All Chained Up

  Shelley patted her shoulder and nodded sympathetically. Without another word, Briar turned and wove through bodies until she was out of the bar. As though she couldn’t stand to be even in the same vicinity with him.

  Which was just as well.

  He watched Shelley follow after Briar, ignoring the sinking sensation in his chest and shoving away the deep ache that whispered he was making a mistake. Shaking his head, he told himself that it was the right thing to do. He might be a free man, but he wasn’t free enough. Not free to be with her. He was trying to get his life together and he didn’t need a complication like Briar Davis. She made him feel like he was unraveling at the seams.

  The next hour passed in a blur.

  Aunt Alice appeared before him with a huff. “Okay, that’s the third drink order you messed up. At this rate I won’t have any tips tonight. Clearly your head’s somewhere else.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand, cutting him off. “Nope. Not gonna hear it. Ever since that pretty thing showed up and you disappeared with her in the back, you’ve been distracted. Why don’t you take off early? Jimmy and I will lock up.” She waggled her eyebrows at him, clearly indicating she thought he should go after Briar.

  “Aunt Alice, I got this—­”

  She pointed in the direction of the door. “Go on now. You been here almost every day this week. Don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll see you Monday.”

  With a sigh, he nodded and stepped around the bar, exiting through the back. He could at least check in on Uncle Mac. Hopefully, he’d eaten something besides Hostess cakes for dinner. Knox had made spaghetti yesterday so he wouldn’t have to resort to his usual junk food dinner.

  Aunt Alice had done her best to take care of him over the years, but she had her own family to look after, in addition to working at Roscoe’s. Now that Knox was out, he was hoping to ease some of the burden for both his uncle and aunt. He had a lot to make up for.

  He sat in his truck for a moment before starting the engine. He stared vacantly into the back parking lot. Some of the perimeter lights were out and he made a mental note to take care of that this week.

  The old farmhouse where he grew up was only ten minutes from Roscoe’s. He drove past the fallow fields that Uncle Mac, North, and he had planted and harvested growing up. The sight of it in the moonlight, darkly barren with only patches of wilted grass, settled like rocks in the chest.

  The porch light was still burning brightly as he drove up. Sandy hopped down the steps and barked at him as he pulled next to his uncle’s pickup. Uncle Mac didn’t use it much these days—­the stiffness in his left leg getting to be too much even for a simple drive into town. He added getting his uncle’s truck inspected to the to-­do list growing in his head.

  It wasn’t even midnight yet, but Mac kept odd hours. His various medications kept him up at night. Unsurprisingly, his uncle was camped out in the living room in front of the television watching a rerun of Mash.

  “Uncle Mac,” he greeted. “How’s it going?”

  He waved from his recliner. “Good. Not closing tonight?”

  “Alice offered to.”

  His uncle nodded and glanced at the clock. “Eleven-­thirty on a Saturday. In my day, the night would have just been getting started.”

  His uncle wanted him to have a life outside of work and looking after him, and he didn’t bother disguising that fact.

  “Alice mentioned that you’ve got a few admirers at Roscoe’s.”

  Knox laughed once, shaking his head. Of course they were talking about him and his nonexistent life, as they deemed it. Those admirers were regulars and had more mileage on them than his uncle’s old Dodge. He wasn’t interested in any of them. Briar flashed across his mind. Fresh-­faced and smelling of pears. Shit.

  He patted his uncle on the shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  Knox made a move toward his bedroom down the hall, but his uncle’s beefy hand shot out to grab his arm. His grip was still surprisingly strong. Even after the stroke, after losing Katie . . . after Knox and North went to prison and Aunt Sissy died, his hands were still strong. So capable.

  They were the same hands that had picked up Knox and his brother when they’d fallen off their bikes as boys. He was the only father they had ever known. Knox wouldn’t fail him. He couldn’t. Not again.

  He met his uncle’s rheumy gaze. “You can’t run from life,” his uncle said. “From living. I don’t want that. Neither would Katie or your aunt.”

  Knox sucked in a breath and blinked suddenly burning eyes. It was the first time his uncle had mentioned Katie or Aunt Sissy in years. Certainly the first time since Knox had gotten out of prison. It frightened him a little . . . in addition to making him want to blubber like a baby. It was one thing knowing they were gone, but another thing to talk about them being gone, lost forever, so openly. He didn’t talk about it with anyone. He never had. It tore him up too much.

  He blinked fiercely, feeling so damned weak and small. He had a flash of himself when he was seven years old and his mom had driven them all the way from Plano to drop him off at her brother’s place. Uncle Mac’s gonna take care of you and your brother now. Don’t cry. Be brave.

  And Uncle Mac had taken care of them. He took Knox and North in when their mom went to live with some deadbeat that didn’t want kids. He and Aunt Sissy fed them casseroles, got them haircuts, and drove them to little league. A year later his mom had died of an overdose.

  “You need to make a life for yourself,” Uncle Max said gruffly. “A little happiness. Believe it or not, you deserve that. Find someone to spend your life with . . . to love. A woman. Kids.”

