Page 16

Chapter Fifteen

Knova

I wake up early and make a beeline for the shower. Viktor’s still out like a light, which is for the best. The sex was great. Talking would be… less great. Because if he’s lying, I’ll feel like a fool. But if he’s not? If I’ve been punishing him for something he didn’t do? Then I’m not just the villain in this story—I’m the worst kind. The kind that refuses to admit when she’s wrong.

I feel like I screwed up somehow, even though he’s the one sneaking around behind my back. He has no right to be hurt by my behavior.

Unless I’m wrong about where he went last Saturday. But he had to be up to something, right? Or else he’d just tell me. Even if it’s not a clandestine affair, it’s got to be something. I remember the rumors about Viktor in high school. After our failed almost-date, people gossiped about him taking pills. Damn it, is my husband a drug mule? He doesn’t strike me as the type, but maybe that’s what makes him successful. I’ve seen Breaking Bad on vintage Netflix. Maybe he’s like the scary guy who runs the fried chicken place, except instead of being a quiet, ominous man who hawks meth, he’s a boisterous goofball who peddles uppers.

If I keep thinking like this, I am going to drive myself up the wall. To clear my head, I take a quick, ice-cold shower and get dressed as quietly as possible. I’m on my way to the kitchen in search of some much-needed coffee when my phone buzzes. Knight’s photo pops up on the screen.

“Yo,” I bark into the receiver as I paw through the cupboard in search of life-giving caffeine.

“Good morning, Knova. Want to get breakfast with me?”

I close the cupboard. “Are you buying?”

“Sure. Meet outside in five? Looks like you’re ready to go, but I’m guessing you’ll need to grab shoes.”

I turn on the spot, looking out across the kitchen island, over the sofas to the windows facing the street. I can see my brother standing at his window, staring at me.

“Dude, that’s so fucking creepy,” I groan.

“If you hate it so much, buy curtains.”

“You buy curtains.”

“Compromise: we will both buy curtains.”

“Compromise accepted, perv. See you outside in five.”

I hang up and stuff my phone into the pocket of my leggings. Note to self: never, ever, ever fuck on the living room couch. This condo is beautiful, but there is zero privacy. I don’t know if it would be worse to have my brother living across the street or a stranger. It’s a choice of evils.

I pull on some sneakers, grab my purse, and head out into the street. Knight is already waiting on the sidewalk.

“Is the cafe down the street okay?”

“The one with those amazing croissants? Hell, yes. I’m getting two.”

“I’ll get you whatever you want, on one condition. We’re talking about what happened last night.”

I roll my head back and groan. “Must we?”

“Those are my terms.”

I’m tempted to turn on my heel and head back upstairs, but Viktor’s upstairs, and I’m not ready to talk to him, either.

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” I say as I stomp down the street after him.

“Seems like an understatement, but okay.” Knight elbows me. “I forgive you, but it wouldn’t hurt if you wanted to apologize to Sofia, too.”

Want is a strong word, but I certainly should apologize. “I’ll say something the next time I see her.”

I owe her more than that. I owe Viktor more, too. But saying sorry to him means admitting I’ve been wrong. And that’s always been my weakest muscle. I’d rather carry fifty pounds of guilt in my chest than lift one damn apology with my mouth.

“Good.” Knight leads me up to the cafe door and holds it open for me. “Now, let’s get some caffeine in you, and then we’ll get serious.”

I order an extremely unserious coffee beverage—though it would be more honest to call it a sugar-beverage, given the caffeine-to-cane-syrup ratio. We pick out an assortment of the day’s best pastry offerings and take it all to a table in the corner, where instead of cutting the pastries in half, we proceed to fight over them like a couple of feral raccoons.

Knight wins the scuffle for the raspberry Danish. High on the success of his victory, he announces, “You need to chill with this deep simmering hatred of Viktor.”

I hunch over my almond croissant, prepared to defend it with my life. “You would say that,” I mutter, tearing a chunk off my croissant. “You weren’t the one who stood outside in the cold in a new dress while everyone whispered that he ditched me for someone hotter. You didn’t get laughed at in the hallway for weeks. I was stupid enough to like him, and he made me feel like a joke.”

Knight sighs. “There’s something you don’t know. Viktor didn’t stand you up to be with someone else.”

I take a fortifying sip of my drink and end up with a mouthful of cold-foam cream. It tastes like heaven. “Nice try. I heard all the rumors. I know about Nona.”

Instead of admitting that I’ve caught him in a lie, Knight cocks his head. “Who the hell is Nona?”

I throw my hands in the air. “The fuck if I know. But the night after the dance? You and Viktor were whispering in your room, and Sofia and I were eavesdropping outside your door. We heard him say something about 'Nona,' and we figured that was the girl he ditched me for. Some rando from another school, probably. We didn’t know her, but she had to exist, right? Because he didn’t show. What else were we supposed to think?”

