Broken Knight (All Saints High 2)

I took his hand, and we descended the stairs. When Dad and Edie saw me, their eyes flared, but they didn’t comment about the makeup or the dress. They’d gotten tired of asking what was wrong with me and why I wasn’t hanging out with Knight and Vaughn.

Shoot. Vaughn. I hadn’t even considered him as a complication. Had Knight told him about Josh and me? My gut feeling said no, because Knight was overprotective of me. Then again, judging by his behavior the last few days, a reconciliation wasn’t in our cards. One thing was for sure—if Vaughn knew, I would find out tonight. He wasn’t known for his diplomatic skills.

“Beautiful.” Dad kissed my temple, and I relished the tenderness in his voice.

When he let go of me, Edie was there to catch me in an extra-tight hug.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here.” She clutched me to her chest, whispering in my ear, “I will always be here. I love you.”

We got to the Spencers’ carrying three different casserole dishes, five bottles of wine, and a dessert Dad had ordered especially from Los Angeles. Some fancy hot cakes with ice cream inside them that needed to be consumed at room temperature. Such were the Thanksgiving feasts my parents and their friends hosted—lavish, over-the-top, and picture-perfect.

I was the only imperfect thing about the picture, including the perfect house, perfect meal, and perfect people surrounding me.

Hugs and pleasant small talk ensued the moment we walked through the Spencer family’s door.

Jaime and Melody Followhill were already there with their daughters, Bailey and Daria. Daria’s fiancé, Penn, and his sister, Via, were also there. They were like foster children to the Followhills, which I guess made Daria and Penn’s love affair a little forbidden, but I didn’t judge them. I’d always thought my being with Knight would be weirder. Because we had actually grown up together. I’d seen him in diapers. He’d watched me studying the back of a sanitary pads box for the instructions with horror in my eyes, and had even tried to have a go at how to do it before we’d both toppled over, laughing.

Baron and Emilia Spencer looked Oscar-ready with his second-skin style suit and her pumpkin-hued orange dress—floor length and bare-shouldered. Vaughn, who took pleasure in looking like a hobo, awarded me with half a distant, yet conspiring smile, which meant he definitely wasn’t privy to whatever was going on between Knight and me.

A trickle of hope slithered its way to my gut. If Vaughn didn’t know, that meant my relationship with Knight was salvageable, right? Knight hadn’t said anything that’d make Vaughn see me in a negative light.

He still protected me.

I didn’t even know what my goal was. Up until three days ago, I’d been keen to give this thing with Knight a chance. Then for twenty-four hours or so, I’d been planning a future with Josh—whose messages I’d been dodging the past three days, too hysterical to pay him attention. And all of a sudden my only wish was…what? To get Knight back? He was never mine to begin with. To beg for his forgiveness? He was the one who’d pointed out we were free to mess around with anyone we wanted. Yet I was expected to explain myself. I’d even felt guilty. But now, as I stood here, waiting for my verdict, I wasn’t exactly sure why I had ever agreed to go to trial.

Knight slept with girls. All the time. He flirted and dated and locked them in Vaughn’s media room and did unthinkable things to them behind the dark, wooden doors. He crawled into my bed with their sweet, flowery, needy scents all over him.

Why was I being so apologetic and remorseful? Why would I mess this thing up with Josh to try to soothe Knight’s wounded ego? Why had I let him hinder the entire progress I’d made these past four months, just because he wasn’t comfortable with my new life?

The only thing I was at fault for was slapping him, and that was months ago. But I shouldn’t have done that, and he deserved an apology. But that was the extent of it.

Getting kicked out of gyms, nearly falling off window ledges—why was I indulging his vindictiveness?

Suddenly, my blood simmered with heat. All this time, I’d been trying to apologize for something Knight shoved in my face on a daily basis when we’d lived close to each other.

I excused myself from the adults’ company, waltzing into the Spencers’ kitchen and helping myself to a glass of spicy red port specially prepared by their Portuguese vintner, because of course, when you were a Spencer, having your own vintner was a thing.

I caught Daria—blonde, tall, and too Gigi Hadid to look real—and Penn, who basically looked like Leonardo DiCaprio circa 1996, making out against the kitchen counter and pretended not to notice their picture-ready existence. The doorbell chimed behind us, and they disconnected on a grunt, panting hard and smiling at each other.