Things We Never Got Over (Knockemout Book 1)

“Where are we going?” I asked Knox as we left Knockemout in the rearview mirror.

“Are we going shopping?” Waylay asked hopefully from the backseat.

She’d taken the news that we were temporarily moving into Liza J’s well.

Of course, I’d flat-out lied to her, telling her there was a bug problem at the cottage and that we’d be staying with everyone at Liza’s for a few days.

Waylay was thrilled for the extended sleepover.

My parents, on the other hand, were struggling. Not with having us all under one roof. That part had them in near ecstasy. But Knox had insisted I spill the truth. The whole truth, beginning with why I’d run out on Warner.

While my mother wrote a strongly worded message to Warner’s mother on Facebook at four a.m., Knox had to physically restrain my father from leaving to go after Warner.

Dad calmed down considerably after Lucian assured him that Knox had not only mopped the floor with Warner, he’d also broken the man’s nose.

The truth hurt, as I’d expected it to, which was why I hadn’t shared in the first place. But my parents had stood up under its weight.

Over Mom’s anxiety pancakes, we’d talked until nearly five a.m. before I’d fallen into bed with Knox in his childhood bedroom. I was certain I’d never be able to sleep, but with his heavy arm anchoring me to his side, I’d fallen into a dreamless oblivion and stayed there until ten.

When I woke up, I was alone because Knox had driven into town to pick up Waylay from her sleepover.

I’d taken my gigantic vat of coffee on the front porch and waited for them, thinking about how the man just kept blurring the lines of our agreement. And when they returned, when Knox put his hand on top of Waylay’s blonde head, ruffled her hair, and gave her an affectionate shove.

I realized just how blurry those lines in my heart were getting. I was in trouble. And it had nothing to do with a break-in or a criminal sister or an ex-fiancé.

I was falling for the man I’d sworn I wouldn’t. But Knox made it impossible not to. He made it inevitable.

Unfortunately, at that moment, the caseworker had shown up ready to do the home study that I’d completely forgotten about. I was not imagining the look of surprise on Mrs. Suarez’s face when I tried to herd Waylay into Liza’s house while issuing a vague excuse as to why we were unprepared for her visit.

Thankfully, Knox had stepped in once again, ordering Waylay into the kitchen to get us coffees for the road. When she was out of earshot, he was the one who explained the situation to Mrs. Suarez.

I did not have a good feeling about what this meant for the custody hearing.

“We’re not going shopping,” Knox told Waylay as he took the on-ramp for the highway.

“What’s all the stuff in the back for?” Waylay asked.

Between freaking out over what our caseworker thought of me allowing multiple break-ins to happen, I was curious too. Before he’d closed the cover over the truck bed, we’d spotted more than a dozen shopping bags.

“Supplies,” he said mysteriously.

His phone rang, and I saw Jeremiah’s name on the screen.

“Yeah,” Knox said by way of a greeting.

The man was not one for small talk.

“We’ll be there in about forty-five,” he said into the phone. “Yeah. See you there.”

“There” turned out to be Hannah’s Place, a homeless shelter on the outskirts of Washington, D.C.

It was a newer brick building on a large fenced lot. Knox pulled the truck through the gate and swung it around toward the entrance, where I saw Jeremiah standing under an awning.

“The second string has arrived,” Jeremiah said with a grin as we piled out. “Great ’do, Way.”

Waylay proudly patted a hand to the little French braid she’d worked around her head like a crown. “Thanks.”

The woman beside Jeremiah was short, stocky, and very, very brave because she charged right on up to Knox and wrapped him in a hard hug.

“There’s my second favorite barber,” she said.

Knox hugged her back. “How did I lose the top spot this time?”

She leaned back and grinned wickedly. “Jer brought me two hundred rolls of toilet paper.”

“We’ll see how you feel about me after you see what I brought,” he said.

“I see you brought me two new volunteers,” she said.

“Shirley, meet Naomi and Waylay,” Knox said. “Shirley left a seven-figure corporate gig to run this shelter.”

“Who needs boardrooms and corner offices when you can spend your days doing good?” Shirley said, shaking my hand and then Waylay’s.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said.

“Likewise. Especially if you’ve got two working hands and don’t mind stocking shelves and packing boxes.”

“Ready and able,” I said, elbowing Waylay, who was looking a little morose.

“Put ’em where you want ’em,” Knox said. “I’ll set up shop, and we can get started.”

Waylay and I followed Shirley as she led the way inside.

“I’d rather be shopping,” Waylay whispered to me.

“Maybe we can find a mall afterwards,” I said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

One thing was for sure—Knox Morgan was full of surprises.

“I GUESS it’s kinda cool they do this,” Waylay said as we watched Knox and Jeremiah run their makeshift outdoor salon through the tall windows.

While we had spent two hours sorting food and clothing donations with other volunteers, Knox and Jeremiah had entertained an endless stream of shelter residents in their chairs under the awning on the sidewalk. It was a beautiful day edging toward fall, and the mood was festive.

The staff, volunteers, and residents had formed a kind of large, unruly family making something as bleak as homelessness feel like a challenge to be conquered. Not a stigma to be reinforced.

Together, Knox and Jeremiah transformed ignored, unruly, disheveled hair into sleek, stylish looks. And in doing so, I realized they were also changing the way each client saw themselves.

