But I see the ring again. Watch her bring it up to her face as she wipes her eyes. And something gets lodged in my throat. I can’t. I can’t fucking do this.
The microphone falls from my hand, hitting the ground with a sharp screech.
And I walk away, ignoring the whispers behind me, ignoring my father cursing my name, ignoring Ella crying out. Ignoring the weight of Moretti’s eyes on my back the entire way.
I keep walking, through the tent, across the lawn, and toward the house.
There’s footsteps behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.
“Knox, wait!”
It’s Sawyer. I’d know her voice anywhere.
I push through the French doors into the house, past the caterers, past the hired staff, heading for the stairs.
“Knox! What the hell was that?”
I don’t answer, I’m too fucked in the head right now to give her a straight response. I take the stairs two at a time, my hand gripping the banister.
She’s right behind me. I can hear her heels on the hardwood, her breathing fast and heavy.
“Knox, stop!”
I don’t stop until I reach Owen’s door. My hand hovers over the knob for a second, knowing what I’m walking into. But I twist it and push inside.
My response is visceral as I suck in a quick breath, bending at the waist to get the air to reach my lungs. Then cursing under my breath at the sharp stab of pain in my still-healing ribs.
I knew the room would be all Owen. He’s been living back at home since he graduated, probably waiting to get a place with Sawyer. But knowing and seeing are two different things.
The bed’s unmade, pillows sideways along the edge. He always refused to make his bed and it drove my father crazy. His old lacrosse sticks are leaning against the wall in the corner. His laptop’s closed on the desk and a hoodie is slung on the chair.
It smells like his cologne.
My brother, who’ll never be back in this room again.
I press my knuckles against my eyes, trying to force the tears back, but they come anyway. It’s so fucking pointless to cry, but I can’t stop.
“Knox…”
I knew she’d follow but fuck. I don’t want her to see me like this. My breaths are ragged and vision blurred as I straighten and turn in her direction.
She steps inside, closing the door behind her. I can see the pain all in her expression as she lets the space surround her senses. In here, there’s no escaping the fact that Owen is gone, and that feeling hits me harder now than it did all day, even when I watched his casket get lowered into the ground.
“I’m sorry,” I say, wiping at my face.
She sucks in a ragged breath, and moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “You made a scene out there. Embarrassed me, Knox.”
“You shouldn’t have been back there.”
“It was fine.” She grabs a pillow and holds it against her chest. “Now everyone’s out there talking about me.”
“I don’t give a fuck what people say and you shouldn’t either.”
“Well, I do!” Her voice wavers. “I already have to deal with being David Thorne’s daughter. I don’t need this too. I don’t need everyone staring at me, talking about me, wondering what the hell is wrong with you that you’d…lose your mind that way.”
“They should be talking about you. You were going to marry him.”
“Was I?” she cries, staring down at the ring. “If memory serves, the second I found out about this ring, I ran for the hills…with you.”
