Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout Book 1)

My feet were begging for a break, but the $20,000 in my apron gave me more than enough energy to face the final hour of my shift.

“Naomi!”

I spotted Sloane at a table in the corner with middle-aged biker babes and library board members Blaze and Agatha. Sloane had her hair pulled back in a perky ponytail and was wearing cut-offs and flip-flops. Blaze and Agatha were in their usual uniform of denim and vegan leather.

“Hey!” I greeted them with a spring in my step. “Out on the town?”

“We’re celebrating,” Sloane explained. “The library just got a big, fat grant that I didn’t even remember applying for! Not only does that mean we can start offering free community breakfasts and upgrade the second-floor computers, I can also officially offer you that part-time gig.”

“Are you serious?” I asked, elation rising inside me.

“As serious as a nun in detention,” Blaze said, slapping the table.

Sloane grinned. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“I want it!”

The librarian held out her hand. “Welcome to the Knockemout Public Library, Ms. Community Outreach Coordinator. You officially start next week. Come by this weekend, and we’ll talk about your new duties.”

I grabbed her hand and shook it. Then I hugged her. Then I hugged Blaze and Agatha. “Can I buy you beautiful, amazing ladies a round?” I asked, releasing a dazed-looking Agatha.

“A public librarian can’t say no to free drinks. It’s in the town charter,” Sloane said.

“Neither can us literary supportive lesbians,” Agatha added.

“My wife is right,” Blaze agreed.

I floated through the crowd on the dance floor and plugged in the order for my new bosses. I was thinking about the car I could now afford and the desk I wanted to buy Waylay for her room when Lucian appeared.

“I believe you owe me a dance,” he said, holding out his hand.

I laughed. “I guess it’s the least I can do since you let me win.”

“I never let anyone win,” he assured me, taking my tray and setting it at a table of lady horse farmers who didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s very mercenary of you,” I observed. The band shifted into a slow, twangy tune about lost love.

Lucian pulled me into his arms, and once again, I found myself wondering why Knockemout had such a large population of impossibly sexy men. I was also wondering what Lucian’s motive was for asking me to dance.

He struck me as the type of man who never did anything without an ulterior motive.

“Knox and Nash,” he began.

I congratulated myself on being so astute. “What about them?”

“They’re my best friends. Their feud has run its course. I want to make sure it doesn’t get stirred back up.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything.”

I guffawed right in the man’s face. “You think I’m going to reignite some feud that I had nothing to do with in the first place?”

“You’re a stunning woman, Naomi. More than that, you’re interesting, funny, and kind. You’re worth fighting for.”

“Well, thank you for your kind but bizarre opinion. But you can rest easy knowing that Knox and I can barely stand being in the same room.”

“That doesn’t always mean what you think it means,” he said.

“He’s rude, mercurial, and blames me for everything.”

“Perhaps because you make him feel things he doesn’t want to feel,”

Lucian pointed out.

“Like what? Murderous?”

“What about Nash?” he asked.

“Nash is the opposite of his brother. But I just got out of a long-term relationship. I’m in a new town trying to do what’s best for my niece, who hasn’t had the easiest life. There’s no time left on the clock to explore things with any man,” I said firmly.

“Good. Because I know you’d hate to unintentionally add fuel to the fire.”

“What started their stupid fire in the first place?” I asked.

“Stubbornness. Idiocy. Ego,” he said vaguely.

I knew better than to expect a straight answer from a man who was like a brother to the Morgans.

“Hey, Naomi! Can we add an order of—” Sloane cut off mid-sentence.

The petite blonde was staring open-mouthed up at Lucian like she’d just been sucker-punched. I felt Lucian’s entire body go rigid.

My heart sank with the realization that I’d somehow betrayed my new friend.

“Hey,” I said weakly. “Do you know—” My awkward introduction was unnecessary.

“Sloane,” Lucian said.

While I shivered at the ice in his tone, Sloane had the opposite reaction.

Her expression went mutinous, and an emerald fire snapped in her eyes.

“Is there an asshole convention in town I wasn’t aware of?”

“Still charming as always,” Lucian snapped back.

“Fuck off, Rollins.” With that parting shot, Sloane spun around and marched toward the door.

Lucian still hadn’t moved a muscle, but his gaze was glued to her retreating back. His hands, still on my hips, gripped me hard.

“You about ready to unhand my waitstaff, Luce?” Knox growled behind me.

