Things We Hide from the Light: Chapter 7

Iwas still reasonably ragey by the time I got in my car and headed to Knox and Naomi’s house for dinner. Sure. What woman hadn’t had the stray fantasy about two men fighting over her? But it wasn’t nearly as sexy when the fight was actually a jurisdictional pissing match and I was just a pawn.

A little action on the gas pedal had my beefy Charger roaring to life on the open stretch of road. I loved big engines and fast cars. There was something about the open road and the rumble of a V8 that made me feel free.

I eased back to my customary nine miles over the speed limit. Just enough for a little fun but too much hassle for a cop to pull me over.

Angry, kick-ass lady music blasted from the sound system, and wind whipped through my hair.

All too soon, I slowed to make the turn onto the gravel lane that wound through the woods. Part of me was tempted to just keep going. To drive fast and sing loud until all the frustrations that had been building flew right out the window.

But as mad as I was, a cross-country road trip probably wouldn’t be enough to clear my head.

So I did the annoying, responsible thing and made the turn.

Even through my pissed-off-ness, I could still appreciate the show autumn was putting on. The woods were alive with color. Leaves of red, gold, and orange clung to branches and rained down to cover the driveway. I had complicated feelings about fall. What had once represented reuniting with friends and starting new adventures had only come to mean missing out on both.

“Man, I am bitchy tonight,” I grumbled to Carrie Underwood as she dug her keys into the side of her ex’s truck.

I dialed down the volume on the stereo and let the whisper of the creek through the trees fill the car.

Knox and Naomi’s house came into view around the next bend. It sprawled out in timber and glass tucked into the trees like it was part of the forest. I pulled in behind Naomi’s SUV and got out before I could talk myself into sitting and stewing. The sooner I got in, the sooner I could get out and go home and be bitchy alone.

I headed for the stone walkway that meandered its way through low-growing shrubs and late-season flowers to the wide steps of the front porch.

There was a kid’s bike on a patch of lawn and striped cushions on the rocking chairs. Potted ferns hung from the porch rafters. A trio of hand-carved jack-o’-lanterns were clustered just outside the front door.

I was willing to bet money that Knox’s pumpkin was the terrifying ghoulish one vomiting forth its own innards. Naomi’s would be the precisely carved, toothy smile one. And Waylay’s was the impatient, jagged, lopsided one with scary eyebrows.

The entire place screamed “family.” Which was both sweet and entertaining when I thought of the Knox who I’d known forever.

From beyond the screen door came an excited howl immediately followed by a cacophony of barks and yips. Dogs of all shapes and sizes spilled out onto the porch and down the steps, swarming me in a friendly frenzy.

I bent to greet them.

Knox’s grandmother’s dogs were a petite, one-eyed pit bull named Kitty and a rambunctious beagle named Randy. Naomi’s parents, who now resided in the cabin on the property, had brought along their dog, Beeper, a rescued Heinz 57 that resembled a scruffy brick with feet.

Knox’s dog, a chunky basset hound named Waylon, landed his pudgy front paws on my thighs to rise above the fray for his fair share of attention.

“Waylon! Knock it off,” Knox barked from the front porch as he pushed open the screen door. He had a dish towel thrown over his shoulder, a pair of grill tongs in his hand, and something close to a smile on his handsome face.

“I’m settin’ the table like you told me to!” came the aggrieved cry of a twelve-year-old from inside.

“Waylon, not Waylay,” Knox yelled back.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Waylay bellowed.

I grinned.

“Family life agrees with you,” I said, wading through the dogs to the front porch.

He shook his head. “I spent an hour googling fuckin’ sixth grade math last night and a week listening to women go back and forth over flower arrangements.” A chorus of laughter rang out from the house. “It’s never quiet. There’s always people everywhere.”

He might have been standing there complaining, but it was plain as day that Knox Morgan was happier than he’d ever been.

“Sounds like you deserve one of these,” I said, holding up the six-pack I’d brought.

“Let’s drink in the backyard before someone finds us and needs me to fix the dryer vent or watch another ‘hilarious TikTok,’” he said. He tucked the tongs into his back pocket, grabbed two of the beers, then popped the tops on the porch railing. He handed one to me. “Last chance to make a run for it,” he offered.

“Oh, I’m not missing the domesticated Knox show for anything,” I told him.

He snorted. “Domesticated?”

“Just messing with you. It suits you.”

He leaned his forearms on the porch railing. “What does?”

I pointed the neck of my bottle toward the front door. “Those two ladies in there needed you. You stepped up and now the three of you are so blindingly happy the rest of us can’t look directly at you.”