Currently, Jeremiah was working a hand razor over a little boy’s dark hair keeping him in an almost constant state of giggles. The man in Knox’s chair had sat down with a long, scraggly beard and wispy gray hair. His tan face was deeply lined, his thin shoulders stooped. He wore clean sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, both a few sizes too big.

His eyes were closed in what looked like a moment of unguarded bliss as Knox draped a hot towel over his face and readied his shaving supplies.

“Yeah. Kinda cool,” I agreed, stroking a hand over Waylay’s hair.

“Those two have been doing this once a month for years,” Shirley said, appearing next to me. “Our residents get a kick out of having $200 haircuts, and it sure changes the way other people see them. We consider ourselves pretty dang lucky to have caught Knox Morgan’s attention with our work here.”

I wondered if he had his name on this building too. And if he did, did it bother him less than the police station?

I watched him remove the towel with a flourish, making the man in his chair grin.

“GRABBED YOU A COFFEE.”

A huge to-go cup materialized before my eyes as I straightened from the table where I was folding t-shirts.

Knox stood there, holding a second, smaller cup with the kind of look in his eyes that made my heart somersault in my chest.

The man had played hero to two dozen people today—not counting me—

and then he’d run out to grab me a cauldron of coffee.

It hit me like a warm, glowing wave that swept my feet out from under me.

“Thanks,” I said, going misty-eyed.

“The fuck, Daze?”

Of course he noticed I was about to cry over caffeine. Because he noticed everything.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Someone say something to you?” He was glaring through the window as if looking for someone to blame.

“No!” I assured him. “I’m just… This is…amazing, Knox. You know that, right?”

“It’s a haircut, Naomi,” he said dryly.

I shook my head. As a woman, I inherently understood that a haircut was rarely just a haircut. “No. It’s more than that. You’re changing the way the world sees each one of these people. And you’re changing the way they feel about themselves.”

“Shut up,” he said gruffly. But the corner of his mouth lifted, and then he was plucking the coffee out of my hands, putting it on the table next to the stack of shirts, and pulling me into his chest.

“You shut up,” I said, planting my hands on his shoulders.

“Where’s Way?” he asked, those blue eyes searching for her.

Damn it.

That stupid golden glow was back and threatening to burst out of my chest. The man had spent the day giving homeless men and women haircuts.

Then he’d brought me coffee and was now on alert, making sure Waylay was safe. He was as protective of her as he was me.

I was a goner.

“She’s over there with Shirley,” I said, pointing in the direction of the playground where Waylay was pushing a little girl on the swings while Shirley led some kind of game.

Waylay spotted us watching her and waved.

I waved back, that glow in my chest refusing to budge now.

I needed to get out of here. Away from those strong arms so I could remind myself why we wouldn’t work. Why we weren’t really together.

Because Knox didn’t want to be. Because when it came down to it, no one ever really chose me.

That mean little voice did the trick, popping my pretty little balloon of hope like a dart.

Knox tensed against me, his hold tightening.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Got yourself a girl, Knox?” a thin, reedy voice asked.

I turned in his arms to see the man who’d been in Knox’s chair earlier.

Now rather than looking like a lost soul, he looked years younger. A silver fox with his hair cut short and swept back from his face. His beard lay neat and gray along his strong jawline.

Knox’s arms tightened around me, holding my back to his front.

“Two actually,” I said with a smile, pointing over to where Waylay was giggling at something a boy her age said.

“Pretty,” the man said. “Just like her mama.”

Technically, I could have corrected him. But since Waylay’s mom was my identical twin, I decided to just pocket it as the compliment it was intended. “Thank you,” I said.

“Aren’t ya gonna introduce us?” the man asked Knox as he scratched at his forearm. There was a subtle unsteadiness to his movements.

There were a few beats of awkward silence, which I was compelled to interrupt.

“I’m Naomi,” I said, holding a hand out to the man.

“Naomi,” he repeated. “I’m—”

“This is Duke,” Knox interrupted.

Duke nodded, looking down at his feet for a second.

“It’s nice to meet you, Duke,” I said, my hand still extended.

“Then the pleasure is mine,” he said finally. He accepted my hand, his palm rough and warm against mine. He had striking eyes the color of sterling silver.

“Take good care of ’em, Knox,” he said finally.

Knox grunted in response and pulled me back a step, my hand sliding out of Duke’s. The man shuffled off in the direction of the big commercial kitchen.

“We’re leavin’,” Knox announced. “Go get Way.”

Something had crawled up Knox’s ass. Good. It would keep me from falling head over heels for the man.

Wordlessly, I picked up the coffee he’d brought me and headed outside to collect Waylay.

I coaxed her off the playground, telling her that it was time to go home.

As we were saying our good-byes, I spotted Knox by the truck with Duke.

He was handing over a backpack that looked as though it was stuffed full.

They were having some kind of discussion that looked intense. Duke kept nodding while looking at his feet and scratching absently at his arms.

He didn’t look up until Knox held out a white envelope and said something.

“Who’s Knox talking to?” Waylay asked.

“A man named Duke. He cut his hair earlier.”

“Is he okay?”

I didn’t know if she meant Knox or Duke. “I don’t know, honey.”