Page 9

Eight

KNOX

I can’t stop the tears from staining my cheeks as I finish a new passage.

My faith in a better ending is weakening and I try to hide somewhere in my mind when he pounds inside me. I could smell the alcohol, the blood. But the pain, it’s almost soothing now.

Maybe I need more pain.

More pain to make it stop.

“No,” I whisper as my fingers trail over the smudges of blood on the pages.

My gaze draws back up to the date and I mumble. “A few days before she… ran.”

I lean against the lockers, my arms crossed as I wait for Hope to close her locker and find me. My hands shake, my leg impatiently ticks as the video replays in my head, over and over again.

Dimitri was the first to believe Coach’s words about Hope luring him in. He doesn’t know how a bond between a father and son, or in this case daughter, should be.

Jaxon was wary but when he heard the moans spill from her, the words she whispered between thrusts, he was hooked.

And me, the first second I saw her, my cock strained in my pants. I didn’t need convincing. I trust Coach with my life, my soul.

He made the burns stop, the pain. He gave me purpose and now he’ll give me something else too.

Her.

The locker slams shut, and she flinches. Her eyes widen slightly as she pushes her hair behind her ears.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone clipped but I can hear the fear beneath.

Good. Be scared. Keep me at a distance. I don’t need her close to enjoy her, I don’t need to be close to anyone. It will only get me hurt. Again.

“I wonder if you’ll moan that sweet for me,” I tease and edge nearer.

She blinks up at me, a blush painting her cheeks. “What are you talking about?

I tilt my head, my fingers brushing over her chin. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve seen the videos and I can’t wait to make one myself.”

She slaps my hand and backs away. A smile curls on my lips and I grab her arm, push her against the lockers, and cage her between my body and the metal behind her. “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Slowly, I drag the zipper of her sweater down.

“Don’t do this, please,” she whispers.

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it and Coach won’t mind sharing,” I muse.

Her bottom lip quivers. “Knox.”

I groan. “Say my name again, come on.” My hand dips underneath her sweater to the hem of her shirt. “I want you to moan my name—can you do that for me?”

She shakes her head, her lips tightly pressed together, and a low chuckle rolls from me.

“I’ll wait,” I whisper and pull back slightly. “We don’t want to make Dimitri and Jaxon jealous.”

I never realized how much pain someone could inflict without a touch. I never realized the power of words and actions. I was young, stupid, following a man I worshipped.

She didn’t need my hands to hurt her as my words held enough power to push her this far, to push glass against her skin, to draw blood.

And we only made it worse after that, as if her own cuts weren’t enough. No, we had to carve ourselves into her body—her skin.

Everyone around me turns into him, turns into a monster. They all want the same.

They start with smiles and kindness, only for it to be replaced with…

Pain.

JAXON

I haven’t spoken to Dimitri since our… moment. I get his dad let him carry a burden that wasn’t meant for him. But we all have our crosses to bear.

I met his dad once and since then, I’ve stayed away. I don’t want to relive that day, the day he brought the news. Told me what happened to her.

I lost… her.

“She wasn’t mine to protect,” I repeat the lie that offers me some peace and quiet.

It doesn’t calm the lingering sting of fighting with Dimitri. I’m left with nothing to do—something I can’t stand. I need action. I need to be moving forward. I need Hope in a way that defies all kinds of logic. It’s a base need, once I should have recognized earlier.

Instead, I have a fucking career to keep for some reason that I can’t find in my head anymore.

Maybe a concussion will do me good. Maybe I’ll have a chance to get my hands on Dimitri like I should have before he walked out.

I’ll hold him down, force him to explain why he hasn’t tried again, why he didn’t give me his dad’s number, why he didn’t offer any other police contact instead.

He fucking shut down when we can’t afford to.

“You look amped for practice,” one of the guys says.

I almost snort. I’m not amped for anything but getting Hope back where she’s meant to be. In my arms.

Jaxon, please .

That’s the only way to get rid of these hints and shreds of memories I don’t want. All the ways I’ve hurt her. All the ways I’ve failed her, the things I have to fix, but can’t. Since doing nothing and wallowing isn’t an option, I get changed into my practice uniform and get on the field.

We sprint, only supposed to do a set number of laps at an even pace, but I need to exhaust myself.

I need to prove to myself and to others that I’m capable of more.

So I run myself ragged. I throw myself into every practice tackle, every play, and every sprint like it’s life changing, like it could save a life or end someone else.

In the middle of a play, I see Coach rather than my teammate.

