Things We Never Got Over

by Lucy Score

  Thankfully, Knox had stepped in once again, ordering Waylay into the kitchen to get us coffees for the road. When she was out of earshot, he was the one who explained the situation to Mrs. Suarez.

  I did not have a good feeling about what this meant for the custody hearing.

  “We’re not going shopping,” Knox told Waylay as he took the on-ramp for the highway.

  “What’s all the stuff in the back for?” Waylay asked.

  Between freaking out over what our caseworker thought of me allowing multiple break-ins to happen, I was curious too. Before he’d closed the cover over the truck bed, we’d spotted more than a dozen shopping bags.

  “Supplies,” he said mysteriously.

  His phone rang, and I saw Jeremiah’s name on the screen.

  “Yeah,” Knox said by way of a greeting.

  The man was not one for small talk.

  “We’ll be there in about forty-five,” he said into the phone. “Yeah. See you there.”

  “There” turned out to be Hannah’s Place, a homeless shelter on the outskirts of Washington, D.C.

  It was a newer brick building on a large fenced lot. Knox pulled the truck through the gate and swung it around toward the entrance, where I saw Jeremiah standing under an awning.

  “The second string has arrived,” Jeremiah said with a grin as we piled out. “Great ’do, Way.”

  Waylay proudly patted a hand to the little French braid she’d worked around her head like a crown. “Thanks.”

  The woman beside Jeremiah was short, stocky, and very, very brave because she charged right on up to Knox and wrapped him in a hard hug. “There’s my second favorite barber,” she said.

  Knox hugged her back. “How did I lose the top spot this time?”

  She leaned back and grinned wickedly. “Jer brought me two hundred rolls of toilet paper.”

  “We’ll see how you feel about me after you see what I brought,” he said.

  “I see you brought me two new volunteers,” she said.

  “Shirley, meet Naomi and Waylay,” Knox said. “Shirley left a seven-figure corporate gig to run this shelter.”

  “Who needs boardrooms and corner offices when you can spend your days doing good?” Shirley said, shaking my hand and then Waylay’s.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Likewise. Especially if you’ve got two working hands and don’t mind stocking shelves and packing boxes.”

  “Ready and able,” I said, elbowing Waylay, who was looking a little morose.

  “Put ’em where you want ’em,” Knox said. “I’ll set up shop, and we can get started.”

  Waylay and I followed Shirley as she led the way inside.

  “I’d rather be shopping,” Waylay whispered to me.

  “Maybe we can find a mall afterwards,” I said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

  One thing was for sure—Knox Morgan was full of surprises.

  “I guess it’s kinda cool they do this,” Waylay said as we watched Knox and Jeremiah run their makeshift outdoor salon through the tall windows.

  While we had spent two hours sorting food and clothing donations with other volunteers, Knox and Jeremiah had entertained an endless stream of shelter residents in their chairs under the awning on the sidewalk.

  It was a beautiful day edging toward fall, and the mood was festive.

  The staff, volunteers, and residents had formed a kind of large, unruly family making something as bleak as homelessness feel like a challenge to be conquered. Not a stigma to be reinforced.

  Together, Knox and Jeremiah transformed ignored, unruly, disheveled hair into sleek, stylish looks. And in doing so, I realized they were also changing the way each client saw themselves.

  Currently, Jeremiah was working a hand razor over a little boy’s dark hair keeping him in an almost constant state of giggles. The man in Knox’s chair had sat down with a long, scraggly beard and wispy gray hair. His tan face was deeply lined, his thin shoulders stooped. He wore clean sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both a few sizes too big.

  His eyes were closed in what looked like a moment of unguarded bliss as Knox draped a hot towel over his face and readied his shaving supplies.

  “Yeah. Kinda cool,” I agreed, stroking a hand over Waylay’s hair.

