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The type of man who called a family meeting a few months after our mother died, and introduced us to these people.
None of us have ever seen the mother, but she's here.
At least Paul Knight did one thing right—he didn't force us to see her, and we never have. We didn't even cross paths with the boys until I turned twenty one.
My friends got yachts and cars, and ridiculous parties thrown for that milestone birthday, but for me, and my brothers, it marked the day we all started to have regular get togethers with our father's secret sons.
Dex was nineteen, and Zach only seventeen. The others? They were still in their teens. Enzo, the baby, had just turned fourteen, we were told.
It started from there, the monthly meetings, the Knight family dinners as they're now referred to.
Our father knew what he was doing. He was preparing us to start working in the family business.
“My mother killed herself. Drove off a bridge after finding out he’d had a secret family all those years. He’d hidden it from her for over a decade.”
“Oh, Jett.” Cari clasps a hand to her chest, her eyes filled with shock.
A familiar ache dulls my body. Talking about it now, even after all these years, stirs something raw inside me. I glance away, focusing on the gentle roll of the ocean. “It was a long time ago.” My words catch slightly and I take a moment to compose myself. “I was thirteen when it happened.”
“I’m so sorry.” She rests her hand against the side of my face. The memory hits me, a sharp twist that hasn’t dulled with time. The first moment I heard the news—a crack formed in my world I’d always thought unbreakable. Even now, it’s a wound that hasn’t fully healed.
“Now I’ll worry about you,” she whispers.
I try to smile, to shrug it off. “I’m all grown up now. There’s no need to waste your time worrying about me.”
“A hurt like that never goes away.” Her hand is still in mine, her touch grounding me. Telling her feels as if a load has been lifted from my chest. I pause, reliving the moment I heard of her death all those decades ago. The knife to my heart is as raw now as it was then.
CARI
Jett shared his deepest, darkest secret with me—a part of himself he’s never shown anyone. I know, without him saying it, that I’m the only one he’s ever trusted with this. I vow that I will never betray his confidence.
He opened up about his mother, and from what I’ve overheard in whispers between the other assistants, it’s a topic the Knight brothers never broach.
Him revealing that she died by suicide … it breaks my heart in a way I didn’t expect. It’s no wonder he was so empathetic when I lost my mom. I had no idea of the depth of pain this man has endured, no sense of the scars hidden beneath that polished, arrogant exterior. It’s a tragedy that feels unimaginable, and now that I know, I can’t shake it. The pain of his loss presses into me, leaving me with an ache I feel for him and the boy he once was. Just as I go to hug him, Brooke stirs, then stretches, sticking her skinny little arms up. Her eyelids fly wide open.
I stop, and Jett stands up. “What now, sprout? What do you want to do next?”
She wants to go back in the water. So we do, and with my life vest on, I don’t fear it as much.
We return home and go through the ritual of getting Brooke ready for bed. When she’s snuggled up and her eyes start to droop, I know she’ll be out like a light in no time.
I reach for Jett’s hand and tug him towards his bedroom. Still in my bikini, wearing my sheer cover-up, and smelling of sea and salt, we stand in the middle of his room. I cradle his face, my fingers softly tracing his jawline. His skin is warm beneath my touch, and I lean in, kissing him deeply, trying to convey every ounce of the emotion welling up inside me. The world around us fades as our lips meet—slow and tender at first, then with growing urgency. The kiss becomes a promise of understanding and comfort, of everything I wish I could give him.
“Thank you for sharing about your mom. I know it can’t have been easy.”
He opens the clip that holds my hair up, letting it tumble around my shoulders. “Wasn’t so hard, telling you.” He presses a kiss on my lips.
“I know you worry about me,” I whisper against his mouth, “You’ve been checking in on how I’m doing since my mom passed. But did anyone ever ask howyouwere doing?”
His gaze holds mine, as if stunned by the question. Then, as if all words have failed him, he answers with another kiss, one that ignites a slow fire in the pit of my stomach. My heart pounds as his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, our breaths mingling in a heated silence.
I slipped out of his bed early this morning, feeling annoyed by Dex’s intrusion. All day, I’ve kept my distance, staying aloof when normally we’d sneak a few stolen moments behind Brooke’s back.
He noticed. I saw the flicker in his eyes earlier, a hint of frustration, maybe even longing. Now, here we are, just the two of us again, and I feel him hard and insistent against me, pressing through the delicate fabric of my bikini bottoms. I’m desperate for him, craving him in a way that blurs everything else.
His hand moves between my legs, his fingers push the wisp of fabric and slide it to one side. A shiver of anticipation races through me as his fingers trace my warmth, pressing, circling, each touch sending a cascade of need spiraling through me. A thought crashes into my mind unbidden. I want to take him again, ease onto him, feel every inch of him—
“Sit on me,” he commands, his voice low, his fingers sliding and slipping over my folds, fueling my need. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed. I want to—dear God, I want nothing more than to give in to this wild urge, to let go completely and lose myself in him.