“You think they’re happy?” Knox asked.

Another burst of laughter came from inside the house. The dogs raced around the yard, noses to the ground in search of another adventure.

“Positive,” I said.

He cleared his throat. “Something I wanna ask you, and I don’t want you makin’ a big fuckin’ deal out of it.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I want you to be a groomsman or whatever.”

I blinked. “Me?” Except for my aunt Shirley’s wedding to my aunt Janey—I’d rocked my role as an eight-year-old rainbow glitter fairy—I’d never been part of a bridal party. I’d never been close enough to anyone to be asked.

“Naomi’s askin’ Sloane, Stef, Fi, and Way. I’ve got Nash, Luce, and Jer. At least I will once I tell them. And you.”

Nash. Just the mention of his brother’s name had me spiraling further into bitchiness. But the bitchiness was tempered by a bright glow in my chest. “Do you want me to wear a tux?”

“I don’t care if you wear beer-stained sweats. Though I’m sure Daisy’ll have some opinions. Just be there.” He took a pull of his beer. “And don’t let me fuck it all up.”

I grinned. “I’d be honored to be your groomsman…person?”

“Naomi’s calling you a groomsgal, but I’m not saying that shit in public. Stef’s a bridesman and I am sayin’ that.”

We both smirked into the dusk as it settled over the yard.

“Thanks for asking,” I said finally. “Even though you didn’t ask.”

“If you tell people what you want instead of askin’ them for it, you’re more likely to get what you want,” he said.

“Knox the domesticated philosopher.”

“Shut up or I’ll make you wear tangerine taffeta.”

“I’m amazed you know either one of those words.”

“Wedding’s in three weeks. I’m learning all the words.”

“Three weeks?”

His grin was lazy. “Feel like I’ve been waiting for Daze and Way my entire life. I’d go to the courthouse tonight if I could talk them into it.”

“Well, if I’m not still in town by then, I’ll come back for it,” I promised.

He nodded. “Fair warning. There’s gonna be a shit ton of hugging.”

I grimaced. “I’m out.”

Physical affection ranked somewhere between being on hold with the cable company and getting a root canal. There had been a time in my life when my body had belonged more to medical staff than to myself. Since then, I preferred to avoid all surprise touching unless I was the one instigating it. Which only made my reaction to He Who Shall Not Be Named all the more confusing.

“Already got a solution,” he said. “I’m puttin’ not a hugger after your name in the program.”

I was still laughing when headlights cut through the trees that lined the lane. Nash’s pickup truck, a blue Nissan, pulled into the drive next to my car.

Temper sparked over my skin along with the concern that he’d push the line of questioning on the whole investigator situation. I didn’t need him spreading that around.

“I didn’t know he was coming,” I said.

Knox gave me the side-eye. “Got a problem with my brother?”

“Yeah, actually, I do. You have a problem with me having a problem?”

His lips quirked. “Nope. ’Bout time someone else gets pissed at him besides me. Just don’t let it fuck with the wedding or that’ll upset Naomi. And no one upsets Naomi besides me.”

The dogs enthusiastically swarmed the vehicle.

My heated gaze met Nash’s chilly one through the windshield. He didn’t look too happy about the idea of getting out of the car. Good.

“I think I’ll go inside. See if there’s anything I can help with,” I decided.

Knox traded me the tongs for a third beer. “Check the chicken on the grill if Lou hasn’t already started hovering,” he said, then headed in the direction of his brother.

Check on the chicken? My knowledge of cooking poultry was limited to what showed up on my plate in restaurants. I let myself in and followed the noise.

The house was a beauty, rugged and rustic, but with homey touches that made a person want to sit down, put their feet up, and enjoy the chaos.

Family photos that went back a handful of generations decorated the walls and colorful throw rugs softened the scarred hardwood floors.

I found the majority of the noise and people in the kitchen. Knox and Nash’s grandmother, Liza J—the home’s previous occupant before moving into the cottage down the lane—was supervising Naomi’s mother, Amanda, as she constructed a charcuterie board.

Lou, Naomi’s father, was—thankfully—already on the deck peering under the hood of the grill and prodding at the chicken with his own set of tongs.

Naomi and her best friend, the gorgeous and fashionable Stefan Liao, were arguing while he opened wine and she stirred something that smelled pretty great on the stove.

“Tell him, Lina,” Naomi said as if I’d been there the entire time.

