Broken Knight (All Saints High 2)

Siblings, my ass. I needed to see Luna. Now.

Hold on a second—did I? Because last time we hung out, she’d yelled at my ass.

Yeah.

No.

I needed to.

Crisis trumped anything else. Even my mansion-sized ego.

Fuuuck.

She quickly amended. “Soulmates.”

“Thanks for making it creepy.”

“She needs you.”

“Tough luck.”

I could be a stubborn motherfucker. So no then? Not going to Luna?

Shit. I needed a fortune cookie to make the decision for me, or something.

“This can’t be about a little college fling. What really happened, Knight?”

Everything. Everything happened.

Luna had moved on. I’d stayed behind. Mom got sicker. Dixie was healthy and pushy and depressingly alive. Apparently, God had a twisted sense of humor, and the joke was on me.

Emilia cupped my cheeks, pulling me closer. I was over a head and a half taller, but she still looked every inch the person in charge between us. It was in her eyes. They were like the ocean on a perfect summer day. Flat and blue and calmer than anything life could throw at them.

“You’re so stubborn. So…tunnel-visioned. You’re such a…”

“Cunt?” I offered indifferently.

“A guy.” She bit her barely contained smile. “We always thought we were going to have girls, Rosie and me.”

I couldn’t help but smirk, mainly because all they had were boys. And we were about the most testosterone-filled creatures in the history of mankind. Sometimes I wondered if I had blood or jizz in my veins.

“Sorry to disappoint. Then again, I was adopted. Mom, at least, had a choice.”

“There was never any doubt you were a Cole, Knight. You weren’t a choice; you were destiny.”

I waved her off. Mom and Emilia had the tendency to go full-blown This is Us on my ass when I brought up the A-word (adoption). I never understood why they were so butthurt about it. It wasn’t like they’d fucked some random and given me away.

“Speaking of adoption, are you sure your son is yours? Because you’re like oil and water.” I tried to disconnect from her embrace, but the Leblanc sisters, for all their tininess, cuddled like Olympic wrestlers.

“Yup. I have four stretch marks to prove it.”

“I bet he carved his name on the walls of your uterus, too, warning off any potential future siblings. The bastard.”

Aunt Em laughed, her bright blue eyes shimmering with joy. She had Mom’s laugh, and I could already see myself making her laugh when Mom wasn’t around anymore, just to get a taste.

“What’s so funny?” I frowned, finally managing to pull back.

“I bet you didn’t mean to say the uterus thing out loud.”

Shit. “Sorry. My filters are broken.”

“Your manners, too. You know I love you like a son, but you need to get your butt out of here.” She smacked said butt lightly.

I did. I knew that. But I was feeling particularly loyal to Mom, and particularly vindictive about the rest of the world.

“I only have one mother.”

Burning.

I was burning.

Like a nice, hot vacation in hell.

I woke up with my blanket sticking to my body, glued by cold sweat. Everything was so wet, for a second I thought I’d pissed the bed. I ran a hand over my head and found my hair soaking, like I’d just gotten out of the shower.

I slid out of the bed in the Spencers’ guestroom, still clad in my black Tom Ford sweatpants, and grabbed my joint and a lighter from the nightstand. I slipped my socked feet into a pair of slide sandals. I didn’t bother putting on a shirt. I headed to the kitchen for a glass of water before going on the porch for a smoke, but once I was out of bed, I continued past the kitchen to the front door, tossing it open like a moonstruck monster.

Any more bad ideas, assface?

Fresh blood pumped in my veins as I climbed up to Luna’s window for the first time in months, a fucked-up Romeo in a story that was definitely a comedic tragedy. She’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. And I’d made it clear I didn’t care.

I wasn’t done throwing Poppy in her face every chance I got. But it didn’t matter. Emilia was right. Luna needed me. I refused to believe we were two strangers with a past, that our mile-long memories were nothing, that our first kisses were nothing, that the way we molded around each other was nothing, that our blood oath wasn’t worth shit.

Her window was locked, as I expected it to be after everything that had gone down between us, and the curtains drawn together. I knocked once. Twice. When she didn’t answer, I took a deep breath, looked away, and drove my fist into it. I knew the window was double glazed and I’d need more than a punch to break it, but the loud thud was enough to let her know I wasn’t playing.