by Kendall Ryan
Minutes later Jaxon appeared, looking sullen. Even though he was the oldest, I worried about him more than the other two. He was in his final year of high school with no clue what he wanted to do afterward.
I leaned against the counter, watching them munch on crackers and listening to stories about school. Tucker wandered away after having his fill, and I brushed the crumbs he left behind into the sink.
“Is everything okay, Knox? I heard screaming coming from your room the other night,” Jaxon asked.
Jaxon was the most like me, which meant he was also the most suspicious, especially after my arrest for a DUI. I could understand their concern. I was the only guardian they had—I couldn’t go off the deep end like that again. And I refused to let them down; that would make me no better than our father.
Embarrassed, I scrubbed a hand over my face. “No. But it will be. In fact, I wanted to tell you that I’ve begun attending a class Saturday mornings to put my life back on track.”
“Is it the anger management class the judge wanted you to take?” Luke, my seventeen-year-old brother asked. His watchful eyes waited for my response.
With Tucker in his bedroom, playing superheroes by the sound of it, I figured Luke and Jaxon were old enough to know the truth. I didn’t shield them from much. To me, that was no different than lying. My father was a liar, and I didn’t care to walk in his footsteps in any regard.
I took a deep breath. The first step was admitting you had a problem, right? “The counselor actually wants me to attend a group for people with sexual addiction. She thought my history with girls was…too much.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Jaxon asked, a hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. He was way too much like me. And the several high school girls I’d found crying at our doorstep proved his track record was already eerily similar to mine.
I needed to find a way to get through to him. But I guess getting my own life on track was the first step.
Chapter Six
McKenna
Friday nights were the hardest for me. I had thought moving to Chicago would be my chance to break free, the beginning of a grand and exciting adventure. But so far, my life here had been anything but.
I worked, I volunteered, and I went home to the quiet little apartment I shared with Brian. Then I’d change into my pajamas and heat up a can of soup for dinner each night while watching sitcom reruns in my bedroom. When I thought about how different my life was from that of other girls my age, it didn’t even seem like we were on the same planet. Going out dancing, dating, going to clubs…all of it felt so far out of reach for me.
I had always thought there would be time for fun later, like I was in a holding pattern waiting for my real life to start. As if all this was temporary. Someday I’d meet someone, forgive myself, and all the stress and guilt I carried around with me would suddenly vanish. I knew it didn’t work that way, but it was a pretty thought.
While I was growing up, school and grades had always been more important than boys and parties. Plus, I was what you’d call a late bloomer. Braces and glasses hampered my social life throughout high school, as well as a layer of acne, thanks to the greasy pizza place I worked at after school. After the accident, a social life and dates to dances were the last things I cared about. It had all been about surviving.
Needing some independence from the little Indiana town where I grew up, I’d jumped at the chance when I was offered a job in Chicago to counsel troubled teens. Besides, there was nothing for me back in Indiana anymore.
After my parents passed away tragically in a car accident my senior year of high school, I’d stayed with my friend Brian and his parents so I could finish the school year. Each day I kept my head down and did what was expected of me, then each night I cried myself to sleep. After graduation, I attended a local community college and continued living with Brian’s parents, even when he moved two hours away to go to Indiana University.
I had moved to Chicago to be free, to start over. But of course that wasn’t possible. My past followed me, just like it always would. Brian decided to relocate along with me, saying he would never let me fend for myself alone in the big city. Even though that had been exactly what I’d wanted. A fresh start where no one knew me as the sad little orphaned girl.
Did I want to live with Brian? No, but affording my own place in Chicago was out of the question. We’d found a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment, so at least we each had our own space. There was also a large kitchen and living room, and a small den where we put a breakfast table and my bookshelves. Brian had painted it a sunny yellow for me, even though we’d have to change it back to white when we moved out, per the landlord’s orders.
I should have been grateful, but his presence was a constant reminder of what had happened. Of who I’d become. I was living as a shell of my former self without any idea how to break free.
I pushed all that from my mind when I heard Brian knock at my bedroom door. Fixing on a pleasant smile, I pulled it open and stepped out into the hall. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.” He pulled me warmly into a hug, and I didn’t fight it. It was the only physical affection I got. And Brian was comfortable, like your favorite tennis shoes. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yep.” I grabbed my purse from the counter and looped it around my body.
Brian had bought a Groupon for a painting class tonight, and invited me along. He knew I wasn’t a go-out-and-party type, and his attempts at taking me out to dinner had failed too. It felt too much like a date, so we stuck to simple activities like this. Safe. Platonic. The story of my life.
When I thought about my meeting in the morning, the prospect of seeing Knox again sent a little thrill through me, making my belly dance with nerves. All week while I worked with the teen girls at the center, I’d felt like a hypocrite. I counseled them about not making their whole life about a guy, yet here I was, all my waking thoughts consumed by the mystery that was Knox Bauer.
“You okay?” Brian squinted at me.
“Fine.” I squirmed, forcing the thoughts of Knox’s raw masculinity from my brain. “Let’s go get our painting on.”
