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KNOX

W e’re too late.

I saw her leave, I watched her get to the car, and then when my phone rang and Dimitri’s name flashed for the tenth time I picked it up. He was shouting, panting, and there wasn’t much to make sense of.

Other than Coach is out.

That was enough for me to rush back outside, but her car was gone. No sign of her. And perhaps it was nothing, perhaps she truly went to the hospital. I wanted to believe that, almost had myself convinced of it.

Until I saw her phone, lying alone on the concrete next to her assigned parking spot.

I’d lost her. She’d slipped through my fingers, our fingers , and back into the clutches of that monster. The man we’d looked up to for so long, followed around like he was a god.

My hands shake, my blood runs cold, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the empty parking spot in front of me.

Where do I even start? Where would he go? Back home?

A car door slams behind me. I turn in time to see Dimitri sprinting toward me.

No words are needed—my face says it all. He shakes his head and curses under his breath. “We have to go after him,” he says. I nod.

“But where?”

“Start at his house. See if he took her there.” He sighs. “But he won’t be that stupid.”

“Call Carpenter,” I say, fumbling for my keys. “Tell him Hope had an emergency back home and I’m going to help.”

“Knox—”

“Find out who knew. Keep an eye on that prick Jared.”

He grabs my shoulders. “Jared had a video of her and Dad—he got it the day he tried to force her…” He exhales. “The file came through an encrypted email. I don’t know who sent it.”

“Yet,” I say. “You stay here. I’m useless with computers—if anyone can trace it, it’s you.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “What about Jaxon?”

“…You tell him,” I say carefully. Jaxon isn’t a bad guy, but if you touch his playthings, grab something of his… you better not be in punching range. And Jaxon and I have had plenty of brawls, where neither of us came out as the winner.

“Great,” Dimitri mutters.

“Good luck,” I add and head to my car. I can never catch up with them, I know that. But I have to start somewhere.

Going back to where it all began.

Home.

A shudder creeps down my spine as I press the gas.

This is the last place I ever expected to return: the town I fought so hard to escape, the place that never helped me, only caged me.

I wouldn’t do it for anyone other than Hope.

I almost laugh, a bitter, terrible laugh.

I’m literally chasing Hope . Trying to tighten my grasp on her just so that way I have something good, warm, right in my life even if I don’t deserve her.

Even if I’m just another monster for her.

Maybe catching her and getting time to do things right will prove I changed, or can change… for her.

I try to hold onto that thought as I fly through town, treating every yellow light as an order to hurry, but when I get to the highway with an open stretch of road in front of me, all I can do is think about what I left behind and every memory is fighting to climb out of the dark hole I put them in to fill my head. There’s no way to block them all.

The sizzle on my skin ruins the familiar smell of cigarettes.

I stare at the man who’s supposed to take care of me.

It has to be an accident. Of course it’s an accident.

I try to move my hand, but he grabs it tighter and jerks me over his legs.

He brings the cigarette down on my shoulder.

I whimper beneath his punishment; pain soars through me.

“Disobedience burns. It’s the first step to hell,” he growls before lifting the cigarette so the smell of my singed skin stings my nose.

He brings it down again and again, smoking occasionally as if my skin makes it taste better, gives him a better nicotine high.

I finally slap it out of his hand, but he just flicks his knife across my skin as it opens.

“Take your punishment. Wear it on you, bastard!”

I kick over his bottle of cheap moonshine and sprint to my room. I slam the door and grit my teeth. My shirt feels like it’s burning across my back, digging in to each mark now dotting my skin. I bite my bottom lip to keep the screams in as I peel the shirt from my destroyed skin.

I never scream, I never cry out. He doesn’t deserve to hear what he does to me.

Maybe I am defiant. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I deserve to be punished.

I look at the burns in the mirror as tears sting my eyes.

I shake my head, snapping me back to the present. Those memories aren’t for now. They’re for never. They happened to someone else, a different version of me. A version of me that’s dead.

I’m what’s left. And part of that is thanks to Coach.

“Knox!” Coach yells.

My shoulders hike in the shower. I stayed late to avoid anyone seeing me.

I don’t want their pity. I don’t want their questions.

A football star doesn’t wear scars like these—he gives them.

I shouldn’t have them. Period. And anyone who tries to undercut who I am because of scars…

I’ll deal with them. No one gets to know.

I pant, refusing to turn around. The water is cold on my skin, calming me, but not enough.

“What is all over you!” Coach demands.

I slowly turn around. Jaxon is still there. He’s staring at me. No pity in his gaze. Anger. A lot of anger—normal for him. But he walks away. He leaves me to it while Coach storms forward and inspects my body.