For a long moment, Knight just stares. I can practically hear the dial-up noises as his brain boots up the memory. Then it clicks—and he bursts out laughing so hard he slaps the table, nearly launching his drink across the room.

I catch the cup just in time and scowl. “I see nothing funny about this.”

“Nona.” He gasps between wheezes. “Oh my God. We weren’t talking about some girl named Nona. We were whispering about a boner.”

I blink at him. “I beg your finest pardon?”

Knight dabs his face with a napkin to blot away the literal tears of hilarity he has shed at my expense. “What do you think happened that night?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Viktor asked me to the eighth-grade dance, and then he never showed up because he got a better offer.”

“Close.” Knight wags a finger at me. “But what if I told you that he couldn’t go to the dance because he was in the ER with a perma-boner?”

I blink. Once. Twice. My jaw opens, but no words come out. My breath catches. Not because it’s funny—though it is—but because all this time, I thought he didn’t care. I built a whole wall between us based on a lie. And behind that wall? I let my anger grow wild like ivy. I let it shape the woman I became. Distrustful. Guarded. Like trusting anyone again was a setup for heartbreak.

For a moment, I just sit there, stunned, because the truth is so stupid it almost makes me mad all over again. But beneath the absurdity, there’s something worse:

We wasted years. Years of pretending we hated each other. Years of mistrust built on a myth. And it all could’ve been different.

My vision blurs, but I blink it away. I am not crying in this bougie pastry cafe over a dick pill.

“I would call you on your bullshit,” I say through a mouthful of crumbs. “Nobody goes to the ER for that.”

“They do if the reason is that they have a best friend who gave them a pill… a confidence pill… because he was afraid of you… just a little.”

I stare at my brother. “No way.”

Knight responds by aiming finger guns at me and offering an awkward grin. “You can see why neither of us explained it before.”

I gawk at him. “You have got to be fucking kidding me. I didn’t want sex. I was fourteen! I just wanted to go to the dance with the hottest guy at school!”

Knight does a double-take. “Wait, I thought I was the hottest guy at school.”

I snap my fingers in front of his face. “You’re my brother . Focus. Were you the friend in question?”

He nods. “I found one of those supplements at a gas station.”

“Why would you give my would-be boyfriend a dick pill?” I demand.

“I didn’t realize what they did, I just thought, you know, confidence wouldn’t hurt. He was so nervous. The instructions said the pills would take about half an hour to work, so he took one about half an hour before he was supposed to leave, and then… he ended up in the ER. He said that boner lasted for almost seven hours. His blood pressure was so screwy, he couldn’t stand upright without getting lightheaded. It was so hard that it literally broke the zipper of his dress pants. Molly about had a stroke. Then she thought he might be a junkie.”

I rub my forehead. This is all making a disturbing amount of sense. I mean, it’s nonsense, but it’s the kind of nonsense my brother and his friends regularly engaged in back then. Still do, honestly.

“And why didn’t he just tell me?” I ask at last. “He knew I was mad.”

Knight looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Knova. Be serious. What fourteen-year-old boy is gonna admit he took a sketchy gas station pill and landed in the ER with a boner that broke his dress pants?”

He has a point. But still—I raise my eyebrows, waiting for more.

“He was humiliated,” Knight says simply. “And he didn’t know what to do with that. So he didn’t explain. Didn’t apologize. Didn’t own it. Instead, he did what teenage boys do when they’re scared they’ve screwed something up—they fake swagger. He let the rumors spin it into something cool. A power move. The guy who ditched a girl because he had better options? That was easier to live with than being the guy who accidentally self-sabotaged and broke a good girl’s heart.”

My heart squeezes.

Knight shrugs. “You think he understood what that night meant to you? He was a dumbass kid trying to impress a girl he’d held a torch for since third grade. But instead of owning it, he leaned into bravado, because that's all boys that age really have. Arrogance. Misplaced confidence. No clue how to clean up their own messes.”

I close my eyes, gutted by the sudden clarity. “And I punished him for it. For years.”

Knight doesn’t soften the blow. “Yeah. But don’t get it twisted—he’s punished himself just as much. Maybe more. Because while you were turning that night into your villain origin story, he was building a personality around trying not to fuck up again. Problem is? He still hasn’t figured out how to say the words that matter. Maybe too much time has passed. There’s too much water under the bridge. I don’t know.”

“And you, my twin brother, just… let my soul be crushed?”

Knight shrugs. “You didn’t act crushed.”

“Of course not!” I run my fingers through my hair. “Then he would know I was hurt. That I cared. Instead, I just did the logical thing and decided to hold a grudge for eternity.”

Knight leans closer and lowers his voice. “Then this will rock your world. You ready?”

As if my world wasn’t already rocked enough for one day. I wave for him to continue. “Lay it on me.”

Knight scans the cafe, then cups his hand around his mouth to stage-whisper, “Your secret husband is a fake fuckboy.”

He waits for me to gasp and swoon or something. I nibble the caramel scone we got instead.

