Chapter 7
Knox
“Well, that turned out fucking shitty.” Gage shakes his head and strips off his jacket and tie as we head back to our hotel room. “Can’t believe Boone sent us out to talk to that prick Taylor about buying his land and all he wanted to do was squeeze us for information on where and how he should drill. Cocksucker.”
“Mmm.” I don’t say much. What is there to say? Gage ain’t wrong. We came out here to East Texas for business. Dressed up all fancy like and stayed in the nicest hotel in the area . . . which, okay, ain’t sayin’ much. But we brought portfolios and bought Lance Taylor drinks and dinner and did our best to schmooze the guy to get his land. Not that we need it. But Boone likes to stay on top of the competition, and with oil prices on a roller coaster lately, it ain’t never a bad idea to have as much drillable land as possible. Turns out Taylor wasn’t all that interested in talking about selling to us, though. He just wanted to pick our brains.
And my brother? My brother ain’t interested in work half as much as he is in drinking. He downed far too many whiskeys at dinner and even now, I recognize the look in his eye. We get back to our hotel rooms and he immediately shoves his key card in his door, flings it open, and then tosses his jacket inside without stepping in. “I’m goin’ down to the bar,” he says. “You wanna come?”
“You’ve had enough to drink, don’t you think?” I say, keeping my voice uninterested. If Gage knew how much it pissed me off, he’d just drink even more. I swear he’s tryin’ to drink himself into the grave next to Seth.
Can’t blame him for bein’ messed up over Seth’s death, but this ain’t healthy. Still hurts to think that we lost my youngest brother to a rigging accident. Worst thing of all was that he didn’t need to roughneck for money—Boone just wanted him to do it to gain some character. Now he’s in a grave and we’re all blaming ourselves.
Gage just glares at me and storms back down the hall, shaking his head. That didn’t go well. Figured it wouldn’t, but also figured I needed to say something anyhow. Ah well. I enter my own hotel room and toss my jacket off, then unclip my tie. Someday I’ll learn how to use a real one, but for now, the clip does all right. I move to the minibar and see what’s inside. I’ve been fuckin’ with the maids a bit, pullin’ stuff out of the minibar and stashing it in random spots around the room to see how they’d react. Interestingly enough, they refilled it with new snacks and left the extras on top of the dresser. Guess I shoulda seen that coming. Probably billed me for ’em, too. Doesn’t matter. I reach in and grab a soda, twist off the cap, and consider putting it back in after one sip. Not because I’m cheap. Just because I like fuckin’ with people. Seein’ if they pay attention.
But nah. The joy’s gone out of a lot of it since Seth died. Now, kinda feels like it doesn’t matter anymore. All of my pranks and nudging are half-assed at best. Ain’t got the heart.
My phone buzzes, dragging me out of my depressin’ thoughts. That’d be Boone, callin’ to check on our sorry asses. He’s not gonna be happy with the waste of time, but ain’t much I can do about that. I answer. “Before you ask, it was a bust.”
Boone curses under his breath. “Knew it. He was just shakin’ you down for information, wasn’t he? There was something cagey about the way he was actin’. That asshole.”
“Yeah, I don’t get the impression he wanted to sell at all. Or if he did, it was for a hell of a lot more than his land was worth. Either way, it’s a dead end.”
“All right. Anything else going on? How’s Gage?” I can hear the worry under his casual tone. “He handle it well?”
“Well enough,” I drawl. “Drank like a fish and he’s down at the bar drinkin’ some more.”
“Goddamn it. I don’t want to bury his ass, too. You’re supposed to be watchin’ him.”
“Watchin’ him pickle his liver? He’s a grown man, Boone. He wants to drink, I can’t stop him.” But I feel the same way he does. Ever since Seth’s funeral, Gage has been a mess. We’ve all handled it badly, but Clay and Boone had their women to lean on. I just bottled it up, like I do with everything. Gage always leaned on Seth, and he’s lost without him. He’s been drinkin’ far too much for any human to handle. I get it. I want to drink away my thoughts sometimes, too, but that won’t bring Seth back. Ain’t gonna find him at the bottom of a bottle.
“Just fuckin’ go down there and drag his ass outta the bar,” Boone snarls, and then hangs up.