Startled, I yelped. There were too many pissed-off people in my vicinity.

Lucian released me, gaze remaining on the door.

“Are you okay?” I asked him.

“He’s fine,” Knox said.

“I’m fine.”

It was clearly a lie. The man looked as though he wanted to commit a cold-blooded murder. I wasn’t sure who I should attempt to fix first.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” he said to Knox.

“Yeah. Dinner.”

With that, he headed for the door.

“Is he okay?” I asked Knox.

“How the hell should I know?” he asked irritably.

The door opened just as Lucian got to it, and Wylie Ogden, creepy ex-police chief, stepped inside. The man flinched, then covered it—poorly—

with a smirk when he saw Lucian in front of him. They stared at each other for a long moment before Wylie stepped sideways, giving him a wide berth.

“What in the hell was that?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Knox lied.

Silver whistled from the bar and waved him over. Knox headed in her direction, swearing under his breath.

The guy was wound tighter than a mummy wrapped in Spanx.

“Did Sloane just leave?” Blaze demanded, arriving at my side with Agatha on her heels.

“Yeah. I was dancing with Lucian Rollins. She took one look at him and left. Did I do something wrong?”

Blaze blew out a breath. “That’s not good.”

Agatha shook her head. “Definitely not good. They hate each other.”

“Who could possibly hate Sloane? Isn’t she the nicest person in Northern Virginia?”

Agatha shrugged. “There’s some kind of sticky history between those two. They grew up next door to each other. Didn’t run in the same crowds or anything. No one knows what happened, but they can’t stand the sight of each other.”

I’d been caught dancing with my new friend/boss’s mortal enemy. Damn it.

I needed to make this right. At least ignorance was a plausible defense. I was already reaching for my phone when it started ringing.

It was Stef.

“Shoot. I have to take this,” I told the bikers. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“Witty, I’ve got bad news.”

My heart stopped and then stuttered to a start again. I knew that tone of voice. This wasn’t “we’re out of champagne and ice cream”—this was

“family emergency.”

“What’s wrong? Is Waylay okay?” I plugged my other ear with my finger to hear over the band.

“Way’s fine,” he said. “But Nash was shot tonight. They don’t know if he’s going to pull through. He’s in surgery.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Some sergeant named Grave notified Liza. He drove her to the hospital.

He’s sending someone to notify Knox.”

Knox. I found him through the crowd behind the bar, half smiling at something a customer said. He looked up and locked eyes with me.

My face must have telegraphed something because Knox vaulted over the bar and started pushing his way toward me through the crowd.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Stef said. “I’ve got Way here at Liza’s with all the dogs. We’re fine. You do whatever you need to do.”

Knox reached me and grabbed my arms. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I have to go,” I said into the phone and disconnected.

The front door opened, and I saw two officers in uniform looking grim.

My breath hitched. “Knox,” I whispered.

“Right here, baby. What happened?”

His eyes were bluer in this light, searingly blue and serious as he held on to me.

I shook my head. “It’s not me. It’s you.”

“What’s me?”

With a shaking finger, I pointed at the officers making their way to us.

“Knox, we need to talk,” the taller one said.

I BACKED up the truck for the third time and pulled forward before finally being satisfied with my park job. The hospital rose in front of me like a glowing beacon. An ambulance unloaded a patient on a gurney at the emergency department entrance. Its light painted the parking lot in red and white.

I puffed out a breath, hoping it would settle the anxiety that was burbling in my stomach like a bad chowder.

I could have gone home.

I should have. But when I’d finished my shift, I drove towards the man who had tossed me his keys and told me to drive myself home. He’d made me promise before he’d followed the deputies out the door into the night.

Yet here I was at two a.m., disobeying direct orders and sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.

I should definitely go home. Yep. For sure, I decided, getting out of the truck and walking right on in through the front door.

Given the hour, there was no one sitting at the information desk. I followed the signs to the elevators and the Surgical Intensive Care Unit on the third floor.

It was eerily quiet on the floor. All signs of life were limited to the nurses’ station.

I started toward it when I spotted Knox through the glass in the waiting room, the wide shoulders and impatient stance immediately recognizable. He paced the dimly lit room like a captive tiger.

He must have sensed me in the doorway because he turned swiftly as if to face an enemy.

His jaw clenched, and it was only then that I saw the turmoil. Anger.

Frustration. Fear.

“I brought you coffee,” I said, lamely holding up the travel mug I’d prepared for him in Honky Tonk’s kitchen.