Chapter Seven
Knox
After a trying week with my brothers, the last thing I wanted to do was go to my Sex Addicts Anonymous meeting—but the promise of seeing McKenna there forced my hand. I wanted to watch the way her eyes gravitated toward mine, and the soft flush of pink that warmed her cheeks when she spoke. She was a curiosity. A fun plaything to entertain me since I had to sit through the torture of being there.
I stepped into a pair of jeans and shoved my feet into my worn boots before making my way downstairs. Tucker sped past me, tearing through the kitchen with a bowl of cereal in hand, sloshing milk on the wooden floor right at my feet. He beelined it for the TV to watch his Saturday morning cartoons. It was the only time I let him eat in front of the television, so instead of scolding him for the spilled milk, I dropped a kitchen rag to the floor and began mopping it up with my foot. The TV switched on and a roar of canned laughter came from the other room as I flung the milk-soaked cloth into the sink.
Our house wasn’t clean. It wasn’t organized. But we tried to keep it somewhat tidy. We each took turns washing the dishes and doing the laundry. The floors weren’t mopped and the bathroom was often neglected, but we managed. We had clean dishes to eat from and fresh clothes to wear. It was all we needed.
During the week while the boys were at school, I managed a hardware store, and at night I occasionally picked up bartending shifts for the extra money. It provided enough to pay the bills, but bigger things weighed on me—paying for college, buying cell phones, and cars for the guys. I had no idea how any of that would be possible.
I tried to push those thoughts from my mind as I drove to my sex addicts meeting. I would deal with one problem at a time. It was all I could do.
When I arrived, the chairs were already filling up in a semicircle around McKenna. I grabbed a paper c
up of weak coffee and sat down just as she was getting started. Her eyes flashed to mine and a tiny smile lifted her mouth. She hadn’t thought I would show up, and her relief was visible. I couldn’t help but give her my best panty-dropping grin and watched as her chest and neck flushed pink.
McKenna’s eyes dropped down to the notes on her lap and she took a moment to steady herself before beginning. “Sex addicts are very me-centric. Your addiction isn’t meant to serve anyone else. It’s a selfish pursuit. You get what you want, when you want it. And that’s why it can be so difficult to break. You’re not used to having to delay gratification. Today I want you to think about how you first became dependent on sex.”
She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting around the faces in the group. I couldn’t help but notice she deliberately avoided looking my way. Apparently I rattled her and she needed her composure to continue the meeting.
How did I become dependent on sex? I wasn’t sure I could pinpoint when it happened, but sure, I used sex to numb my pain and manage stress. Listening to McKenna, I was starting to believe that maybe it wasn’t totally normal.
“Over time, people develop a tolerance for sex. They need more and more of it to feel okay, and they experience withdrawal if they can’t have it. Eventually, it can destroy your relationships—your marriage, your job. I know we’ve previously talked about being fired for looking at Internet porn at work, or marriages ending when a spouse discovered an affair. Your risky behaviors put you in danger for contracting a life-threatening STD. Or put you in debt, paying for strip clubs and prostitutes. None of these things lead to good outcomes. Can anyone share some of the techniques they’ve developed to work through their cravings?”
Shit. She actually wanted people to share how they avoided sex? It would be more useful to share techniques on how I seduced girls from nightclubs, coffee shops, the grocery store, or how to fuck standing up in a tiny bathroom stall. Doggie style. It was really the only option.
A timid girl directly across from me cleared her throat. “I count backward from ten and practice deep, calming breaths.”
“That’s great, Mia. Anyone else?” McKenna asked, looking straight at me this time.
I wasn’t saying shit.
Watching McKenna was hypnotic. After our last little exchange, I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind, and seeing her in person, I completely got why. She was soft and pretty. Her voice was light, clear, and appealing. Listening to her and watching the way her mouth moved around her words penetrated my walls, reached deep inside me and went straight to my dick. I had no idea why she’d have such a profound effect on me—unless it was a simple case of wanting what I couldn’t have. I wanted to unbutton her white shirt, push it open, and rub my fingertips over her nipples until she sucked in a deep, shuddery breath. I wanted to see what kind of panties she wore and break down her walls, like she was doing to me.
Holy shit. Maybe I did have a problem. I was sitting in a sex addicts meeting with a hard-on. I was pretty sure that couldn’t be filed under N for normal.
But shit, I wasn’t like these people. Was I? The fucking jackass next to me was dressed in sweatpants with a hole in the crotch, and he’d just spent twenty minutes confessing about how he’d jacked off in the car to porn downloaded on his phone before coming into the meeting. I scooted my chair farther away from him and caught a glare from McKenna.
McKenna continued providing prompts in the conversation and several more people opened up. By the time the hour was up, I knew far more about the people sitting around me than I wanted to.
A few group members still lingered as I approached McKenna at the front of the room, where she was leaning against a table near the window. I wondered if she was going to chastise me for not talking again.
“Still afraid to open up?” she asked, peeking up at me through thick lashes.
I wasn’t afraid, but I knew what she was trying to do. She wanted to goad me into talking.
