Before I even realize what I’m doing, I unlock the door and pull it open, holding onto the wood as I look up into the face of a man I barely know.
“Hey, Knight, what are you doing here?” I croak, my voice rough from lack of use.
The first time I met Knight Taylor was at Betty and her family’s house. My friend got knocked up and married to Cody Barnett, and now they live with the rest of his brothers and their families in a massive log house on the side of a mountain.
The whole place has a hippy commune vibe, but she seems happy, and when she offered me a job in her new studio inMontana, I jumped at the chance to start fresh in a new place. When she offered Etta a job too, I was ecstatic.
Knight is one of the fancy firefighters who jumps out of planes into wildfires. All of them live on the property next door to the Barnetts and hang out with Betty and her family when they’re not at work.
The last time I visited Rockhead Point, the Barnetts invited me to a barbecue, and the whole team of sexy as sin firefighters showed up too. I was introduced to them all, but if I’m honest, Knight stood out to me, because he’s kind of…weird.
While his teammates laughed and joked, Knight stood bolt upright, like a soldier called to attention. Every muscle from his chin down was drawn up tight, but his face was soft and relaxed. He spoke to his buddies. He spoke to the Barnetts. He went through the motions that are expected at a party, but the whole time, he never really relaxed.
Once the food had been eaten and the Barnetts’ tribe of kids had gone to bed, the bonfire had been lit and the night settled. But despite the low-key vibe of the party, I kept finding my attention being drawn to the silent man, part of the group, but still separate.
Oddly, he looks just as out of place standing at my door as he did at the party. Instead of answering my question, his eyes run over me, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Unlike the other times I’ve seen him, his calm facade fades, and something flares to light in his eyes as his lips part and he says, “Hello, little doll.”
THREE
KNIGHT
For the first time in my life, bold, undeniable rage barrels through me.
I have feelings, but they’re rarely, if ever, intense, and I’ve come to understand the emotions I experience are generally more muted than most people’s. But I consider the limitations in my emotional spectrum as a good thing, because unlike other people, I’m not ruled by my feelings.
Or I wasn’t until I met her. Since then, I’ve experienced more disruption in my orderly world than ever before. I know she is the reason for the disturbance, but like a train being shunted onto a different track, I’ve committed to accepting the change of direction and moving forward toward a revised destination with her as my wife as the final goal.
Only the waif standing in front of me is barely recognizable as the woman who has altered my destiny. Her hair is dirty and pulled back into a messy ponytail at the back of her head. Her diminutive body is clad in a rumpled, baggy white T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats that both hang off her frame like she’s either lost weight or the clothes don’t belong to her. Her tiny feet are bare, and the pale pink varnish on her toes is chipped.
Running my eyes over her, my gaze pauses at her hands. Her fingers are balled into fists, but even without looking, I doubt she’s wearing the black nail varnish she’s had on every other time I’ve seen her.
But it’s more than just her clothes. Her entire demeanor seems…diminished. Octavia is tiny, short enough that her head barely reaches my shoulder, even in the chunky shoes I’ve seen her wear. But right now, with her beautiful face makeup-free and dressed in boring, oversized clothes, she seems smaller than ever.
Not bothering to wait for her to invite me in, I step past her and into the small apartment.
“What?” she starts to question, then stops, pressing her lips together as she steps back and closes the door behind me.
Crossing her arms across her chest, her gaze darts to the right, and I turn to look, sucking in a shocked hiss when I see the mess that’s strewn all over the floor. Stepping toward the debris, I lean down and pick up one of the bigger chunks. It’s not just trash, like I first suspected. The painted wood has the remnants of a now familiar-looking character staring back at me, and even without further examination, I know what it is.
Turning, I look at her, and she crumples.
“It’s destroyed,” she says on a sob, her eyes full of tears.
Without thought, I close the distance between us in two steps and scoop her off her feet and into my arms. Holding her tightly to my chest, I urge her to put her arms and legs around me, and without much more than a nudge, she attaches herself to me, buries her face into my neck, and sobs inconsolably, babbling about the pinball table and someone called Abel.
I file away his name, knowing I’ll need to find out who he is and decide if I’m maiming or simply killing him later. Right now, my priority is her. Having her in my arms feels right. It’s been months since I identified her as mine, and finally claiming herwith my touch settles the burn that’s been smoldering inside of me for too long.
I’ve never comforted a sobbing woman before. I’m sure soothing words would help, but I can’t think of anything to say, so instead I hold her tightly while she cries and take all of her sadness into myself. For a moment, I consider checking my watch to see how long she’s been in a state of emotional discomfort—is there a fixed amount of time women cry for?—but I don’t want to let go of her for long enough to look. Instead, I tighten my grip on her, prepared to hold her as long as is required.
“Knight, why are you here?” she eventually asks, her voice muffled against the fabric of my shirt.
“I came for you,” I tell her simply, not bothering to hide the truth.
“For me?”
“Yes, Doll. It’s time to come home.”
She doesn’t speak, but I feel her nod against my shoulder.