“I’m serious. He has only fallen once in his life, and he has never recovered. I live across from his curtainless castle. Ask me how many women he has had in that condo?”

After what Viktor told me last night, I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say next. “Just me?”

He nods. “Just you. And before you jump to any conclusions… he comes home every night.”

His point is made, but I’m not entirely convinced. I still have one question: “So where was he Saturday morning?”

From the expression on my brother’s face, I know that he knows. He sits back and pretends to zip and lock his lips. “Just give him a chance to tell you. But I can guarantee it involves no other women. I’ve said enough. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to run. It’s a game night, and I have places to be. You’re coming, right?”

I slurp my now-tepid coffee confection. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Knight acts like he’s about to get up but pauses with both hands braced on the table. “Why do you look so sad? I thought you’d feel better.”

“I thought punishing him would make me feel better.” I grip my cup so hard my fingers ache. “But it never did. It just made me harder. Meaner. And all this time, I blamed him for something he didn’t even do.”

I swirl my straw in the melted ice, watching it spin like the mess in my head. I should feel lighter now that I know the truth, but instead I feel… hollow. Because it wasn’t just that I hurt him. It’s that I wanted to. I wanted him to feel the way I did—rejected, insecure, unsure.

What does it say about me that I got what I wanted, and I still feel like shit?

“I have a feeling I’m going to have to eat a lot of crow for this.” Now that I know about ‘Nona,’ my tantrum at our double date seems even more childish and petty than it did before. Sofia probably hates me. Hell, I kind of hate myself.

Knight rises, brushing crumbs off his hoodie. “Viktor won’t punish you like that.”

I scoff, still staring at the pastries like they personally betrayed me.

“I’m serious,” Knight says. “He never has. Not once. Even when you iced him out. Even when you painted him as the villain and acted accordingly. You know why?”

I don’t answer.

“Because he knows he’s not blameless either. You’re mad at him for letting you believe a lie. But he’s been mad at himself for creating it. He had a hundred chances to tell you the truth, and he didn’t. Not because he wanted to hurt you, but because he hated what it would reveal about him. That he was a coward back then. That he let his pride win. And honestly?” Knight shrugs. “You deserved the truth. But so did he. And neither of you got it.”

The lump in my throat is back, thick and hot.

“That’s why he won’t punish you,” Knight says gently. “He’s not looking to make you pay. He’s just hoping you’ll stay.”

He pats the top of my head and ruffles my hair before leaving me alone with my new knowledge, and my shame, with only three untouched, butter-heavy pastries to ease my suffering.

As soon as the door closes behind Knight, I pull out my phone and dial the one person who’s seen all my worst moments and still answers anyway.

“Tell me you didn’t murder him,” Baylor says by way of greeting. “Orange is not in your color palette.”

“I didn’t.” I sniff. “But I might have emotionally waterboarded him for a decade.”

There’s a pause. Then: “Girl. Do I need to put on pants and come bail you out of something?”

“No, but I need to tell you something, and I swear to God if you laugh I will delete you from my emergency contact list.” I inhale deep, holding it until my lungs burn. “You know how I always said Viktor stood me up for some bitch named Nona?”

“Yeah,” Baylor says slowly. “The mythical Nona who was probably a pageant queen with C-cups and a nose job?”

“She didn’t exist.”

Another pause. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Knight just told me the truth. They weren’t whispering about some girl. They were whispering about a boner. It only sounded like Nona through the solid oak door I had my ear pressed against.”

“A what now?”

“A boner. Apparently, Viktor took a gas station dick pill to get brave enough to kiss me in the limo before the dance, and it backfired so bad he had to go to the ER.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence.

Then Baylor howls.

It’s one of those full-body, evil cackles that makes the woman at the next table glare at me. I don’t even care. I’m glaring at myself harder.

“I knew that boy wasn’t a player!” Baylor shrieks. “He’s got the emotional range of a Labradoodle and the trauma responses of a golden retriever.”

I laugh, but it catches on something tight in my chest. “I was so mean, B. I held onto it like a security blanket. And he never corrected the story. Not once.”

“Because he was a teenage idiot with a raging case of embarrassment and a possibly broken zipper. But, babe? You’re not wrong to be mad about how that shaped you. Just don’t stay there. You can choose something else now.”

I rest my forehead against the windowpane. “I want to. I just don’t know how.”

“You start by owning it. Then maybe, if the boy's worth it—and we both know he is—you let him see you trying.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Thanks, B.”

“Anytime. Now go home and give him a blowjob with feeling. That has to make up for everything, doesn’t it?”

“BYE.”

“Love you!”

I hang up and drop my forehead into my hands, laughing and crying all at once.

I don’t know how I’m going to fix this.

I only know that I have to.

Because for the first time since we said I do, I’m starting to wish we really meant it.

I stare down at the little army of pastries, the ones I’d fought for like my life depended on it. Now they just look… sad. Like they know I was wrong, too.

Apparently, Viktor never stopped choosing me. Even when I was making it so damn hard to be chosen.