  He shook his head, “Uncle Mac—­”

  “Nothing’s worth anything unless you have that.” His voice dipped deeper. Rougher. Like he was battling emotion, maybe holding in tears. Knox hadn’t seen him cry since the night they found Katie in the bathroom, an empty bottle of pills next to her. He hadn’t cried at her funeral.

  Knox hadn’t been there when Aunt Sissy died four years ago, but when Uncle Mac called to tell Knox and North the news, there had been no tears in his voice. Only weariness. A weariness that Knox took deep inside himself. Because it was all his fault.

  If he had kept his shit together all those years ago, maybe Katie would still be here. Maybe Aunt Sissy would never have been so weak that winter and she could have beaten the pneumonia. Maybe, the following year, his uncle wouldn’t have had that stroke. It was a horrible chain of events. A domino effect that Knox blamed himself for starting. He had been the first one to drop, after all.

  “You’ve never disappointed me,” Uncle Mac said gruffly. “But if you quit on building a real life for yourself, you will have.”

  Knox nodded, not knowing what to say. Or think. He settled for, “Okay, Uncle Mac.”

  His uncle released his arm with a satisfied nod as if the matter were resolved. Knox went to his room. It was exactly the same as when he graduated from high school. Same trophies and plaid quilt comforter. Even his old baseball mitt sat on the dresser. When he entered this room, he felt like he was stuck in a time warp. A teenager again and not a man that had lived through all he had.

  Suddenly, the air felt too tight in his lungs. He had to get out of here. Turning, he headed back down the hall.

  “Hey, I’ll be back later, Uncle Mac. Don’t wait up.”

  Uncle Mac waved from his chair, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He probably thought his talk did some good and Knox was going out to live it up.

  Knox didn’t know where he was going. He only knew that he couldn’t sit in that room tonight, reflecting on his lost boyhood. Before everything went to hell. Especially with his uncle’s words echoing all around him: Find someone to spend your life with . . .

  He made it sound so simple. Like he could go pick out a woman, decide t
o be happy, and all would be well. Nothing was that simple.

  He drove down the county road until he hit the highway. Then he passed Roscoe’s and kept going, heading into Sweet Hill. He drove almost blindly, some other force, a deep-­buried instinct, guiding him. The way Briar had looked before she turned and left him in the back of Roscoe’s. That nagged at him, tangling with all the other bullshit weighing on him. He was a Grade A asshole who treated nice girls like shit. And his uncle thought he deserved happiness.

  His uncle didn’t get it. Knox had tossed out any chance for a life like that when he was twenty. Sometimes you fucked up so badly, you didn’t get a chance for normal. You definitely didn’t get a chance for happiness. His uncle didn’t realize that.

  But he did.

  TWENTY-ONE

  WITH HER FACE scrubbed free of makeup and her hair pulled back into its usual ponytail, Briar felt more like her old self. She certainly didn’t feel like the strange creature that got down on her knees in the back of Roscoe’s. Where anyone could see her. Where someone had seen her. That wasn’t her. She didn’t do those things. Really.

  With a miserable groan, she fell sideways face-­first into one of the couch pillows.

  She didn’t know what she had been thinking. That this fling could keep going? That it could be something real? That it could last? She had been listening to Shelley too much when she should have asked herself what Laurel would do.

  She reached for the pack of M&Ms on the table and tore into it. Pouring several into her hand, she tossed them into her mouth. Once she let him know she wasn’t pregnant, he had cut ties. She wouldn’t embarrass herself and chase after him anymore.

  When the ­couple on her television screen started kissing, she punched the remote control with more force than necessary and raced through channels, images blurring until she stopped on a rerun of The Walking Dead.

  Perfect. Nothing sappy. Just what she needed. A little pulse-­pounding action and horror.

  Her phone buzzed on the coffee table and she hesitated before answering it. It was probably Shelley sending a well-­meaning text, calling Knox a jerk and telling her she could do better. Like she had the entire drive home. Only it didn’t make her feel better. It made her feel worse.

  Her phone gave a reminder ding and she sighed, snatching it off the table. The last thing she wanted was Shelley knocking on her door. A very real possibility if she ignored her text.

  When she spotted Knox’s name at the top of the text she choked on an M&M. Lurching up from the couch, she held the phone in both hands as though it might suddenly fly away.

  A single word stared at her from her phone. Sorry.

  Why was he sorry? She waited, staring at her phone and wondering if he would elaborate. Her fingers flew over the keys, not bothering to wait to see. Why??

  She waited as he typed back. When his words burst to life on the screen of her phone, she sucked in a breath. Open the door.

  She bounded off the couch and stared at the door as if it were an animal that might spring to life and bite her.

  Knox was on the other side of that door. Why? What did he want? After tonight, she was certain he wouldn’t be dropping by anymore.

  She quickly typed back. Don’t think that’s a good idea.

  Instantly, he replied. Please.

  Her chest clenched. It was tempting, but a recipe for disaster. Her fingers flew over the keys. We have nothing left to say.

  “Briar, open the door.” His commanding voice carried through the door. “Please,” he added.

  Her phone slipped through her fingers and thudded to the floor. The “Please” was her undoing.

  She moved toward the door, unbolting the top lock.