I pocket my phone and change clothes instead, stalling before I have to go retrieve my younger brother like a nagging wife. I’ll give him time to down a drink or two first. That’ll make him easier to manipulate. Of course, there ain’t nothing gonna stop him from going back to the bar after I drag him away, but I’ll do my brotherly duty.
Once I’m in a T-shirt and jeans, I feel more like myself. I don’t mind the pretendin’, but suits and ties are more Gage’s thing. He loves to be pretty because the ladies love it, too. Me, I’d rather be comfortable. I put on my favorite scuffed boots and head out into the hall and downstairs, toward the bar. The place isn’t crowded, but it also ain’t hard to find my brother. He’s there at the bar, three ladies clustered around him. Even shit-ass drunk, Gage is irresistible to women.
I take the closest empty seat, which puts me next to one of the women. She glances over at me, and then gives me a sultry smile when she realizes I look like Gage. “Why, hello there. You the brother?”
“Poor cousin,” I drawl. “No money. Name’s Jack.”
Her smile stiffens and she glances down at my clothing—the ragged T-shirt and faded jeans—and says, “Not interested.” She immediately turns back to Gage.
At this point, though, Gage has noticed me. He nods in my direction and sucks down another whiskey, then points for the bartender to fill it up again. One of the women touches his hand and I see her sliding her room key into his sleeve. If I don’t step in, I imagine Gage is gonna get all their room keys. Then again, this might be their thing. Or they might be call girls just looking for a rich john.
“All right, ladies,” I say, raising my voice. “Gage is packing up for the night.”
“I am?” Gage asks, and looks up at me with red, slitted eyes. “Thought I was jus’ gettin’ started.”
“Nope. You’re cut off.” I hold my credit card up to the bartender. “Cash him out. He’s done.”
“Goddamn it, Knox. Just because you’re my brother doesn’t mean you’re my keeper.” Gage scowls at me from down the bar.
“That’s exactly what it means,” I say as the bartender takes my card.
The woman next to me gives me a speculative look. “I thought you said you weren’t the brother.”
“I thought you said you weren’t interested.” My tone is brusque, and she stiffens at hearing it. I don’t care. I ain’t interested in her. I drum my fingers as the bartender rings up the bill, pretending I don’t see Gage sucking down the drink of one of his lady friends before I haul him away. By the time I take my card back from the bartender, Gage staggers to his feet and I haul his arm around my shoulders.
“I’m fine,” he tells me, weaving. “Don’t need a babysitter.”
“You do what you like,” I tell him. “But when I feel like you’re in trouble, I’m gonna come bail your ass out.”
He just chuckles at that. Gage is quiet as we cross the hotel lobby back to the elevator, then make our way up to our floor. He’s fumbling too hard to open his door, so I take his key from him and use it, then haul him toward the bed and let him flop there. I take his shoes off for him as he groans, facedown on the blankets. “Were those girls hot? Wonderin’ if I should tell one of them to come up.”
I shrug. “Didn’t really pay attention.”
“All I remember are tits,” Gage says. “Big, bouncy tits.” He flops over in the bed. “You pretty much told ’em to fuck off. Dunno why. You coulda gotten your dick wet.”
“They’re fake,” I tell him flatly. “I ain’t interested in fake.”
“Easiest way to forget how shit life can be is to bury yourself in a hot girl. Doesn’t matter if she’s fake.”
“Does to me. All they want is a wallet and a guy to buy them shit. They don’t know anything about you.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You ever met a girl that doesn’t give a shit about the wallet? I haven’t.”
“Yeah.” I think of Lexi, with her lithe body and her weird sense of humor. She’s not traditionally sexy like Gage thinks of it, but just the thought of her dark hair and little smirk makes me ache inside. “Yeah, I met a girl like that once.”
I must be obvious, because Gage points at me and laughs. “That weirdo goth, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“Damn, Knox. How come you didn’t hit that?”
I go silent. It’s none of Gage’s business if I slept with Lexi or not. He’s my brother, but he’s also a drunk lately and can’t hold a secret to save his life. “Shit happened.”
“You mean Seth died.” Instead of turning sad or angry, Gage just laughs. “Shithead’s cockblocking you from the grave. That’s just like him.” He puts a hand to his forehead. “Ah, fuck, I miss him.”
