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Chapter Five

Knova

I stare at the fire engines surrounding my parents’ house, one hand clutching the emergency blanket like a lifeline, the other wrapped around the dog tags pressing into my sternum like a second heartbeat. Thank God I was wearing them—somehow, losing them would be worse than losing every other thing I own, which may be the fate of the entire contents of the pool house. The last view I got of the building didn’t leave me feeling optimistic about its fate.

The loss hasn’t hit yet, not really. It’s hovering in the air, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off so it can drop like an anvil on my chest. Right now, I’m numb. But I know what’s coming. I’ve ridden this wave before—panic, then cold shock, then grief that makes everything feel too loud.

Mom’s arm, which has been a comforting weight around my shoulder since she joined me on the sidewalk, slips away. “I’ll let you two talk,” she murmurs.

“Talk to who—?” I begin, but the answer becomes immediately obvious when Viktor sidles up to me.

“Hey,” he says softly, almost like he’s worried about me. “What happened? Are you hurt? Smoke inhalation? Do you need me to get you an oxygen mask?”

The detached, unmoored feeling that’s weighed on me since the anthem finally eases. The shame of butchering it in front of a sold-out crowd—plus the fresh humiliation of explaining to my parents and a dozen emergency responders that I set our house on fire with a bag of microwaved potatoes —had stacked into a towering pile of nope.

Now that Viktor’s here, I have someone I can direct all my shitty feelings at. I’d been floating, but seeing his face drags me right back into my body. He looks like concern in a hoodie, and that makes me furious—because it means I’m not alone. And if I’m not alone, I have to feel all of it. Instead of feeling lost and weak, I can give myself permission to be angry. Viktor’s more than earned my ire, compounded over years.

“Why are you here?” I hiss.

Viktor cocks his head. “I was worried about you. After all, you’re my…”

“Arch enemy?” I supply.

“Knova.” Viktor reaches for my hands. “I’m worried about you. On the phone, you sounded—”

I yank my hands away from his and look around to see if anyone is watching. “What are you doing?” Fortunately, nobody seems to be paying any attention. I can’t let him touch me. Not when my skin already feels scorched with shame. If he holds my hands, I might crack. And worse? I might let him see it.

It would be bad enough to have my family find out about our drunken mistake under any circumstances, but given how many times I’ve screwed up today, this would be the absolute worst time for that revelation. I’m already the daughter who made her celebrity parents look bad by being musically inept at one of their favorite places and the daughter who ruined their property. That’s more than enough, thank you very much. Besides, I know how my father feels about Viktor. Having to explain that I ended up hammered and hitched would permanently cement my position as the family fuckup.

When all I ever wanted was to be perfect for them.

Viktor has the gall to look hurt by my hasty retreat. He flinches, just a tiny hitch in his brows like I cracked something soft under his armor. “I wanted to see if you were hurt.”

I scoff. “Stay in your lane, puckhead. I’m the only one here trained in first aid. I’m covered. I’ve saved lives in combat. More lives than the years you’ve been on this earth annoying everyone.”

Viktor sets his jaw. “I may not be trained in first aid, but even I can see that your hands are burned.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s minor.”

Viktor ignores me and turns to one of the nearby firemen. “Can we get an EMT over here?”

I barely register the fireman who nods and peels off. In my periphery, hoses are still snaking across the lawn, steam hissing as they hit scorched earth. The smoke is thinner now, more ghost than monster. But it’s still clinging to everything, just like the embarrassment coating my skin.

“I said I’m fine!” I exclaim.

Viktor doesn’t even glance my way. I hate when people get like this, acting like they know what I need better than I do. My dad does it all the time, which I suppose is his right as a parent, but Viktor has no business taking charge of my well-being.

He’s my temporary husband. He’s sure as fuck not my friend.

Instead of an EMT, the fire marshal strides over. He takes one look at my hands and shakes his head. “You should get those examined by an EMT.”

