Page 59 of The Quiet After The Fall

“Friends?” I almost laugh. “Knox, we haven’t been friends in years…not truly.”

What I don’t say is that I can’t lose him either. Can’t lose him but can’t have him. We’re in quite the fucking predicament.

His thumb draws circles on my forearm. “Then we don’t need a label. It’s just you and me, one day at a time—hell, one minute at a time if that’s what you need.”

His thumb keeps moving, slow circles that I feel everywhere, and I hate how easy it is to let him get under my skin. How easy it’s always been.

“And what happens when one of those minutes turns into something we can’t take back?”

“Then it does.” His eyes are wide, pleading. “I’m done pretending I have a plan, Sawyer. I don’t. I just know I’m not walking away from you again. Us coming here at the same time, meeting in the same place…it means something. I don’t believe in fate or luck or any of that shit, but this…you and me, I can’t explain. And I’ve tried. God, I’ve tried.”

He’s killing me. Those eyes. His words. Knox is never this open. Not in all the years I’ve known him and it’s cracking my chest in two. He’s a man of facts, of data. For him to stand here and say he believes in fate means so much more than anyone else on the planet saying the same.

I don’t know what to say so I stay quiet, listening to the bell chime on the market door, distant conversation coming from tourists walking, the hum of insects in the fading sunset. It’s grounding. I can’t say what’s in my heart, because if I did, I’d tell him that I feel the same way. That I can’t stop loving him even though it’s the only thing I want. That he’s infuriating and awful but also kind and brilliant. That he’s the person I think about before I fall asleep and the second I wake up and even in my dreams when I reach for him he slips out of my grasp.

“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” I say. “Maybe we just both needed to get out of Ashford tonight and coming here is muscle memory.”

“Maybe. But neither of us ever shops here. We come from a long line of loyal Mercer Mart customers.” He shrugs, deadly serious. “This has to be fate, Thorne. And I think the universe is telling you to let me buy you dinner.”

“The universe, huh?”

“The universe.” He nods and pulls a hand through his hair. “I don’t make the rules. I just follow them.”

“You’ve never followed a rule in your life.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He turns toward his Jeep, parked along the street. “Come on. We don’t want to make the universe wait. We already have enough bad luck.”

“Luck? Who the hell are you?”

He laughs and heads toward his car, expecting me to follow. I should say no for all the reasons…being with Knox is a bad idea. Then he looks back at me over his shoulder, that stupid smirk on his face, and every one of them dissolves.

“Fine.” I move to his side before I change my mind. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Chapter 15

Sawyer

Knox’s scent has made a home inside his Jeep. Salty but in a way that reminds me of the beach and breezy nights. Calm washes over me the moment I climb in and pull my seatbelt on. This feels right.

He pulls onto the road, turning the radio down low—some classic rock station that cuts in and out as we reach the edge of town. We pass my motel, the boatyard, the gated entrance to The Point where the Aldriches home is. I like sitting in the quiet, windows down and summer sun low, with Knox by my side.

The moment is almost peaceful. Nostalgic in a way I’ve craved for too long.

Then the trees break, and I realize where we are…what’s coming up ahead.

Wonder World is right there, lit up against the darkening sky. The Ferris wheel rotates slow and bright, a wheel of glowing colors against navy. Vivid lights, some strobing out of sync, others looking like electric smudges along the horizon. And the sign—two W’s with that horrible damn clown standing tall like a beacon. Even from here, I swear I can hear the muffled sound of carnival music carried on the wind.

My stomach drops and air gets caught in my throat. Pressure weighs on my sternum like a heavy hand.

Knox’s eyes flick toward me, then without saying a word, his hand finds mine. With a gentle squeeze, I know he feels it too. He doesn’t say, but his jaw tightens until the lights disappear around a bend in the road.

I watch them fade, hoping the suffocating edge will fade along with them, but I find myself staring out the side mirror, picturing the place where they used to be.

I still can’t shake the feeling when we get out of the car at Mickey’s. It looks the same as always—rickety wooden benches, warm white string lights, chalkboard sign showing the same few items it’s always had. Being here should bring comfort, draw happy memories to the surface. But I can’t shake the lingering panic.

I let Knox lead. We get a table near the back, away from the families with screeching toddlers and groups of teenagers crowded around one order of fries. Knox tells me he’ll be right back and he gets in line to order.