“Me too.” I’m not as hollowed as Gage is, though, and I feel guilty for that. Maybe because I’ve always been a bit more remote than my brothers. I didn’t have that closeness that Gage did with Seth. He was my brother and I loved him, but Gage is shattered by his death. Maybe I’m fucked up because I only feel like my heart’s been cored like an apple. I’ll recover, eventually. I don’t know if Gage ever will. I slap his leg. “Get some sleep. I’ll come get you in the morning.”
He mumbles something and rolls back over in bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his face. I leave his room and shut the door behind me. I don’t go back to my room immediately, though. I lean against the wall for a few minutes, waitin’ to see if he’s gonna try to sneak back down to the bar again or if he’s really gonna sleep.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
I glance back at Gage’s door, but it seems like he’s stayin’ put. Good. I head toward my room, enter, and check my phone. It’s Boone again. For a moment, I think he’s gonna rag on me for Gage or the meeting that went to shit. So I’m a little surprised when I see the message I get.
BOONE: You need to tell me something?
He attaches a picture of flowers in a vase. I . . . don’t get it. Why flowers? Is there some secret message I’m missing?
KNOX: If you’re asking if I sent flowers, you ain’t my type. I like ’em less hairy.
BOONE: You got the flowers, dumbass. They were sent to PBO office. There’s a card, too.
KNOX: Wasn’t expecting anything. Who are they from?
BOONE: Dunno. Ok to open the card?
KNOX: Knock yourself out.
There’s a long pause. Minutes long. I watch the three little dots on my phone, waiting for Boone’s response, but nothing’s coming through. Wonder what that means. Who the hell sent me flowers? It’s probably another person sending sympathy notes for Seth’s death. Like I want flowers. I’d rather just have my little bro back.
Oddly enough, I think of Lexi. Maybe I’m not as fucked up over Seth’s death as I should be because I’m obsessing over her. Don’t matter that she ghosted me after our night together. Left me a note and told me she’d call and then never did. Won’t answer my texts, so I figure I pissed her off somehow. I can’t stop thinking about her, though. Never met anyone that felt so fuckin’ perfect to me. Her smile, her body, her mind. I met her and it felt like I’d finally met my other half.
She was just . . . ideal for me. And she wasn’t interested. I’m still comin’ to terms with that. When I met her, I knew she was the one, just like Clay knew Natalie was his, and Boone knew Ivy was his. I don’t like the thought of her not bein’ in my life. With the last month being a hellish mess because of Seth’s death, I haven’t had the time to pursue her, to see what I did wrong. See what I can do to change her mind.
Or maybe I’m stalling because my pride’s been wounded. Either way, I’ve waited long enough. I need to get in touch with her. Talk to her again. Let her know that what we had was special and I ain’t about to let it go.
BOONE: Is this a joke?
I glance back down at my phone, distracted.
KNOX: Is what a joke?
BOONE: This card.
BOONE: Roses are red, violets are blue. I’ve got a bun in the oven, the dad is you?
BOONE: What the fuck, Knox?
BOONE: There’s another note at the bottom. Says she’s not interested in child support and just wanted to let you know.
BOONE: What the hell is going on?
BOONE: Who did you knock up?
BOONE: Knox?
BOONE: Damn it, if this is one of your pranks I’m going to rip your tongue out of your throat.
BOONE: Knox? Answer me!
My phone starts ringing a moment later. I’m sure it’s Boone, calling to try and shake the answer out of me from afar. I just stare at it. That’s all I can do. My brain is fried.
Lexi’s pregnant.
She must have missed one of her pills . . . or lied about it entirely. For a moment, I briefly wonder if she even has a latex allergy. If this isn’t all some sort of ploy to wrangle me out of child support. I discard it immediately, though. Lexi would have sent documents through a lawyer if she thought there was a payday attached. I don’t think she’s the type to lie. She told Boone—told me—that she wasn’t interested in child support. So why the flowers and weird poem, then?
Unless she’s joking? And this is some sort of prank? But no. This feels . . . different.
The phone rings again and this time I grab it. “Is there a return address?” I ask immediately, before Boone can speak.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“You wanna tell me if there’s a return address?” I retort back.
“No. There isn’t. It’s from a florist. It’s not even a woman’s handwriting on the card. What’s this all about?” Boone sounds tense, irritated.