  “Those two have been doing this once a month for years,” Shirley said, appearing next to me. “Our residents get a kick out of having $200 haircuts, and it sure changes the way other people see them. We consider ourselves pretty dang lucky to have caught Knox Morgan’s attention with our work here.”

  I wondered if he had his name on this building too. And if he did, did it bother him less than the police station?

  I watched him remove the towel with a flourish, making the man in his chair grin.

  “Grabbed you a coffee.”

  A huge to-go cup materialized before my eyes as I straightened from the table where I was folding t-shirts.

  Knox stood there, holding a second, smaller cup with the kind of look in his eyes that made my heart somersault in my chest.

  The man had played hero to two dozen people today—not counting me—and then he’d run out to grab me a cauldron of coffee.

  It hit me like a warm, glowing wave that swept my feet out from under me.

  “Thanks,” I said, going misty-eyed.

  “The fuck, Daze?”

  Of course he noticed I was about to cry over caffeine. Because he noticed everything.

  “Baby, what’s wrong? Someone say something to you?” He was glaring through the window as if looking for someone to blame.

  “No!” I assured him. “I’m just… This is…amazing, Knox. You know that, right?”

  “It’s a haircut, Naomi,” he said dryly.

  I shook my head. As a woman, I inherently understood that a haircut was rarely just a haircut. “No. It’s more than that. You’re changing the way the world sees each one of these people. And you’re changing the way they feel about themselves.”

  “Shut up,” he said gruffly. But the corner of his mouth lifted, and then he was plucking the coffee out of my hands, putting it on the table next to the stack of shirts, and pulling me into his chest.

  “You shut up,” I said, planting my hands on his shoulders.

  “Where’s Way?” he asked, those blue eyes searching for her.

  Damn it.

  That stupid golden glow was back and threatening to burst out of my chest. The man had spent the day giving homeless men and women haircuts. Then he’d brought me coffee and was now on alert, making sure Waylay was safe. He was as protective of her as he was me.

  I was a goner.

  “She’s over there with Shirley,” I said, pointing in the direction of the playground where Waylay was pushing a little girl on the swings while Shirley led some kind of game.

  Waylay spotted us watching her and waved.

  I waved back, that glow in my chest refusing to budge now.

  I needed to get out of here. Away from those strong arms so I could remind myself why we wouldn’t work. Why we weren’t really together.

  Because Knox didn’t want to be. Because when it came down to it, no one ever really chose me.

  That mean little voice did the trick, popping my pretty little balloon of hope like a dart.

  Knox tensed against me, his hold tightening.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Got yourself a girl, Knox?” a thin, reedy voice asked.

  I turned in his arms to see the man who’d been in Knox’s chair earlier. Now rather than looking like a lost soul, he looked years younger. A silver fox with his hair cut short and swept back from his face. His beard lay neat and gray along his strong jawline.

  Knox’s arms tightened around me, holding my back to his front.

  “Two actually,” I said with a smile, pointing over to where Waylay was giggling at something a boy her age said.

  “Pretty,” the man said. “Just like her mama.”

 
Technically, I could have corrected him. But since Waylay’s mom was my identical twin, I decided to just pocket it as the compliment it was intended. “Thank you,” I said.

  “Aren’t ya gonna introduce us?” the man asked Knox as he scratched at his forearm. There was a subtle unsteadiness to his movements.

  There were a few beats of awkward silence, which I was compelled to interrupt.

  “I’m Naomi,” I said, holding a hand out to the man.

  “Naomi,” he repeated. “I’m—”

  “This is Duke,” Knox interrupted.

  Duke nodded, looking down at his feet for a second.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Duke,” I said, my hand still extended.

  “Then the pleasure is mine,” he said finally. He accepted my hand, his palm rough and warm against mine. He had striking eyes the color of sterling silver.

  “Take good care of ’em, Knox,” he said finally.

  Knox grunted in response and pulled me back a step, my hand sliding out of Duke’s. The man shuffled off in the direction of the big commercial kitchen.