“Tell who what?” I asked, finding a spot in the fridge for the remainder of the six-pack and the two-liter of Waylay’s tooth-rotting soda.

“Tell Stef that he should ask out Jeremiah,” she said.

Jeremiah was Knox’s partner in Whiskey Clipper, the town barbershop/salon beneath my apartment. As with all the single men in this town, he was also really, really good-looking.

“Witty’s doing that smug, almost-married lady thing where she tries to pair off all her friends so they can be smug, almost-married jackasses too,” Stef complained. He was wearing cashmere and corduroy and looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a men’s fashion magazine.

“Do you want to be a smug, almost-married jackass?” I asked him.

“I don’t even officially live in this town,” he said, waving his arms expressively without spilling a drop of the Shiraz. “How should I know if I want to be a jackass?”

“Great. That’s three more bucks for the swear jar,” Waylay lamented loudly from the dining room.

“Put it on my tab,” Stef yelled back.

The swear jar was a gallon-sized pickle jar that lived on the kitchen counter. It was always overflowing with dollar bills thanks to Knox’s colorful vocabulary. The money went toward buying fresh produce. The only way Naomi could get Waylay on board with curbing the four-letter words was to keep the family up to their eyeballs in salads.

“Please,” Naomi scoffed. “You spend more time in Knockemout than you do at your place in New York or with your parents. I know you’re not here just because you love the canine chaos.”

On cue, all four dogs raced into the kitchen and then charged through the dining room doorway just as Waylay appeared in it. She jumped out of their way, which succeeded in exciting them further.

“Out!” Amanda bellowed, opening the deck door and shooing the blur of fur outside.

Waylay slunk into the kitchen and sneaked a piece of pepperoni off the charcuterie board. “Table’s set,” she said.

Naomi narrowed her eyes, plucked a piece of broccoli off the veggie tray, and stuffed it into her niece’s mouth.

Waylay put up a valiant fight, but her determined aunt won with a suffocating hug.

“Why are you so obsessed with green stuff, Aunt Naomi?” Waylay groaned.

“I’m obsessed with your health and wellness,” Naomi said, ruffling her hair.

Waylay rolled her eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m weird with love for you.”

“Let’s get back to roasting Uncle Stef for being too chicken to ask out Jeremiah,” Waylay suggested.

“Good idea,” Naomi agreed.

“Boy like that’s not gonna stay single for long,” Liza J warned Stef as she slipped a slice of salami to Waylay.

“He’s very handsome,” Amanda agreed.

Everyone turned to look at me expectantly. “He is gorgeous,” I agreed. “But only if you’re into relationships and monogamy.”

“Which I’m not,” Stef insisted.

“Neither was Knox,” I pointed out. “But look at him now. He’s sickeningly happy.”

Naomi looped her arm over my shoulder and I barely managed to hide the flinch at the unexpected touch. The engagement ring on her finger glittered in the light. “See, Stef? You too could be sickeningly happy.”

“I think I’d rather just be sick.”

I slid out of Naomi’s affectionate embrace and headed for the meat tray.

Waylay stuffed a pilfered salami into her mouth when Naomi wasn’t looking. I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head.

“You’re still avoiding processed meats aren’t you, Lina?”

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to drink alcohol with your condition?”

I took a defiant sip of my beer, sidled up to Waylay, and chose a piece of ring bologna.

“What? I’m hot and gay, so me dating the hot, bisexual barber is a foregone conclusion? Gays and bis have to have more in common than just being gay and bi,” Stef sniffed.

“I thought you said he was the most attractive man on the planet with a voice like melted ice cream that made you want to tear your clothes off and listen to him recite his grocery list?” Naomi mused.

“And didn’t you also say the whole small business entrepreneurial thing he has going on was intriguing because you’re tired of dating fitness models?” Amanda added.

“And aren’t you both huge fans of luxury fashion brands, Luke Bryan, and environmentally friendly energy solutions?” I prodded.

“I hate you all.”

“Don’t date him because he’s bisexual, Stef. Date him because he’s perfect for you,” Naomi said.

Knox and Nash entered, both looking vaguely pissed off. To be fair, that was how they usually looked after a conversation with each other. Nash looked tired too. And hot in his jeans and flannel—yum.

Damn it. I’d forgotten that I wasn’t finding him attractive anymore.

I focused on the fact that he’d done his best to humiliate me with Nolan and embraced my inner female rage.

He had a beer in one hand and was holding the shivering Piper in the other. She was wearing a ridiculous pumpkin print sweater. They both looked as if this was the last place on earth they wanted to be.

