

  “What’s the point of being on a cruise if you’re going to sit alone the entire time?” Tayte, a handsome African American man, asks as he drops into the seat next to me. He introduced himself to me last night, and he’s a good-looking, successful, and well-dressed man, but my mind is elsewhere. I thought escape was the answer, but as I stare at the beautiful crystal-clear ocean, I miss my dogs, my friends, and of course I miss Knuckles. I can’t help but think how much fun he would have made this cruise, saying all kinds of inappropriate shit, laughing at everything, and probably trying to fuck me every chance he could get.

  “I’m here for work, not for play,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “So that’s what I’ve been doing. Working.”

  He looks down at my laptop. “And how’s the writing going anyway? The food is good, I feel like that definitely deserves a mention.”

  I nod, agreeing with him. “Don’t worry, the food made the first paragraph.”

  “Good,” he replies quickly, resting his arm behind me. “But you know what they say about all work and no play. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”

  “Oh . . . ummm . . .” I’m trying to think of an excuse, but then something awful happens. I start to feel a little nauseous, and I try to get Tayte to move out of the booth so I can leave, his body cutting off my escape, but he doesn’t get the picture.

  “Please move,” I tell him, pushing at his arm.

  He finally does and I run to the bathroom, just making it in time, throwing up into the toilet. Why does life always throw shit at me when I’m down? I really don’t need to be getting sick right now, especially while I’m on this cruise where I’m around people 24-7 with no escape. I rush back to my room and climb into bed. I’ve had my phone off since I got here, but I decide to turn it on and face reality.

  When it’s on though, no messages come through. Just a picture Erin sent me of her with the dogs, Kobe biting her pant leg, and a missed call from my mom. If I was being honest, I thought Knuckles would keep trying to contact me, but I guess he’s given up too. I shouldn’t be surprised. I did tell him I didn’t want to see him again.

  I once read somewhere that the right man will fight for you.

  But I guess he’s done fighting.

  Suddenly feeling sick again, I run to the bathroom.

  Tears drop down my cheeks, like they always do whenever I throw up. I hate it.

  How much longer am I stuck on this ship again?

  23

  When I remain sick for the next few mornings, my roommate, Dylan, who probably wishes she was sharing a room with anyone else right now, calls the cruise doctor to come and have a look at me. He runs a few tests, including a pee sample and a temperature, mouth, and ear check.

  I’m expecting the worst, after an internet search told me I’m likely to die, when the doctor says, “You’re pregnant.”

  “No, I’m not,” I tell him, getting defensive. Death, I could accept, but this, not so much. “There’s no way I can be pregnant. No way. Impossible. Unless I’m the Virgin Mary.”

  “Have you had sex—?”

  “Well yeah, but he was snipped, so there’s no way I can be pregnant. And I haven’t been with anyone else in months,” I tell him, sitting up and glancing down at my stomach. “This is just a food baby, the food here is really good and I’ve been eating a lot of it. Don’t judge me.”

  The doctor sits down on my bed and studies me. “If he’s the only man you’ve had sex with, maybe the operation didn’t work. It’s rare, but it does happen. Did he get his semen tested afterward to make sure he’s now shooting blanks?”

  I grit my teeth, wondering what I did to the fates that they hate me so much. I cannot catch a break. I look back down at my stomach. “Are you sure I just don’t have some flu that I’m going to spread to the entire cruise ship?”

  “I’m afraid what you have isn’t contagious,” he says, patting my l
eg in sympathy. “I can help the nausea, and I will get you some folic acid supplements, but no more drinking for you.”

  “But that’s my favorite hobby,” I tell him, blinking slowly a few times. I must be in shock. I want to laugh, I want to cry, but mainly I want to jump off this ship, swim home, and get a second opinion.

  “You’re sure?” I ask, eyes pleading with him to tell me this is a huge joke.

  I’m single.

  Unemployed.

  And now pregnant.

  This just can’t get any worse right now.

  “I didn’t get my degree online,” he tells me, arching his brow. “I’m sure. When you get home, go do an ultrasound and see how far along you are.” He stands up to leave, but stops at the door. “Oh, and Celina?”

  “Yeah?” I ask, sounding miserable.

  “Congratulations.”

  I start to cry. I’m not even a crier, but I’ve cried so much in these last few weeks that it makes sense that there’s a valid reason for that.

  I’m not a little bitch.

  I just have a tiny human inside of me who is making me an emotional mess.

  I’m Katie.

  Pregnant, lost, and confused.

  But no one is going to come and save me.

  I stare at the door the doctor just vacated.

  Then I bury my face into my pillow and scream.

  “So, you’re pregnant?” Tayte confirms, sculling the rest of his beer.

  “I know. And drinking is my coping mechanism and I can’t even do that.” I pull a face at my juice in front of me. “Can I smell your beer? Is that weird? Just because I can’t drink it doesn’t mean I can’t smell it, right?”

  “You can smell it if you like,” he murmurs, odd look on his face. “Is that a weird pregnant thing, or a weird you thing?”

  “I have no idea. I only found out I was pregnant this morning,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “It’s been a bit of a rough day. And although I can’t drink, overeating is acceptable.”

  “Is that why you ordered three different meals?” he asks, nodding his head in realization. “I was wondering why you were ordering for a small army.”