  “We’re leavin’,” Knox announced. “Go get Way.”

  Something had crawled up Knox’s ass. Good. It would keep me from falling head over heels for the man.

  Wordlessly, I picked up the coffee he’d brought me and headed outside to collect Waylay.

  I coaxed her off the playground, telling her that it was time to go home. As we were saying our good-byes, I spotted Knox by the truck with Duke.

  He was handing over a backpack that looked as though it was stuffed full. They were having some kind of discussion that looked intense. Duke kept nodding while looking at his feet and scratching absently at his arms.

  He didn’t look up until Knox held out a white envelope and said something.

  “Who’s Knox talking to?” Waylay asked.

  “A man named Duke. He cut his hair earlier.”

  “Is he okay?”

  I didn’t know if she meant Knox or Duke. “I don’t know, honey.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  F.I.N.E

  Knox

  I’d fucked up in so many ways already, I couldn’t stop myself from making it worse. Even knowing what I had to do next.

  “Knox,” Naomi moaned, her voice muffled by a pillow. This time she wasn’t screaming in frustration. She was doing her best to stay quiet while I fucked her in my grandmother’s house. In the bedroom I’d grown up in.

  She was on her hands and knees in front of me.

  I thought it would be easier if I couldn’t see those eyes. If I didn’t get to watch the way they went glassy under heavy lids when I made her come one last time.

  I was fucking wrong.

  I tightened my grip on the back of her neck and hit the brakes on my thrusts. It cost me. But holding there, sheathed to the hilt inside her, was worth it.

  She shuddered against me, around me, when I pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder blade. My tongue darted out to taste her skin. I wanted to breathe her in. To commit every second of this feeling to my memory.

  I was in too deep. I was drowning. She’d pulled me in over my head, and I was the dumb bastard who’d gone willingly. Forgetting everything I’d learned, every promise I’d ever made, every reason why I couldn’t do this.

  The possibility that it was already too late loomed large.

  “Knox.” Her sob was broken, and I felt her walls flutter around my throbbing dick. My blood pulsed in response.

  I stroked my hand down her back, worshiping the silky warmth under my palm.

  Naomi pulled her head out of the pillow and looked over her shoulder at me. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen, lids heavy. She was seconds from coming. From giving me that miracle. My balls tightened, and I dug my teeth into my lip.

  I needed this. I needed to give her this. One last time.

  I dragged her up so we were both on our knees. Her back flush to my front.

  She lifted her arms overhead, reaching back to grip my neck, my shoulder.

  “Please, Knox. Please,” she begged.

  I didn’t need any further encouragement. I gripped her breast with one hand and sent the other sliding lower, between her legs where we were still joined.

  One testing thrust, and her head fell back against my shoulder.

  I pulled out almost all the way before driving back in.

  She was coming. Her muscles undulated around me, gripping my cock, as I worked her clit, mindlessly driving her over the edge.

  And then I was following her. Diving off the cliff behind her, letting her orgasm milk mine. I came hard, deep. Giving up that first hot spurt to her felt so fucking right.

  She bowed back, accepting what I had to give her. Relishing it even.

  I fucking loved it.

  I fucking loved her.

  It wasn’t until I was empty, still moving in her, still chasing that high, that I remembered how fucking wrong it was. How fucked up I was doing this to her when I knew what came next.

  But I couldn’t stop myself.

  Just like I couldn’t stop myself from pushing us both to the mattress, my arms wrapped tight around her chest, holding her to me.

  I was still inside her as I plotted how I was going to end it all.

  An hour later, Naomi was sound asleep as I slipped out of bed.

  I wanted a drink. A double of something strong enough to make me forget, to make me stop caring. And because I craved the numbness, I ignored it and filled a glass of water instead.

  “Someone’s dehydrated.”

  I was rattled enough to let my own grandmother startle me.

