Page 65 of One Bad Knight

No matter what anyone said, I knew the truth. If I stayed, I would destroy Kat’s life for a second time.

27

Kat

Ispent the night at Viet’s. She’d been surprised to find me on her doorstep, considering I’d always declined invitations to her place, or any of her parties. Being in her home or having her in mine felt too personal, so I’d avoided it, trying to stay on even ground.

But the ground had been ripped out from under me, and I needed a soft place to land. Despite my uncle’s new understanding and support, he wasn’t the person to go to about this.

“Can I come in?” I asked, rubbing my arms, feeling more uncertain than ever about what I was about to do.

Shaking off her surprise, Viet pulled me inside, instantly wrapping me in a blanket she’d crocheted herself. The apartment smelled like her rose perfume.

While Viet made tea, I took in her glam apartment from where I sat on the cheetah-print couch. I hadn’t realized Viet was a maximalist. Jewel tones exploded everywhere from her multi-colored carpet to the walls that were completely covered by ornately framed portraits and landscape paintings. Books, plants, and statuettes covered every available surface but in a way that made the space charming and inspirational. This was a place that fed the soul and wrapped me in cozy.

“I put a nip of whiskey in here,” Viet said, handing me a mug shaped like a black puppy with golden eyes. She settled in next to me with her own steaming mug in hand, this one with beautiful tarot cards painted on it. Both sculpted and painted by her hand.

I wasn’t sure if it was the atmosphere or the whiskey, but I came out with everything. For the first time since I was a child, I shared all my secrets with another person outside my family. Even as I spilled, I was shaking to the bone with fear at what her reaction might be. Viet only nodded her head and listened intently. A couple times, she put both our mugs on her chipped and stained coffee table to hug me.

I half-expected her to kick me out or tell me what an idiot I was.

When she didn’t, I asked, “You don’t think I’m crazy for loving him?”

Her big brown eyes softened. “Oh no, honey. Not at all. The kind of connection, history, and passion you describe, that’s something I’ve only read about or seen in a painting. And I saw the way he looked at you. Like he would set the world on fire if you asked him to. Now I'm not saying the dude doesn’t come with about two hundred red flags and a thousand pounds of baggage, but I can see why you’ve fallen for him. And to say I’m so glad he beat the unholy shit out of Jimi is putting it lightly.” Her fist clenched as she gritted her teeth, as if wishing she could kick Jimi’s ass too. “But if you are right, and he did kill your dad…” She paused to adjust her septum piercing. “I don’t know. I feel like something’s missing from the story.”

“It’s pretty simple, the Luxis ordered him to kill my father,” I said, my heart feeling almost too heavy to beat.

“But why? What did they have against your dad? And if Gatsby doesn't work for the order anymore, why is he back and going for your uncle?”

I struggled to comprehend her questions, my head felt stuffed full of cotton, and I was dehydrated from crying.

Viet rushed on to say, “But can I say you have no idea how honored I am that you confided in me. And I promise I will honor your trust. You are safe with me, Kat. I’m so glad you felt you could come here.”

At that I fully burst into tears, and she held and rocked me for a long time. We fell asleep on her couch together, watching episodes ofThe Officeand eating cookies she had delivered at midnight. When I left the next morning, she promised she would come to my big birthday bash, and we would drink champagne and talk about art.

When I arrived home on my motorcycle, I was surprised to see a familiar slim, black-haired woman hanging outside the gates to my home.

I stopped and pulled off my helmet. I knew my face was a puffy mess, but I didn’t care.

“Hey.”

The woman patted at her bangs with a frown as if she were conflicted about something. “There’s something you should know.” Her tone was brash, like the last time, telling me this was how she normally spoke.

“About Gatsby?”

“No. About your family. But it’s not my place, so, uh, this is for you.” She handed me a wrinkled piece of paper she’d been clutching.

Wanda Schneider

4244 Foxbury Dr

Colorado Springs, CO 80902

Before I could finish reading it, she took off.

Wanda. That was the name Gatsby had used with my uncle. My uncle didn’t deny knowing that name, or even seem confused or surprised by the reference.

I debated for a couple minutes before sticking my helmet back on. It was an hour and a half to Colorado Springs, so I had to leave now if I wanted to make it back to the party in time.