Viktor raises his eyebrows as if to signal that he’s scored some kind of point.

Without waiting for my response, the fire marshal raises his voice to get my parents’ attention. “Folks, I’m sorry to tell you that you’re not going to be able to stay here.”

Dad takes this in stride. “From what I saw, the poolhouse was demolished.” He walks over to us and pats my back. “Ah, well. Probably needed an updating anyway.”

I sniffle at his words. I know what he’s doing: he’s trying to make it clear that he doesn’t blame me and that he’s not mad. And that’s worse, somehow. The kindness in his voice guts me more than yelling ever could. I’m not used to screwing up this big, not in ways that matter. And yet here he is, patting my back like he’s the one comforting me for his loss.

I recognize the play. When Knight and I were younger, and we did something dumb like dig holes in his lawn or draw on the walls with permanent markers, he’d lecture us about responsibility and dole out punishments. Any time we got hurt, though, his first concern was always our well-being.

We both know that I screwed up, but he’s letting me off the hook, even for a mistake this huge. I lean against him to show that I appreciate him, even if I can’t find my words right now. Dad rubs my back in a small, circular motion, and my shame ebbs away and takes some of my anger with it.

I may have been unfair to Viktor just now. Maybe I’ll apologize when things settle down.

“It isn’t just the pool house that’s damaged,” the fire marshal explains. “There was some damage to your roof as well. Some of it is smoke damage, some of it’s on us—the fire truck got too close to the house. Your plumbing and electric are connected, too, so you’ll want to get that checked out before you move back in. I’m going to ask you to review and sign a hold harmless agreement for the damage to the roof, and we’ll cover those repairs…”

He and Dad fall into a detailed discussion about the minutiae of what comes next.

Ranger, another of Dad’s best friends and a longtime neighbor, hovers near my mom and the Abbotts. I shuffle away from Dad’s grasp and make my way over to them, with Viktor trailing on my heels.

“Hey, Knova.” Ranger gives me a wary smile, like he’s not sure where I am emotionally. That makes two of us, buddy. “I was just telling your mom that you three can stay with me.”

“Or you could crash at my place,” Viktor offers.

“Thanks to both of you, but I’m going to call Knight,” I say.

I step away before my eyes get too wet to hide. My throat’s tight, my brain is buzzing, and the blanket around me suddenly feels like a costume I don’t deserve to wear.

Staying with my twin will give me time to decompress. Otherwise, Mom will check in on me every two minutes to see if the fire has triggered my PTSD—which it hasn’t—and Dad will talk about it endlessly just to make it crystal clear that he’s not mad. I appreciate where they’re coming from, but I need space. Knight has let me crash in his guest bedroom before. I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. Tomorrow, once I’ve had time to process things, I’ll make a plan for what happens next. Even if I wanted to move back in with my family, it’ll take time for the pool house to be rebuilt. Couch surfing is not a viable long-term solution, but at least I know Knight has a place for me.

As for staying with Viktor? Hell no.

If I stay with him, things might soften. And soft leads to stupid. I’m not going to let a hot shower, a soft bed, and that earnest face lull me into forgetting that this whole thing is temporary. That I don’t forever.

Especially, not with him .

“I can drive you to Knight’s,” Viktor offers.

“Viktor—” I spin toward him, ready to go off on him for constantly inserting himself into the conversation where he’s not wanted. But his dumb little face is so sincere and concerned that I second-guess my impulse to snap. It would be nice to get a ride.

“Your vehicle is blocked in,” Viktor adds, with a nod to the driveway.

“That would be okay,” I say. And then, because I was not raised in a barn despite my mother’s many assertions to the contrary, I add, “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

Viktor’s whole face lights up in a happy smile. He looks like one of those social media Golden Retrievers. It’s obnoxiously sincere. Like I just threw him a bone, and now he wants to roll over and lick my hand. It’s disarming, and I hate that it works. That it makes something warm twitch in my chest.