  Her chin shot up. This wouldn’t be another booty call. She wouldn’t be used . . . or use him. Not anymore.

  Before she could reconsider, she yanked the door open. Knox stood there in the same black T-­shirt and jeans from earlier, still looking bigger than life and sexy as hell in the frame of her doorway. A plastic grocery bag dangled from his hand.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, refusing to let the sight of him wreak havoc on her senses and undermine her determination to resist him.

  He surveyed her, looking her up and down, making her acutely conscious that she was braless under her T-­shirt. Her face burned and she blinked, hoping she didn’t bear the evidence of the chocolate she had been inhaling like oxygen.

  “I came to say I was sorry for the way I was with you earlier and . . . to see if you’re okay.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You wanted me to leave. I left.” Only after she had flung herself at him. Heat crept up her face and her composure threatened to crumble. “No big deal,” she added with a shrug.

  “Yeah. Well. I could have been less . . . harsh.”

  A short laugh escaped her. “Do you know how to be any other way?”

  “I can be . . . not harsh,” he responded without the faintest smile.

  “Not harsh? You can’t even bring yourself to say nice.”

  He nodded slowly, scrubbing a hand over his dark cropped hair. Her belly contracted as she watched him. She knew the shape of his skull. The velvet texture of his hair against her palm and fingers.

  “Well, I’m not nice. I know that, but I’m trying to make this right with us.”

  “You can’t, Knox. It’s done. We’re done.” She moved to shut the door in his face but he stopped her, wedging his boot in the way and preventing her.

  With a growl, she yanked the door back open. “What are you doing here?”

  He lifted his hand and dangled the bag between them. “Dammit, Briar. I brought you this.”

  She stared at the bag, able to make out the Ben and Jerry’s logo through the thin plastic.

  She shook her head, at a loss. “You brought me ice cream?”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Yeah. I’m sorry I was a dick. I didn’t mean to hurt you tonight. I wasn’t trying to do that.”

  She opened her mouth, ready to ask him what it was he had been trying to do. Or maybe, more importantly, what he was trying to do now. But then something made her snap her mouth shut.

  He held the bag up higher between them. “This ice cream is melting.”

  She hesitated only a moment before stepping aside. “It’d be a shame to let it melt. We should eat it. I guess.”

  He stepped inside, and she shut the door after him.

  “I guess so,” he agreed, his expression unreadable.

  An eruption of screams exploded on her wide screen. She glanced over her shoulder to catch Rick busting zombie ass.

  Facing Knox again, she caught him looking in that direction.

  “You like scary movies?” he asked.

  “The Walking Dead,” she replied unthinkingly, glancing at that bag in his hand, feeling some of her anger slip away as she struggled to wrap her head around the fact that he had brought her ice cream. All her girl parts heated and quivered as she remembered what he did with ice cream last time.

  “Never heard of it.”

  She blinked, shaking off her erotic memories. “You’ve never heard of The Walking Dead? Where’ve you been? Under a rock?”

  “Just prison.”

  “Oh.” Her face burned. “There are TVs in prison,” she reminded him.

  “I never spent much time in the rec room watching TV.”

  No, from the looks of him he had spent all his time working out, honing his body into a weapon that could protect him while he was in there. And me. The reminder of what he had done for her, how he had saved her, was never far, but right now it went a long way in softening her toward him.

  He moved ahead of her, sinking down on her couch. He seemed to dominate everything, making the space of her living room somehow tighter, but not in a bad way. It just seemed cozier. It felt mor
e like a home with him in it. Dangerous thinking.

  She fetched two spoons from the kitchen and returned, sinking down on the couch beside him, careful to leave space between them. “Well, c’mon. It’s a marathon. We’re halfway through season two but I’ll catch you up.”

  She pulled the carton out of the bag, pausing when she looked at it. Her face warmed. “Cherry Garcia,” she murmured, easing off the lid. “My favorite.”

  “Yeah. I remember.” His voice had gone all gravelly. Her gaze cut to him. His bright blue eyes went dark as they stared at her face, then lowered, dropping to her chest. Her breasts grew aching, straining against her T-­shirt, nipples hardening as she remembered his fingers rubbing cold ice cream on her, followed by the hot swipe of his tongue. The nip of his teeth. The squeeze of his fingers. Oh. God.

  She dug her spoon into the semisoft ice cream and shoved it into her mouth, hoping that would cool off the sudden heat of arousal swamping her.

  She handed him a spoon and he dug in, taking a big bite. She pointed her spoon at the TV. “That’s Rick and that’s Shane. They used to be best friends . . . but at this point Shane has gone kind of bonkers.”

  They watched the drama unfolding on the screen for several more moments. She inserted explanations when necessary. Even though she’d seen it before, she gasped when Rick stabbed Shane.

  “Well, that was coming,” Knox declared.

  She snorted. “Oh, like you absolutely knew that was going to happen.”

  “He wanted Rick’s wife for himself.”

  “So?”

  “Rick was gonna kill him,” he answered, as if it were the most simple explanation in the world.

  “How do you know that? You’ve just started watching—­”

  “It’s a zombie world, right? Normal rules of society don’t exactly apply.”