THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING AN IDIOT
Knox
“Stop looking at me like that,” I ordered.
Waylon huffed out a sigh that ruffled his jowls. He looked more mournful than usual, which was saying something for a basset hound. He was also sitting in my lap, with his paws on my chest, creepily staring at me.
Apparently my dog wasn’t a fan of the fact that we were back at the cabin full-time.
He didn’t see it as sparing Naomi from seeing me at the dinner table.
He didn’t care that it was the right fucking thing to do.
It was the right thing to do, I reminded myself.
No matter how hurt she’d looked.
“Fuck,” I muttered to myself, swiping a hand over my beard.
Dragging it out would have only made things more complicated, hurt more feelings.
She’d been so relaxed and happy, sitting across from me at Dino’s. So damn gorgeous I couldn’t look directly at her or look away. Then the light had gone right out of her.
I’d done that. I’d extinguished it.
But it was the right fucking thing.
I’d feel better soon. I always did. The relief from ending a complication would come, and I wouldn’t feel so…unsettled.
With nothing better to do, I popped the top on my third beer.
It was Monday. I’d put in a full afternoon at Whiskey Clipper, moving into my office when clients and staff started shooting dirty looks at me. Word spread fast in Knockemout. I’d planned on working tonight at the bar, but when I’d walked in the door at Honky Tonk Max and Silver had booed me. Then Fi flipped me the bird and told me to come back when I learned how to be less of an asshole.
This was why I didn’t mess around with Knockemout women.
They were rattlesnake mean when riled. So here I was. Home for the night. Enjoying my solitude.
It would all blow over soon. I’d stop feeling like shit. Naomi would get over it. And everyone would move the fuck on.
Waylon let out another grumble and shot a pointed, droopy look at his empty food dish.
“Fine.”
He jumped down, and I fed him, then returned to the living room, where I flopped down on the couch and reached for the remote.
Instead, my fingers found the picture frame. Since I had nothing better to do, I picked it up and studied it. My parents had been happy. They’d built a life for me and Nash. A good one.
Until it had all crumbled because the foundation was unstable.
I ran a finger over my mom’s smiling face in the photo and wondered for just a moment what she’d think of Naomi and Waylay.
What she’d think of me.
After a long pull from the bottle, I shifted my attention to my father’s face. He wasn’t looking at the camera, at whoever had taken the picture. His attention was on my mom. She’d been the light and the glue. Everything that had made our family strong and happy. And when she’d gone, we’d collapsed in on ourselves.
I put the photo down, angling it away so I wouldn’t have to look into the past anymore.
The past and the future were two places I had no business being. The only thing that mattered was right now. And right now…well, I still felt like shit.
Ready to numb out for a night, I reached for the remote again when a loud knock sent Waylon galloping to the front door, ears flapping.
I followed at a more dignified pace.
Crisp, September evening air wafted in when I opened the door.
Nash stood on the doorstep, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his side.
“You’re lucky I gotta do this right-handed.”
“Do wha—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish the question before my brother’s fist connected with my face. Like any good sucker punch, it rang my bell and knocked me back a full step.
“Ow! Fuck! What the hell, Nash?”
He pushed past me and stomped inside. “What did I tell you?” he snarled over his shoulder. He opened my fridge and helped himself to a beer.
“Jesus. Tell me about what?” I asked, working my jaw back and forth.
“Naomi,” Lucian said.
“Christ, Lucy. Where did you come from?”
“I drove.” He clapped me on the shoulder and followed Nash into the kitchen. “Feel better?” he asked my brother.
Nash handed him a beer and shrugged. “Not really. He’s got a hard face to go with that thick head.”
“What are you two assholes doing here?” I demanded, swiping Lucian’s beer and holding it to my jaw.
Nash handed him a fresh one.
“Naomi, of course,” Lucian said, accepting the beer and squatting down to pet Waylon.
“For fuck’s sake. That shit is none of your business.”
“Maybe not. But you are,” Lucian said.
“I told you not to fuck it up,” Nash said.
“This is bullshit. You can’t just come into my house, punch me in the face, play with my dog, and drink my beer.”
“We can when you’re being a stupid, stubborn son of a bitch,” my brother snapped.
“No. Do not sit. Don’t make yourselves comfortable. I finally have a night to myself and I’m not wasting it with you two.”
Lucian took his beer and wandered into the living room. He sank into one of the armchairs and put his feet up on the coffee table, looking content enough to stay there for the rest of the night.
“Sometimes I really hate you assholes,” I complained.
“Feeling’s mutual,” Nash growled. But his hand was gentle when he leaned over to give Waylon the loving he demanded. The dog’s tail blurred into happiness.
“You don’t hate us,” Lucian declared mildly. “You hate yourself.”
“Fuck off. Why would I hate myself?” I needed to move. I needed to buy a thousand acres and build a damn cabin in the damn middle and never tell a damn soul where I lived.
“Because you just told the best thing that ever happened to you to take a damn hike,” Nash said.
“A woman is never going to be the best thing that happens to me,” I insisted. The words tasted suspiciously like a lie.
“You are the stupidest son of a bitch in the state,” my brother said wearily.
“He’s not wrong,” Lucian agreed.
“Why in the hell do you two have your panties in a twist over who I do or don’t date? It was never real anyway.”
“You’re making a huge fucking mistake,” Nash insisted.
“What do you care? Now you get your shot at her.” The thought of it, just the split second imagining him with Naomi, nearly brought me to my knees.
My brother set down his beer. “Yeah, I’m definitely hitting him again.”
Lucian dropped his head back against the cushion. “I said I’d give you one. You’ve had it. Find a new way to get through his thick skull.”
“Fine. Let’s try something new. The truth.”
“How novel,” Lucian said.
I wasn’t going to get rid of either of them until they’d said their piece. “Say what you need to say, then get the hell out.”
“This happens every time he sees him,” Nash complained to Lucian.
Lucian nodded. “I am aware.”
I didn’t like that my brother and my best friend seemed to have a history of making up and discussing my issues.
“Sees who?”
Nash leveled me with a look.