“Thought I told you to go home,” he growled.

“And I didn’t listen. Let’s just move past the part where either one of us pretends to be surprised.”

“I don’t want you here.”

I flinched. Not at his words but at the pain behind them.

I put the coffee down on an end table stacked with magazines that pretended they could distract visitors from the endless loop of fear. “Knox,” I began, taking a step toward him.

“Stop,” he said.

I didn’t listen and slowly closed the distance between us. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

“Just get the fuck out of here, Naomi. Just go. You can’t be here,” his voice was ragged, frustrated.

“I’ll go,” I promised. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” The words came out bitterly.

I raised my hand to lay on his arm.

He flinched away from me. “Don’t,” he said harshly.

I said nothing but stood my ground. I felt like I could breathe in his anger like it was oxygen.

“Don’t,” he said again.

“I won’t.”

“If you touch me right now…” He shook his head. “I’m not in control, Naomi.”

“Just tell me what you need.”

His laugh was dry and bitter. “What I need is to find the motherfucking bastard who did this to my brother. What I need is to rewind the clock so I didn’t waste the last however many years over some stupid fucking fight.

What I need is for my brother to wake the fuck up.”

His breath hitched, and I had no control over my own body. Because one second I was standing in front of him and the next I was wrapping my arms around his waist, holding on and trying to absorb his pain.

His body was tight and vibrating as if he was seconds away from coming apart.

“Stop,” he said on a broken whisper. “Please.”

But I didn’t. I held on tighter, pressing my face to his chest.

He swore under his breath, and then his arms were around me, crushing me to him. He buried his face in my hair and clung to me.

He was so warm, so solid, so alive. I held on to him for dear life and willed him to release some of what he’d kept bottled up.

“Why don’t you ever fucking listen?” he grumbled, lips moving against my hair.

“Because sometimes people don’t know how to ask for what they really need. You needed a hug.”

“No. I didn’t,” he rasped. He was quiet for a long moment, and I listened to his heartbeat. “I needed you.”

My own breath tripped in my throat. I tried to pull back to look up at him, but he held me where I was.

“Just shut up, Daisy,” he advised.

“Okay.”

His hand stroked down my back and then up again. Over and over until I melted into him. I wasn’t sure which one of us was giving the comfort and which was receiving it now.

“He’s out of surgery,” Knox said finally, pulling back incrementally. His thumb traced my lower lip. “They won’t let me see him till he wakes up.”

“Will he want to see you?” I asked.

“I don’t give a fuck what he wants. He’s seeing me.”

“What was the fight about?”

He sighed. When he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, I swooned internally. “I don’t really feel like talkin’ about it, Daze.”

“You have something better to do?”

“Yeah. Yelling at you to go the hell home and get some sleep. Waylay’s first day of school is tomorrow. She doesn’t need a zombie aunt pouring dish soap on her cereal.”

“First of all, we’re having eggs, fruit, and yogurt for breakfast,” I began, then realized he was trying to distract me. “Was it about a woman?”

He looked at the ceiling.

“If you start counting to ten, I will kick you in the shin,” I warned.

He sighed. “No. It wasn’t about a woman.”

“Besides love, what’s worth losing a brother over?”

“Fucking romantics,” he said.

“Maybe if you get it out, instead of bottling it up, you’ll feel better.”

He studied me for another one of those long, pensive beats, and I was sure he was about to tell me to get my ass home.

“Fine.”

I blinked in surprise. “Um. Okay. Wow. So this is happening. Maybe we should sit?” I suggested, eying up the empty vinyl chairs.

“Why does talking have to be a whole damn thing with women?” he grumbled as I led us to a pair of chairs.

“Because anything worth doing is worth doing right.” I sat and patted the chair next to me.

He sat, stretching his long legs in front of him and staring blankly at the window. “I won the lottery,” he said.

“I know that. Liza told me.”

“Took home eleven million, and I thought it was the answer to everything. I bought the bar. A building or two. Invested in Jeremiah’s plan for some fancy-ass salon. Paid off Liza J’s mortgage. She’d been struggling since Pop died.” He looked down at his hands as his palms rubbed against the thighs of his jeans. “It felt so fucking good to be able to solve problems.”

I waited.

“Growing up, we didn’t have much. And after we lost Mom, we didn’t have anything. Liza J and Pop took us in and gave us a home, a family. But money was tight, and in this town, you’ve got some kids driving fucking BMWs to school on their sixteenth birthdays or spending their weekends competing on forty thousand dollar horses.