“It’ll take me a few minutes, though,” I warn. “I’m going to see if I can grab some things from the house before we go. And I’m going to have someone look at my hands first.”

If Viktor had just been told that the Venom won the Stanley Cup, I doubt his smile could get any brighter than it is right now.

* * *

Half an hour later, with freshly salved hands and a duffle bag full of the stuff I could salvage from my old room—thanks to the assistance of the fire marshal, my mother, and, embarrassingly, Viktor—I climb into Viktor’s car. Noah and Molly are talking to Viktor about something, so I take the opportunity to fire off a text to my brother just to confirm that he’ll let me stay at his place for a couple of days. He and Sofia both respond in the affirmative, with lots of exclamation points.

I look up when the driver door opens and Viktor slides in. “All set?” he asks.

“Mm.” I slip my phone into the pocket of my hoodie. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Viktor waves goodbye to our parents, still milling around in the street. They wave back. I slump lower in my seat so that I won’t have to acknowledge them. For all their well-meaning smiles and gentle shoulder squeezes, I still feel like I lit a match to every ounce of credibility I had left.

There’s nothing I hate more than feeling incompetent.

I watch his hands on the wheel—steady, confident, annoyingly attractive. I hate that even now, after everything, part of me finds comfort in the way he drives. Like nothing could possibly go wrong on his watch. Even though history says otherwise.

Viktor drives in silence for a few minutes until I can’t take it anymore. “So,” I cross my arms and stare out the window at the Vegas dusk, “today was not my day.”

I press my forehead against the cool glass. “It’s like the universe wanted to pile on. First, the anthem. Then the fire. If one more thing had gone wrong, I might’ve just laid down in the street and let nature take me.”

Viktor clears his throat. “I was going to send you one of those tragic-looking kittens—you know the kind, giant eyes, little frown, soul of a tax auditor—holding a sign that said, ‘This will be funny in ten years.’”

I swivel my head to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

He dips his head. “Never mind. Not important.”

“You think we’re going to laugh about the fact that I burned my home to the ground? ”

He licks his lips and shoots me a sidelong glance. “Actually, that was before the fire. Although, to be fair, you did set your house on fire with potatoes. There’s a punchline in there somewhere.”

I don’t know what my face is doing right now, but I’m experiencing unprecedented levels of disbelief. Surely that reflects on my features.

“Sorry. I’ll shut up now.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and his mouth twists like he’s trying to hold in a thought I won’t like.

“No, come on, say what you’re thinking,” I urge. Given my outburst earlier, he’s earned the right to taunt me a little.

“I was just going to say…” Here comes that trademark smirk. “Tonight’s events make your epic fail at the stadium look like… small potatoes. ” He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Jesus Christ.” I let out a bark of laughter. “Too soon.”

“You say that, but you’re smiling. And I like seeing you smile. I wish that happened more.”

He’s right, I realize. I’m grinning at a dad-joke made at my expense. It’s such a silly little thing, but the fact that he’s joking with me, not at me, is… a relief. Or something. I’m so exhausted that I can barely think straight.

The car settles into a pocket of quiet, and for a second, it feels like the air between us is… soft. Not awkward, not flammable. Just easy. I almost forget why we can’t ever quite be more than frenemies.

By the time we pull up to Knight’s place, I want nothing more than to faceplant onto his guest bed. I drag my duffle out of the back seat and pause by Viktor’s vehicle.

I hesitate with my hand on the door. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave this bubble we’ve created in the car. Where the world isn’t on fire, I’m not the family disappointment, and Viktor isn’t the guy who broke my heart. He’s just the guy who showed up.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “Seriously. You didn’t need to drive over and miss your post-game celebration—”

“I did,” he interrupts.

I shake my head. “No. You didn’t. But… I’m really glad you did. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, too. I guess I was having a bit of a freakout.”

