Page 22 of Ruthless Edge

By the third song I've stopped actively trying not to enjoy myself, which is either progress or failure, I can't tell. I know this setlist. I know which tracks the crowd goes loudest for and I find myself singing along to the ones I can't help, and Knox keeps making comments between songs. Comments about the crowd or the set or something he just thought of, and more than once it makes me laugh.

This is the problem. Knox Carter is easy to be around when I let myself forget what I know about him. He's funny and warm and he pays attention. He did this freshman year too. That's the part I can't forget. He was exactly this person before everything happened. Being good at making someone feel special is not the same as meaning it.

I know that.

I also know I'm having the best time I've had in months, which is inconvenient.

Knox talks to me several times, his breath warm in my ear, but it’s hard for him to hear my responses. So, Knox sets me down between the last two songs. I turn around and he's grinning, saying something about the guitarist, and I tell him that the guitarist writes most of the band's music, while Landon writes most of the lyrics, which delights Knox. We're close enough together that I can see exactly what expression is on his face, which is not useful.

The band closes with the song I've had on repeat since last fall. The whole room sings it back. I sing it too. When the last note fades, the crowd cheers and the sound fills the whole room and I feel good. Actually, genuinely good. I hadn't expected that.

After the show, while people filter out, I spot Landon through the crowd.

Landon Cole plays left wing on the hockey team's second line and also plays lead guitar. He's easy to spot, because he’s tall, loose-limbed, with the easy posture of someone who grew up on the ice and hasn't lost it. He sees Knox and grins like they're old friends, which is pretty much what happens everywhere Knox goes.

"Look at that, one of my favorite members of The Unholy Trinity." He pulls Knox into a quick grip, obviously familiar with the Carter triplets, and then looks at me. "Hey."

"Landon, Emma Lawson. She’s running the yearly Hockey Bachelor Auction."

"Co-runs," I say. "We're actually hoping to talk to you. The SAB is hosting its annual charity gala in eight weeks and we're looking for entertainment. Something local, something people on campus know. Something good."

Landon looks between me and Knox. "Gala, like, formal event?"

"Formal venue. Alumni, faculty, current students. The auction usually raises more than fifty thousand dollars, so there's real money to help the hockey team."

"What would you need?"

"Two-hour set. Sound check the day before. We'd want some crowd pleasers but you'd have room for newer material."

Knox adds, "We're looking at The Hawthorne Ballroom. A town over."

"That place is nice," Landon says, his expression interested.

"We think so too," I say. "The event has real visibility. And there's a budget for entertainment."

We talk for another ten minutes, going over what we’d be able to pay, what hours would be required, and every single other detail we can come up with. By the end, Landon has asked for a formal proposal by next week and said he'd bring it to the rest of the band. He doesn't commit, but he's interested. Actually interested, not polite-interested. I know the difference.

When he steps away, I turn to Knox and I'm already running logistics. Proposal drafted by Wednesday. Venue pricing locked before that, which means Knox needs to have made those calls. Ticket sales timeline.

But underneath all of it, something else is sitting there too. A feeling I don't usually let myself near.

Tonight was good. It was genuinely good, in ways I didn't expect, and a significant portion of why it was good is standing beside me right now saying something about the bass line in the third song. I've been angry at Knox Carter for three years. I've had good reasons. But standing here tonight, it's harder to hold onto them. Tonight he made sure I wasn't crushed by a crowd and made a stranger pay for my drink and held me up so I could see the stage. He was funny and warm and not once did he make me feel like anything other than someone he actually wanted to be here with.

Maybe I've been wrong. Maybe three years of distance made something seem worse than it was. Maybe⁠—

"Emma!"

I turn.

Laura Prescott walks toward us and she looks exactly the way Laura always looks, which is like she belongs wherever she is. Tight mini skirt, perfect hair, the kind of effortless that takes considerable effort. She's already smiling her bright public smile and I know what's happening before she crosses the last few feet of space between us.

She wraps both arms around Knox.

"I heard you mention the concert," she says, "so I thought I'd stop by. Hope that's okay." She pulls back to look up at him, still holding his arm, and she's smiling, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

Knox looks surprised. Then the surprise settles into something warmer.

"Yeah," he says. "Of course."