  “Jesus, Liza J. What’re you sneakin’ around for?”

  She flipped on the light switch, studying me behind her bifocals.

  “Been a long time since you snuck a girl into your bed here,” she observed. She was wearing plaid pajama shorts and a matching short-sleeved top. She looked like a lumberjack on summer vacation.

  “I never snuck a girl into my bed under your roof,” I lied.

  “Bullshit. So Callie Edwards just happened to be checking the porch roof at one o’clock in the morning summer of your senior year?”

  I’d forgotten about Callie. And all the other ones. It was like my brain only had room for one woman now. And that was the problem.

  “Don’t mind seein’ you with them,” she said, bumping me out of the way so she could get her own glass of water.

  “Seein’ me with who?”

  Liza shot me a “cut the bullshit” look. “Naomi. Waylay too. You seem happy.”

  I wasn’t. I was anything but happy. I was one step away from a downward spiral I’d never recover from. A spiral that would destroy everything I’d built.

  “It’s nothing serious,” I said, feeling defensive.

  “I saw the look on your face when you came here last night. When you saw how close trouble got to your girl.”

  “She’s not my girl,” I insisted, deliberately ignoring her point.

  “She’s not yours, she’s bound to end up as someone else’s. Pretty girl like that? Thoughtful. Sweet. Funny. Sooner or later, someone with an IQ higher than yours will be along.”

  “Good.”

  She’d find someone else. She deserved someone else. Someone far from here, where I wouldn’t have to run into her in the produce aisle or see her across the bar or down the street. Naomi Witt would just fade away into a ghost of a memory.

  Except I knew it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t fade away. The hook was set. I’d taken the bait. There wouldn’t be a day in the rest of my life that I didn’t think about her. That I wouldn’t say her name in my head a dozen times just to remind myself that I had her once.

  I chugged the water, trying to fight off the tightness in my throat.

  “Your brother looks at her like she’s a home-cooked Sunday dinner,” Liza observed shrewdly. “Maybe he’d be smart enough to know how lucky he was.”

  Some of the water missed my throat and hit my lungs.
I choked, then coughed.

  As I gasped for air, it played out in my head. Naomi and Waylay sitting across the Thanksgiving table. Nash’s hand on the back of her neck. Smiling at her, knowin’ what was in store once everyone else went home for the night.

  I could see her moving over him in the dark, those sweet lips parting. Hair tumbling over her eyes as she breathed out the name. Nash.

  Someone else would get to hear their name from her mouth. Someone else would get to feel like the luckiest man alive. Someone else would bring her mid-afternoon coffees and watch those hazel eyes light up.

  Someone else would take her and Waylay back-to-school shopping.

  And that someone very well could be my own brother.

  “You okay?” Liza asked, dragging me out of my vision.

  “I’m fine.” Another lie.

  “You know what they say about fine. Fucked up. Insecure. Neurotic. And emotional,” Liza muttered. “Turn the lights off when you’re done. Electricity don’t grow on trees.”

  I turned the lights out and stood there in the dark kitchen hating myself.

  I had shards of glass in the lining of my gut.

  That’s how it felt to hold the door to Dino’s open for Naomi. She was wearing another dress, but instead of the long, flowing silhouette of her summer sundresses, this one was fitted with long sleeves. I knew from getting dressed next to her this morning that she was also wearing one of the pairs of underwear I’d bought her.

  The fact that it was the last time that I’d have the right to watch her get dressed had nearly brought me to my knees that morning.

  So had breakfast with her entire fucking family.

  One big happy family gathered around the table. Even desk-duty Nash had joined the fun. Hell, Stef had FaceTimed in from Paris just to judge the bacon Naomi made.

  Amanda was thrilled to have everyone under the same roof and had whipped up a fancy-ass breakfast. Lou, who’d spent most of their time in town hating my guts, now acted like I was a Stef-level addition to the family.

  He’d change his tune soon enough, I guessed.