“Evenin’,” he said to the room, but those blue eyes landed on me.

I glared at him. He glared back.

A new wave of pandemonium broke out as the women rushed Nash to get a better look at Piper. Knox waded through it and kissed Naomi on the cheek before making a beeline for the meat tray.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Naomi said, gently greeting the dog. “I like your sweater.”

“Who is this sweet little thing?” Amanda crooned, gently stroking Piper’s head.

The dogs outside, sensing a potential new friend, pressed their noses against the deck door and whimpered pitifully.

“This is Piper. Found her in a storm drain outside town yesterday. Who wants to foster her?” Nash said, still looking pissily in my direction.

I pointedly ignored him.

“That’s not what it looked like you were doing,” Stef said in an I know something you don’t tone.

Nash and I both swung our glares in his direction.

Stef grinned devilishly. “Sorry, kids. Gotta throw someone else under the bus or they’ll never move on.”

“What did they look like they were doin’?” Liza J demanded.

“Given the compromising position—”

“Why don’t we save this story for later?” Naomi said loudly, looking in Waylay’s direction.

“You were doin’ what?” Knox demanded, tuning in.

“I’m worried that your lack of you-know-what is making you hallucinate, Stef. Maybe you should ask Jeremiah out,” I suggested.

“Touché, Legs. Touché,” he said.

Nash ignored us and put the trembling dog down on the floor. She tried to hide behind his legs, then spotted me when she peeked around his boots.

I waved to her and she took a tentative step in my direction. I crouched down and patted the floor in front of me.

Piper inched her way out from behind Nash’s boots and then made a mad dash to me.

I picked her up and submitted to the tongue bathing. “You smell so much better than you did,” I told her.

“Aww! She likes you,” Naomi observed.

“Let’s get back to this compromising position,” Amanda suggested.

Stef topped off the empty wineglass Liza J waved at him. “So I was heading back to town early yesterday morning, and what did I see on the side of the road?”

Knox earmuffed Waylay with his hands.

“A bear?” Liza J guessed.

“Even better. I saw Knockemout’s chief of police on his knees in the grass in shall we say ‘thrusting position’ behind the curvy a-s-s of Miss Solavita.”

Nash looked like he was giving serious thought to running for the front door.

“What the f—erret?” Knox snapped.

I sighed. “Seriously, Stef? You say thrusting but you spell ass?”

“Thrusting isn’t a swear word,” Waylay said knowledgeably.

“Hey! Earmuff her harder,” Naomi instructed Knox.

He complied by spinning the girl around and wrapping her in a head-level bear hug.

“I can’t breathe!” Her cry was muffled by Knox’s chest.

“You can if you’re still complaining,” Knox insisted.

“Your dumb muscles are breaking my nose!” Waylay whined.

Knox released her and ruffled her hair.

“Waylay, why don’t you go see how Grandpa is doing with the chicken?” Naomi suggested.

“You’re just sending me away so you can talk about gross grown-up stuff.”

“Yep,” Stef said. “Now get out of here so we can get to the gross stuff.”

Knox put his hand on the top of Waylay’s head and steered her toward the back door. “Come on, kid. Neither one of us needs to hear this.” Together they trooped out onto the deck and closed the door.

“Back to the thrusting,” Amanda insisted. She hopped onto a bar stool and did a little shimmy.

“I pulled over, being a Good Samaritan and all,” Stef continued.

“Is that what they call it these days?” Nash said dryly.

“I offered my assistance, but the rosy-cheeked Lina assured me they didn’t need any help with their dry humping.”

“We weren’t dry humping!” I insisted.

“Bet you could be arrested for that,” Liza J mused with more than just a hint of pride.

I threw a carrot from the veggie tray at Stef and it bounced off his forehead. “Ow!”

“We were fully clothed and pulling a dog—this dog—out of the storm drain, idiot.” I held Piper up to the crowd Lion King–style.

“Speaking of, who’s gonna foster her until the rescue finds her a home?” Nash asked.

“I never thought a dog rescue story would disappoint me,” Amanda announced after a beat of silence.

“Let’s get back to Stef being a chickenshit,” I suggested.

A piece of cauliflower bounced off my cheek and landed on the floor.

Lou opened the door, and the flood of dogs rushed in. Liza J’s pit bull, Kitty, plopped her butt at my feet and stared up at the pumpkin-sweatered dog in my arms. Waylon gobbled up the floor cauliflower, while Beeper tap-danced at Lou’s feet.

“Chicken’s ready,” he announced. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Nash and I said together.