That incited a terrifying glare from my brother.
“Hey, Knox.” I pulled back to study his face, searching for traces of the brother I remembered.
His eyes were the same storm gray they’d always been.
“Sit down, sis. We need to talk.”
20
APPARENTLY, PRISON GOSSIP TRAVELS FASTER THAN BREAKING NEWS, AND MY BROTHER HAS OPINIONS. #PRISONTMZ
DAKOTA
“Tell me it’s not true.” Knox’s voice boomed through the visiting room chatter like a grenade. His hands were flat on the metal table between us, and I could see the tension rippling through his forearms. “Tell me you’re not dating Axel.”
Well, hello to you too, brother dearest.
“How did you?—”
“Inmates have nothing better to do than sit around, gossiping like old ladies at a church social.” He leaned back in his chair, and I caught a middle-aged woman at the next table over stealing a glance at him.Again.
Seriously? Even in prison orange, my brother apparently had game.
Objectively speaking, Knox was ridiculously good-looking. Athletic build that even the shapeless uniform couldn’t hide, muscles that spoke of hours in the prison gym, and a face that belonged on magazine covers rather than mug shots. His hair was buzzed shorter on the sides but longer on top in thatperfectly messy way that probably took him all of thirty seconds but looked like he’d stepped out of a salon.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he continued.
“It’s … complicated.”
“Complicated.” His eyebrows shot up. “He’s my best friend. You’re my sister. It’s not exactly rocket science why I might have an opinion about this.”
I shifted in the uncomfortable plastic chair. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it. It’s fake.”
Knox went perfectly still. “Fake?” The word came out like he was tasting something bitter. “The hell does that mean?”
I gave him the CliffsNotes version (sansRomano family, hit manfears), watching his expression grow darker with each word. When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those sharp eyes that had always seen too much.
“So, you fake moved in with him too?”
“It’s temporary.”
“Jesus, Dakota.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m surprised he agreed to this. A fake relationship with you, of all people.”
“Gee, thanks, Knox. Really feeling the brotherly love here.”
His mouth quirked up on one side with the same lopsided grin that used to get him out of trouble when we were kids. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh, please. Enlighten me. How exactly did you mean it?”
“You’re sort of the antithesis of everything he stands for.”
I blinked at him. “And that was supposed to make me feel better than your first comment?”
Knox threw his head back and laughed—really laughed—and for a split second, I saw the seven-year-old boy in Hot Wheels pajamas who used to build blanket forts with me. The sound hit me square in the chest, a mixture of joy and pain so sharp, I had to swallow hard against it.
God, I missed that laugh.
“Your conversational skills are really going to need some work when you reenter society,” I said.