“Who did this to you, son?” he asks softly. “One name and it’s done. One name is all I need,” he says, not touching my shoulder, but staring at me like a real father should. With the need to protect me, take care of me, and get retribution on my behalf. I shove him out of the way and grab a towel.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Knox, I’m the coach, you answer when I ask a question,” he barks.

I flinch as I wrap a towel around my waist and tighten it. I reach for my shirt and tug it on, knowing it’s going to be soaked. I don’t care. No one was supposed to see me. I’ve hidden well for so long…

“Tell me. I can end whatever is going on. I won’t ask for more than a name. I’m not going to tell anyone else,” Coach says, his voice softening. “It’s not my business what goes on in your home unless you’re wearing it like this.”

I tremble. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to be parented by someone else. “Forget about it. You didn’t see anything.”

“Knox,” Coach growls.

“They’re birth marks!” I yell. “Don’t walk in on me in the shower again.”

I don’t want these memories. I don’t want any of them.

I don’t want to remember Coach inviting me over for dinner alone until he switched it up and invited Jaxon and Dimitri too so I’d accept.

Then he made sure that twice a week, we came to his house.

Once a week, we’d go out after games. And he took care of my home problem in a way that ensured I never had to worry again.

Coach was the only one who knew. Coach was the only one who helped instead of trusting me to take care of it.

He never took ownership of it. He never asked for anything in return.

I had no reason to question him. I had no reason to doubt him.

I trusted him, saw him as the father every man should want to have, and Hope…

god, the way he talked about her said plenty.

She never argued. She never spoke up about it in a way that mattered. Was it because I was clouded or was it because I didn’t want to believe it? If Coach hadn’t helped me, would I have listened? Would I have heard her out? Would I have believed her?

I’ll never know. And I can’t take it back. I can’t go back in time with all the knowledge I have now. Just like Hope can’t see past what she went through and what me and the guys added to. We’re fucking stuck.

Even while I’m going almost ninety down the highway, I still feel stuck. In time, in this problem, and in my own fury. The only way to get out of it is to get to Hope. To fix this somehow. To reveal more than my scars to her.

DIMITRI

My hands wring together as I hurry over to the training field. Worry creeps higher as every second Hope slips further away. The grunts and yells from the field draw my attention and I find number 18 quickly. Jaxon slams into another player and sprints off.

Perhaps if I let him train a bit more, he’ll be spent and won’t lose it when I tell him.

I sigh. Who am I kidding? He’s going to lose his shit either way. Even if I told him in his sleep, he’d get up, punch me for waiting to tell him, and want to charge forward. He’d fight anyone in his way.

There’s no way to soften the news. I don’t even want to. A part of me wants his fury aimed at Coach just so he has a focal point for all his rage—past and present, rational and irrational.

Waiting is going to cause more problems, so I wave to him after he barrels through two guys. Jaxon pauses. He’s in the zone, doesn’t want to stop, that’s obvious. I wave him over again and he jogs to my side. He takes off his helmet, pulls out his mouthguard and pants.

“What’s so important that you’re interrupting this?” He demands.

He’s my friend. I shouldn’t hesitate to tell him when our girl is involved, but it’s because she’s involved that I’m nervous.

I can’t exactly warn the guys on the field.

This is the same guy who takes a brush-off and argument with our girl as a sign of love but will also deck someone the second he thinks they’re looking at her the wrong way.

“Well, spit it out, Dimitri!” Jax orders. “I have things to do.”

“Coach took Hope,” I say simply. It just spills out of me.

Jaxon doesn’t even breathe. His eyes look like he’s contemplating how much torture he can get in before he murders the man we once worshipped. His jaw ticks and he drops his helmet, his hands curling into fists.

“Knox already went after her. We’ll do what we can, but we need to take care of things with Jared and get information on where Coach could be taking her. Knox is heading to his place, but…” I trail off. “Jax, you with me?”

He looks like he’s going rabid one second at a time, descending deeper and deeper into madness. “He can’t do that. She’s mine.”

“Jax, focus,” I snap.

He grips my shirt and jerks me against him, snarling. He looks like a beast. Not someone who plays football, not some pissed-off man, an actual monster who is going to rip someone’s throat out with his teeth.

“She’s mine . She can’t go. She knows that,” he snarls. “Not again.”

I put my hand on his. “She didn’t have a choice. Knox is doing what he can to track her down. We need to help. You can’t get your hands on him and get her back until we know where she is and—”

He punches the large plastic water jug. I hear the dense plastic crack as it falls over, water gushing out of it.

He kicks the bench next, leaving a large, obvious dent there as he pants.

No one dares come over here. None of them ask what’s wrong.

They just keep their eyes down. It’s the best way to deal with Jaxon like this.

I don’t need to voice my own rage. He’s got enough for both of us.

If it would help us deal with the situation, I’d welcome it. But we have shit to do to get our girl back where she belongs.