“That was fast,” Fallon calls out, not taking his eyes off the screen of the video game he’s currently obsessed with. His character on the TV performs a combat roll, barely avoiding a sniper shot. “We thought you were spending the night at the foreman’s.”
“Very funny,” I say, tossing my keys onto the hook by the door. I walk over to the kitchen island, needing to move.
“I was being serious,” Fallon says, pressing a button combo to reload. “Knox, watch your six. Sniper on the ridge.”
I watch them for a minute. The ease of their posture, the casual way they insult each other. It’s contrasting the knot of anxiety in my chest. They’re in their element—safe, relaxed, unbothered.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off. I take a long drink, the cold liquid shocking me awake.
“Fallon,” I say, my voice tight.
“Yeah.”
“I need to talk to Knox.”
Fallon pauses the game. The character on the screen freezes in mid-air. He looks at me, then at Knox, raising an eyebrow. “Secret meeting? Should I leave?”
“Stay,” I say. “Just… give us a minute.”
Knox sets his controller down carefully on the coffee table, aligning it perfectly with the edge. He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.
His face is a mask of calm, the one he wears when he’s analyzing a complex recipe, but I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw. He senses the shift in the air.
“What is this about?” he asks, his tone even. “If this is about the lamb seasoning, I already adjusted it. The acid balance is correct now.”
“It’s not about the lamb,” I say, moving to stand directly in front of the TV, blocking their view. I look down at my packmate, my brother. “It’s about Amber.”
Knox’s eyes narrow, his posture stiffening instantly. “Quessé?What about her?”
“What is your problem with her?” The words come out sharper than I intended, fueled by hours of worry and guilt.
Knox blinks, genuinely surprised. “I don’t have a problem with her.”
“Bullshit.” I take a step closer. “You’ve been cold to her since she started. You watch her like she’s a hazard, a contaminant in your sterile kitchen. You make her feel like she’s one wrong move away from being fired. I saw her face today, Knox. After the accidents. She wasn’t just in pain; she wasterrifiedof disappointing you.”
Knox stands up slowly, his movements precise and controlled. He matches my height, his presence imposing.
“I didn’t make her feel that way. I treated her like any other employee who made a critical error. I expect competence in my kitchen. That’s not a crime. If she can’t handle the pressure, that’s on her.”
“The pressure?” I laugh harshly, the sound echoing in the large room. “You’re intimidating her, Knox. You were hovering, you were snapping, you were breathing down her neck while she was trying to devein peppers. You were creating an environment where she was bound to slip up.
“You’re the head chef. You set the tone. And the tone you set today was hostile. She was so focused on not messing up in front of you that she wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing!”
Knox stares at me, his expression unchanging, a wall of ice. “I was not hostile. I was focused. We had a high-stakes dinner service. I expect everyone to operate at the same level of intensity. If she can’t do that, she shouldn’t be there.”
From the couch, Fallon lets out a long, weary sigh. He mutes the TV. “Okay, pause the testosterone-fest for a second, guys.”
“Stay out of this, Fallon,” Knox warns, not taking his eyes off me.
“I can’t do that, brother,” Fallon says, standing up and walking over to join us. He leans his hip against the back of the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks between us, a knowing look in his eyes. “Because I think you’re both wrong. And you’re both right.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, tearing my gaze away from Knox’s icy stare.
Fallon looks at Knox. “You haven’t exactly been welcoming, Knox. I’ve seen it. You watch her like she’s about to detonate. You grind your teeth when she laughs. You stiffen up whenever she walks into the room. I don’t think it’s because youdislikeher.”
Knox shifts his weight, his jaw working. “I’ve already stated that I don’t dislike her. I simply value order.”
“Bullshit,” Fallon says again, pushing off the couch. “You’re not annoyed that she’s clumsy, Knox. You’re annoyed that she’s distracting you. You’re attracted to her, man. Just admit it. It’s okay. We’re all attracted to her.”
