Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Knox

“Ruff!”

It’s not the loudest bark I’ve heard in my lifetime. It’s not even the loudest bark I’ve heard this morning.

But it’s demanding enough that I slip my phone into my pocket, that I stop thinking about the email from Ivy that I woke up to this morning.

It was short and simple without the barest hint of intimacy we had in the weight room.

But she’d emailed me .

And that…

Well, it feels like I’ve won something.

Fucking finally.

And it’s…

Terrifying.

Because Ivy will never just be a quick fuck.

Because from the moment I saw her, I’ve wanted to claim her as my own.

“Grrr.”

Kind of like someone else.

Lips quirking, I glance down at Winter. “Am I ignoring you, pup?”

She stares at me balefully before deigning to allow me to scratch her carefully on the top of her head. She’s on the mend, recovering well from the surgery, though she’ll be in the cast for weeks more yet. Still, the tech that’s been working with her gave me a positive report when I came in—she’s eating and drinking and today she actually stood up and walked for a few paces in the grassy area out back.

“She’s doing better.”

I’d felt Dr. Karlson approach, and I turn to smile up at her then shift over so she can sit next to me on the floor in front of Winter’s kennel.

“All because of you guys,” I say, running a gentle finger through the fringe between Winter’s eyes.

The pup sighs, her eyes sliding closed, clearly exhausted by those few paces in the yard.

“We did our part, but she’s a fighter.”

I think of the tiny lump of fur I found half frozen and shivering.

“Yeah, she is.”

“And also because she has something to live for.”

“What’s that?” I ask absently as Winter shifts a little closer, searching out more scratches. “All the treats she can stomach?”

“Yes.” A beat. “But also…you.”

My stomach tightens and I experience the urge to get up and walk out, the reminder that I can so fucking easily fuck this up and now an innocent creature will be in the crosshairs of my fucked-up-ness swelling up and threatening to take over.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Dr. Karlson opens her mouth, but before she can speak, someone calls her name. Sighing, she pushes to her feet then pauses and pats me on the shoulder. “Winter will be ready to go home by the end of the week.”

I nod but force a smile even as dread builds up in my stomach. “I’ll be ready for her.”

Winter will have all the treats she can handle, nice beds, long walks (when she’s able) and far too many toys.

I can give her that much.

Of course, it’s giving her all the rest of it that I’m really worried about.

Because I think that part of me—the part that might be able to give more—was shattered decades ago.

I push through the door to the rink and pause.

There’s a little girl sitting in the hallway, her nose in a book, her legs swinging back and forth, back and forth.

“Hey, short stuff,” I call.

Her head comes up, and the rage I feel at the sight of that black eye…

It takes everything in me to shove it down, to relax my hands that have clenched into fists at my sides, to not turn right the fuck around and go and find that asshole of a principal. I’d say find that asshole of a kid, but he’s a fucking kid, and yeah, he needs to be punished because he’s an asshole, but I can’t reasonably be okay with punching out a child.

That bitch of a principal on the other hand…

Right, not okay with punching her out either.

But I’d definitely be okay to run interference while Ivy took the honors.

Evie smiles. “Hey, Knox.”

“Whatcha doing?”

“Reading.” A beat. “Whatch you doing?”

My lips twitch. “Getting ready to play some hockey.”

“Mom said you had practice.”

“Yup,” I say.

“Then what?”

“Then we’ll have a quick workout with your mom, and you can go home.”

She shrugs. “I like it here.” Her gaze swivels forward, legs swinging back and forth, back and forth again. “It’s better than recess.”

Poor kid.

Recess was definitely the best part of school—of course, I didn’t have an asshole kid shoving me down and punching me.

“Because of James?”

Another shrug. “He’s mean.”

“It sounds like it.” I lean back against the wall next to her. “Is there anyone else who’s mean?”

“Mrs. Jamieson yells sometimes but she’s mostly nice.”

“Is that your teacher?”

“Yup.”

“And your friends are nice to you too?”

She nods. “And Mrs. Phillips is really nice.”

“Who’s she?”

“Our music teacher. She sings songs with us, and she can play the piano really really well. And she can even play the trumpet.”

“She sounds really talented.”

Evie nods in earnest now. “She told me that when I get to fifth grade, I can learn to play an instrument too. I want to play the saxophone or maybe the drums.”

“I’m sure your mom would love that,” I say dryly, forgetting that Evie’s smart as a whip and with high emotional intelligence.

She picks up on sarcasm and has a mind for details.

“It’ll make her ears hurt.”

I grin, but that grin fades when she asks, “Did you really talk to your lawyers?”

“Yeah.”

“And they’re gonna kick James out of school?”

I exhale quietly. “I don’t think they’ll get James kicked out, but I needed to do something.”

“Why?”

“Because kids can be jerks sometimes, and if the adults around them don’t hold them accountable for their mistakes then they don’t learn.”

Her lips press flat, but I don’t get the sense that she’s unhappy.

More that she’s concentrating.

And her next words confirm that. “Like when I lied to my mom about putting my glass of milk in the sugar container.”

My brows shoot up because…

Disgusting.

But also…why?

“I don’t like milk,” Evie goes on, “but instead of telling my mom that, I…” She screws up her face.

“Poured it in the sugar container?”

“Yup.” Her nose wrinkles. “And boy did it smell bad.”

I laugh. “I bet it did.”

“And Mom made me clean it.” She shudders. “It was awful.”

“I bet.”

A strand of hair slips out of her braid, and she shoves it out of her face in an aggrieved action that I’ve so often seen her mom make that for a second, I forget who I’m with.

She looks so much like her mom.

Only without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

I exhale. “Your braid giving you trouble?”

She shrugs. “Mom says my hair is slippery.”

“Ella’s coming by after practice, you want me to ask her if she can fix you up?”

“Really?” Evie’s greenish brown eyes widen.

“Yup.” I push off the wall. “Braids are one of her favorite things ever. I’ll text her now.”

“Thanks, Knox!”

I tug that wayward strand of hair. “Anytime, short stuff. Now”—I start down the hall—“I’d better get to practice.”

Her gaze immediately drops to her book. “‘Kay.” Her voice doesn’t reach me until I’m about to turn the corner. “Knox?”

“Why’d you really come to school yesterday?”

“I was worried about you and your mom.”

Her eyes hold mine, and I have the impression that this is one of those moments when her emotional IQ is off the charts.

“‘Kay,” she says again.

Then her stare drops back to her book.

And I’m clearly dismissed.

Lips curving—and pretending I’m not in the least bit unnerved by that penetrating stare—I head to the locker room.

“Yo, Knox!” Storm calls the moment I clear the doorway. “You learn how to use door handles yet?”

Jesus, I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?