“Then there was me and Nash and Lucy. None of us grew up with anything, so maybe we took a few things that weren’t ours. Maybe we weren’t always on the straight and narrow, but we learned to be self-sufficient. Learned that sometimes you gotta take what you want instead of waiting for someone to give it to you.”

I handed him his coffee, and he took a sip.

“Then Nash gets a bug up his ass and decides to become Dudley Fucking Do-Right.”

Which must have felt like a rejection to Knox, I realized.

“I gave him money,” Knox said. “Or tried to at least. The stubborn son of a bitch said he didn’t want it. Who says no to that?”

“Apparently your brother.”

“Yeah. Apparently.” Restless, he shoved his fingers through his hair again. “We went back and forth about it for almost two years. Me trying to shove it down his throat, him rejecting it. We threw a few punches over it.

Finally Liza J made him take it. And you know what my stupid little brother did with it?”

I set my teeth in my lower lip because I knew.

“That son of a bitch donated it to the Knockemout PD to build a new goddamn police station. The Knox Morgan Fucking Municipal Building.”

I waited for a few beats, hoping there was more to the story. But when he didn’t continue, I slumped in my seat.

“Are you saying you and your brother have barely spoken in years because he put your name on a building?”

“I’m saying he refused money that could have set him up for the rest of his life and gave it to the cops instead. The cops who had hard-ons for three teenagers just raising a little hell. Fuck. Lucian spent a week in jail on some bullshit charges when we were seventeen. We had to learn to take care of things ourselves instead of running to a crooked chief and his dumbfuck cronies. And Nash just up and hands over two fucking million bucks to them.”

The picture was coming into focus. I cleared my throat. “Uh, are the same cops still with the department?”

Knox hitched his shoulders in a shrug. “No.”

“Does Nash allow the officers under him to take advantage of their position?” I pressed.

He poked his tongue into the inside of his cheek. “No.”

“Is it fair to say that Nash cleaned up the department and replaced bad cops with good cops?”

“Don’t know how good Grave is, considering he still likes to drag race on the weekends,” Knox said stubbornly.

I put my hand on his arm and squeezed. “Knox.”

“What?” he asked the carpet.

“Look at me.”

When he did, I saw the frustration etched on his gorgeous face. I cupped his cheeks in my hands. His beard was coarse against my palms.

“I’m going to tell you something that you and your brother both need to know, and I need this to resonate in your soul,” I said.

His eyes locked on mine. Well, more on my mouth than my eyes. But it was good enough.

“You’re both idiots.”

His gaze tore away from my lips, and his eyes narrowed. I squished his cheeks together before he could snarl at me.

“And if either of you wastes one more damn day on the fact that you two have both worked so hard and given so much to this town in your own ways, then the idiocy is terminal, and there’s no cure.”

I released his face and leaned back.

“If this is your way of cheering me up about my brother getting shot, you suck at it.”

My smile spread slowly. “Take it from me, Viking. You and your brother have a chance to fix things and have an actual relationship. Some of us aren’t that lucky. Some burnt bridges can’t be rebuilt. Don’t burn one over something as stupid as money.”

“That only works if he wakes the fuck up,” he reminded me.

I blew out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”

We sat in silence. His knee and arm were warm and firm against mine.

“Mr. Morgan?” A nurse in blue scrubs stepped into the room. Knox and I both came to our feet. I wondered if he realized he’d taken my hand.

“Your brother is awake, and he’s asking for you,” she said.

I blew out a sigh of relief.

“How is he?” Knox asked.

“Groggy and he’s looking at a long recovery, but the surgical team is happy.”

The tension in his back and shoulders loosened.

I gave his hand a squeeze. “On that note, I think I’ll head home to get Waylay’s cereal and dish detergent ready.”

He tightened his grip on my hand. “Can we have a minute?” he asked the nurse.

“Sure. I’ll be right outside. I’ll take you to him as soon as you’re ready.”

He waited until she stepped outside before drawing me in close.

“Thank you, Naomi,” he whispered just before his lips met mine. Hot, hard, unyielding. His hand slid up to cup my jaw and neck, holding me in place as he kissed every thought out of my head, leaving me nothing but a riot of sensation.

He pulled back, eyes fierce. Then he pressed a kiss to my forehead and left the room.