“I don’t like this sharing bullshit in the group. I’m not saying I won’t talk to you—I will. Me and you. Someplace else. Private.”
She narrowed her eyes, searching mine. “You think you’re the first guy in this group to hit on me? Not by a long shot. I’m here to do a job, Knox. That’s all.”
I chuckled. She thought I was asking her out? That was ridiculous; I didn’t take girls out.
“Don’t judge me. You and your charmed life you lead—you don’t know anything about my life, sweetheart. And P.S. I’m here because I choose to be here.”
“McKenna?” a tall, lanky guy called out from the doorway. “Everything okay?”
I looked his way, noting that I hadn’t seen him in the group before, yet he seemed pretty familiar with McKenna.
“Brian? What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might like a ride home. Is everything all right?” His gaze moved between me and her, his expression radiating concern.
McKenna swallowed and glanced at me before answering. “It’s fine.” She nodded. “And I told you, I’m fine taking the bus.”
“Are you sure?”
McKenna fixed her friend with an icy stare, sending her message loud and clear without words.
“Okay,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I guess I’ll see you at home later.”
“’Bye, Brian.”
Brian nodded and left reluctantly, leaving McKenna and me alone once again.
When she turned to face me again, I could see judgment written all over her pretty face. I was beneath her. She’d labeled me and stuck me in some damn box. Hell, I knew I wasn’t good enough for a girl like her, but I hadn’t expected for her to actually call me out on it.
I fixed a sneer on my face. “Better go get home safe and sound, away from all us fuck-ups, McKenna.” Then I turned for the door and strode away.
Chapter Eight
McKenna
I could not have handled that worse. I hated the idea that I’d offended Knox; that was never my intention. Maybe he’d been serious about opening up one-on-one with me—perhaps it hadn’t been a pick-up line at all. And I’d overreacted. Horribly. A sour pit sank low in my stomach and settled there.
I noticed a small leather-bound notebook resting against the desktop where Knox had been leaning. Crossing the room to retrieve the book, I wondered if there was a way to find him, to apologize and return his journal. I should have just waited to return it to him next Saturday, assuming he came back, but I knew that wasn’t what I wanted.
This group was supposed to be anonymous, but Knox gave his last name at the first meeting—Bauer. And his first name wasn’t all that common, so perhaps I’d have some luck finding him. I pulled out my smartphone and typed his name into Google: Knox Bauer + Chicago, and was rewarded with an address. A home in the South Loop, not too far from where I lived.
Since I hadn’t yet gotten around to buying a car, I took the city bus to a stop that would let me off two blocks from his neighborhood. Along the way, my mind drifted to Brian and the overprotective nature he’d been exhibiting lately. I knew I needed to have a talk with him soon.
After moving to Chicago, Brian had interviewed at several accounting firms in the city and quickly got multiple offers. He insisted that he wouldn’t have me living by myself in a strange city, and changed his entire career plan for me. Living here alone was part of the appeal, but of course I hadn’t argued. I had someone to hang out with Friday nights or go to the Laundromat with on Sundays. It was nice. And he was someone steady I could rely on. I couldn’t really complain; he looked after me and I wasn’t naive enough to think that a young girl alone in the city didn’t need a friend.
Of course there was a chance he might read things wrong between us if we lived together. Sometimes the way he looked at me for too long made me wonder if he and I were on the same page about our friends-only relationship status. But he’d insisted, and I hadn’t refused, even though I knew I’d never reciprocate any deeper feelings he might have. May
be he was too safe a choice—he wasn’t broken—there was nothing for me to fix, so he held no appeal. But either way, I just wasn’t attracted to him that way.
My thoughts drifted as I stared out the window of the bus. Cars whizzed past and tall buildings loomed in the distance. There was a whole bustling world out there that I wasn’t a part of. My life had become something almost unrecognizable. I knew how I’d gotten this way: one tiny step at a time. A few months after I lost my parents, I began volunteering. The grief counselor I saw at school thought it might help, and she was right. Caring for others got my mind off my grief and reminded me that not everyone led a charmed life. I spent time at the soup kitchen, the homeless shelter, a center for special needs kids. It became somewhat of an obsession. It was my escape from the harsh reality my life had become.
My parents’ deaths had been my fault. Not literally, of course; I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. But in a small way, I was responsible, and that was all that mattered. There was no un-doing what I’d done. They’d died in a terrible car accident at the hands of a drunk driver on their way to church one Sunday. I still remembered every vivid detail about that morning.
I’d wanted to sleep in, as I often wanted to do on Sundays. It became a sticking point for me and my mom. We’d fight every weekend because I didn’t care about going to church. I was too old for Sunday school and didn’t see the importance of going. We’d argued that morning, and I’d screamed at them from my room and slammed the door in my mother’s face. They’d left late because of me, much later than usual, and when they drove through the intersection of Main Street and Fourth, the drunk driver was there, running the red light just in time to slam into the passenger side door, killing my mom instantly and banging up my dad pretty badly. He was airlifted to a nearby hospital and died from bleeding inside his brain two days later.