I see the man who’s taken the most important part of me, ripped it out, and laughed while driving off.

When I run in, I’m pretty sure I’m yelling through my mouth guard.

I know the tackle is dirty and wrong, it’s too intense, but it’s me who ends up dazed on my back.

My shoulder feels off, pain tingling and buzzing up my neck until I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to move or not. I just blink at the too-sunny sky.

“Fuck, man, don’t pull that when we’re not in a game. We need you in one piece,” one of the guys says while offering me a hand.

I slap it away. I don’t want or deserve their kindness. Fuck them all. If they treated me like the asshole I am, maybe I…

Shaking my head, I join in running another play and another until I see Dimitri on the sideline talking to Coach Carpenter. I can’t make out the words, but it’s obviously a tense conversation. I narrow my eyes, sure if I stare just long enough, I can make out what’s going on.

Dimitri’s not talking with his hands either.

That means it’s doubly serious. Just as I stand up, determined to fuck practice and figure out what the hell our next move is, someone collides into me.

It’s a clean tackle but still knocks the wind out of me.

I wheeze on my back, the blue, cloudless sky mocking me as it swims across my vision.

“Pay attention, man,” another teammate says. “You never go down.”

No, because I’m the one who initiates every tackle and if I don’t, then I don’t drop. I’d rather drag three players with me across the field out of spite alone than let any of them have the bragging rights of dropping me on my ass.

It takes a solid three seconds for me to suck in a full breath while one of the guys hauls me up. I hear someone mumble that Hope should be here to check me out, which pisses me off more.

She should be here. She should be walking me back to the clinic, checking out my chest, and letting me touch her, letting me cup her beautiful face and telling me that it’s a strictly professional place while I scoff and kiss her.

It would piss her off, but that fire, that fury, her spark…

it proves she loves me. Because she doesn’t cower from me anymore. She fights. It’s a fucking compliment.

Rather than returning to practice like I should, I walk over to Coach and Dimitri, jogging once I can handle the breathlessness that’s lingering in my chest.

“What’s going on?” I demand.

Carpenter and Dimitri both look at me. Dimitri clears his throat. “Knox and Dad… it’s not going well. We need to head up there and meet with Knox, get him focused and make sure we’re all back by the next game,” Dimitri says.

“Dad?” I ask, almost huffing.

There’s something gleaming and warning in Dimitri’s eyes. He half looks ready to deck me if I say something wrong.

“If it’s that serious, you guys had better go. We need all of you here, especially with Hope M.I.A. I don’t want to take any chances by not having all my players,” Coach Carpenter agrees.

No sharpness, no orders, none of it. Because he’s a good man—an actual responsible coach. The kind of man we should want to have around. A proper leader. My hands curl into a fist.

“Dad and…” Fuck. “And Knox. Yeah, not a good combination. We should go. Bye, Coach,” I say.

Dimitri and I walk towards the locker rooms and he punches my shoulder. “The fuck was that? Go with what I suggest right away.”

“You call our ex-coach ‘dad’ again and I might end up punching you a whole lot harder than you just punched me,” I warn.

I get changed and we head to the apartment. I throw enough clothes in a bag to cover me and Hope when we find her. I double check for a phone charger and make sure I have all my shit. As I do my final pat-down, I turn and see Dimitri there with his bag, waiting.

I give him a long look. “Did you pack everything?”

“Yes.”

I check his bag too and snort. “You forgot your good luck charm. I don’t like our odds without it.”

Dimitri rolls his eyes, clearly not in the mood for an attempt to fix our fucking problem. “It’s not a good luck charm, it’s a fucking knuckle buster.”

“Sounds like common sense rather than good luck considering what we’re about to get into,” I hint.

Sighing, he gives in with a nod. He dips into his room, grabs it, flashes it to me like I won’t believe him if I don’t see it, then we head to the car.

“Does Knox actually have news?” I ask.

“Ask him when we get there. If he doesn’t, I do.”

“And you’re not sharing, why?” I demand. “You already know—”

“I know you’re overeager and a fucking mess right now. Try a goddamn apology or—”

I grit my teeth, replaying his words to me. If this is friendship or a taste of what Hope’s in for, then I hope she escapes on her own and you never see her again.

He’s the one who owes me an apology, but that sounds like something that we can hash out on the ride there. Once we get what we need to find Hope, there can’t be any problems between us, can’t be any distractions.

“You’re going to fucking hate being in this car with me,” I warn.

“As if I expected otherwise,” Dimitri snorts as he gets us on the road and checks the GPS to make sure we’re on the way to Hope’s old house.