“I really need to stop texting you about everything that happens in my day,” I decided. “It’s co-dependent.”
“I’ll bring it up with our couples therapist,” Stef quipped. “Listen. I’ll be back in Knockemout in a few days. What do you want to do until then? Get out of Dodge? Buy a new ‘fuck you’ wardrobe?”
He meant it. If I said I felt like flying to Rome and spending a ridiculous amount of money on shoes, he would book the plane tickets. If I told him I wanted to get revenge on Knox by filling his house with Styrofoam peanuts and cat litter, Stef would show up at my house with a U-Haul packed with retribution supplies.
Maybe I didn’t need a life partner. Maybe I already had one.
“I think I want to pretend he doesn’t exist long enough that I forget he does,” I decided.
I wanted to make him not matter. I wanted to not feel a damn thing when he walked into a room. I wanted to forget I’d ever fallen for him in the first place.
“That’s annoyingly mature of you,” Stef observed.
“But I want him to suffer while I forget,” I added.
“That’s my girl,” he said. “So it’s a straightforward Ice Queen with a side of Swan.”
I managed a watery smile despite the gaping hole in my chest cavity. “That sounds about right.”
“Keep an eye on your mailbox for an order from Sephora,” Stef said.
No amount of expensive cosmetics would make me feel better. But I also knew that this was Stef showing me how much he loved me, and I could let him.
“Thanks, Stef,” I whispered.
“Hey. Keep your chin up, Witty. You’ve got a kid to set an example for. Resilience isn’t a bad trait to pass on. Get out there and have some fun. Even if it doesn’t feel fun right away, just fake it till you make it.”
I had a feeling I’d be faking it for a very long time.
Knox Morgan wasn’t the kind of man you got over. Ever.
FORTY
THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING AN IDIOT
Knox
“Stop looking at me like that,” I ordered.
Waylon huffed out a sigh that ruffled his jowls. He looked more mournful than usual, which was saying something for a basset hound. He was also sitting in my lap, with his paws on my chest, creepily staring at me.
Apparently my dog wasn’t a fan of the fact that we were back at the cabin full-time.
He didn’t see it as sparing Naomi from seeing me at the dinner table.
He didn’t care that it was the right fucking thing to do.
It was the right thing to do, I reminded myself.
No matter how hurt she’d looked.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, swiping a hand over my beard.
Dragging it out would have only made things more complicated, hurt more feelings.
She’d been so relaxed and happy, sitting across from me at Dino’s. So damn gorgeous I couldn’t look directly at her or look away. Then the light had gone right out of her.
I’d done that. I’d extinguished it.
But it was the right fucking thing.
I’d feel better soon. I always did. The relief from ending a complication would come, and I wouldn’t feel so…unsettled.
With nothing better to do, I popped the top on my third beer.
It was Monday. I’d put in a full afternoon at Whiskey Clipper, moving into my office when clients and staff started shooting dirty looks at me. Word spread fast in Knockemout. I’d planned on working tonight at the bar, but when I’d walked in the door at Honky Tonk Max and Silver had booed me. Then Fi flipped me the bird and told me to come back when I learned how to be less of an asshole.
This was why I didn’t mess around with Knockemout women.
They were rattlesnake mean when riled. So here I was. Home for the night. Enjoying my solitude.
It would all blow over soon. I’d stop feeling like shit. Naomi would get over it. And everyone would move the fuck on.
Waylon let out another grumble and shot a pointed, droopy look at his empty food dish.
“Fine.”
He jumped down, and I fed him, then returned to the living room, where I flopped down on the couch and reached for the remote.
Instead, my fingers found the picture frame. Since I had nothing better to do, I picked it up and studied it. My parents had been happy. They’d built a life for me and Nash. A good one.
Until it had all crumbled because the foundation was unstable.
I ran a finger over my mom’s smiling face in the photo and wondered for just a moment what she’d think of Naomi and Waylay.
What she’d think of me.