“Sounds like I got Lexi pregnant is what it sounds like.” I can’t stop the slow smile that crosses my face. Holy shit. I’m going to be a father. A father to Lexi’s child. This is the best thing that could have ever happened to me.
“Goddamn it, Knox. Do I need to get the lawyers on this? Is she shaking you down?”
“No. No lawyers. I’ll get it settled on my own terms.” And the first thing I’m going to do is track Lexi down. Nat will have her address. “I’ll handle things.”
“Great.” My brother doesn’t sound enthusiastic at all. “You know Clay and Natalie are having a baby, too? He just told me yesterday.”
And Ivy’s due to have hers any minute. It’s a population boom—
The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Ivy and Boone are married. Clay and Natalie just ran to the JP a short time ago and had a shotgun wedding. I’m not married to Lexi. My child’s going to be a bastard. Just like me. He’s going to grow up with the stigma of knowing his parents weren’t married. That they were just fooling around and he was an accident. It’s going to fuck with his mind like it fucked with mine. I always knew growing up that my dad didn’t want me. He loved me, of course. He loved all his boys. But he also loved sticking his dick into any woman that headed his way. Boone’s the son from his first wife, Clay from his second. I’m the third kid, but he wasn’t married to my mom. Gage was a few months after me—another bastard. Seth a few years later. Bastard.
Maybe it’s never bothered them, because by the time you get to bastard number two or three, you’re used to it. You’re just another Price kid.
But to me, it’s always mattered. I’ve always been the illegitimate Price boy. Just like Seth was the youngest Price boy, and Gage was the Mexican one. I don’t want my kid going through the same stigma I did. And I sure don’t want Lexi touching anyone else. Or letting someone else raise my kid. He’s gonna be mine, like she’s gonna be mine. That possessive streak sweeps over me again.
That’s my family. And for a Price, family’s everything.
“Don’t tell Clay or Nat that Lexi’s pregnant,” I say to Boone. “I’ll tell them once I get stuff sorted with Lexi, but let me work things through with her first. Let’s let them have their moment.”
“All right. But . . . you’ll keep me posted?” Boone sounds reluctant but he knows he can’t win this one. When a Price has his mind on something, ain’t no stoppin’ him.
“Yup.”
“Don’t abandon Gage,” he tells me before I can hang up. “That little shit needs someone to keep him on track.”
I hate that he’s right. Everything in me is screaming to go after Lexi right now, but I can’t. Not with my drunk brother determined to kill himself with the bottle.
I can’t get to Lexi right away, but that doesn’t stop me from Googling the hell out of her. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before—wounded pride, I guess. I start by searching Luka, Texas—her hometown—and yoga studios. After that, it’s ridiculously easy to find her online. Luka Yoga is her studio. The website is pretty basic, and when I click on “Instructors” it shows a black-and-white picture of her in a yoga pose from behind. But I recognize those lovely shoulders and the smooth sweep of dark hair down her back. Her profile reads:
Lexi Brandon, RYT 200. Specializing in therapeutic yoga for beginners and advanced alike. Yoga helps me stay fit and alert, and there’s nothing I like more than starting the day with a sun salutation and a good crow pose to end the day. Allow me to help you achieve your goals. One-on-one classes available!
It sounds nice and all . . . but it also don’t sound much like the Lexi I know. I figure she didn’t write that herself or it’d be more like she specialized in whatever yoga would make people cry the most. That seems more like her. Now that I have her name, though, I continue searching online to see what I can find. There ain’t much, though. She doesn’t have a Facebook page, and she ain’t on Twitter, or Instagram, or any of that shit. I can’t find anything, and I can’t decide if that’s smart or frustrating. Probably both.
That’s all right. Just means I have more to ask her about when I see her again. I close my eyes and tilt my head back, thinking of those dark eyes and that sly smile that’s so full of fun. Her gorgeous little tits and those long, supple legs. The taste of her on my tongue.
Fuck. Now I need to go whack off or I’m going to be sitting here all night with a raging boner. Gage better enjoy his sleep while he can, because I’m waking his ass up at the crack of dawn so I can shove him back to Clay and Boone and free myself up to pursue my woman.
My Lexi.
The mother of my child.
Shit, now I’m really damn hard.