The sharp, impish lines of his face smooth out into something gentler—like he’s remembering how to be the boy who once made me feel safe. “Hey, it’s no problem. You’d have done the same for me.”

Yeah, I probably would have. What am I to make of that?

“Call me if you need anything. I’m right across the street.” Viktor nods to his condo as if I didn’t help him move in.

“Thanks,” I say again. This is so goddamn weird. We’re never this genial. Too much time has passed without a direct insult. I wouldn’t have thought Viktor would miss an opportunity to tease me, but he’s being so nice. Suspiciously nice. If that’s the case, though, I can’t imagine what he’s after. He’s never apologized for how he treated me in high school, so what’s the deal?

This is not a puzzle I’m capable of solving tonight, so I wave, hike my duffle higher on my shoulder, and head to my brother’s front door.

Sofia meets me at the entryway and hustles me inside. “Oh, you poor thing!” She examines my face, my hair, and my hands, all the while making little tutting noises like a mother hen. “Knight’s on the phone with your dad. Let me get you set up in the spare room.”

I follow her to the room, passing Knight, who waves at me while speaking on his cell. On the way down the hall, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. There’s ash on my face, I reek of smoke, and my hair is out of control. I avert my gaze; I do not want to deal with this messy, helpless, hopeless version of myself.

Sofia runs around the guest room, checking to make sure that there are towels in the en suite bathroom, even though I’m sure she went through this whole routine before I came over.

“I put some aloe by the sink,” she tells me. “Do you need anything else?”

Knight appears in the door of the guest room. “Geeze, Knova, what a night, huh? Want to talk about it?”

I drop my duffle onto the floor. “Not really. I’m ready for today to be over.”

“Sure thing.” Knight reaches out his hand, and Sofia takes it. Ugh, they’re so adorable together. It’s almost enough to make me believe I could have something like that. “We’ll see you in the morning, sis.”

They offer a few more platitudes before finally shutting the door behind them. A blissful silence falls over me. Alone at last, I head to the bathroom to strip down and finally get clean.

I spend longer than usual in a lukewarm shower, being very mindful of my minor burns, washing off the smoke and residue of the night. My muscles relax in the steam, and I let go of all the tension I’ve been holding. Today has been awful, but nobody got hurt, and I haven’t lost anything that can’t be replaced. I’m incredibly lucky in that regard. The worst thing about starting that fire was the knowledge that I put people I love in danger, but we’re safe now.

I’m safe.

It’s going to be okay.

Once I’m out of the shower, I pull on the pajamas Sofia laid out for me and cover my burns in aloe. The guest bed is waiting for me, the sheets cool and soft around me as I snuggle in and close my eyes. I don’t usually like going to bed with damp hair, but at the moment, nothing could stop me from drifting off to sleep at a moment’s notice.

Fifteen seconds later, a thump from upstairs tests that theory. Another thump follows soon after, accompanied by the groan of springs.

“Yeah?” My brother’s voice is faint but recognizable. “You like that?”

I open one eye and stare up at the ceiling. Please don’t let this be happening.

“Mm, yeah.” Sofia’s voice is breathless.

“I know you do, you naughty thing.”

Nooooo. I pull my pillow from beneath my head and press it over my face. If I’m lucky, it’ll block the sound of my brother and his fiancée banging it out, though I would accept being smothered as a suitable alternative.

I mean… couldn’t they have refrained for one fucking night? But then I remember that hockey players have all that adrenaline swimming around on game nights, and one of the best ways to get rid of it is…

Through the pillow, I hear Sofia whine, “Daddy, I’ve been naughty…” There’s a sharp slap and a gasp.

Nope. No way. Absolutely not. I toss my pillow aside and roll out of bed. I would rather sleep in the wreckage of my demolished poolhouse than learn the intricacies of my brother’s sex life. I have no choice but to turn to my last resort. After all, Viktor did offer to let me crash at his place.

For once, the company of Viktor Abbott is the lesser of two evils.