Page 1 of The Quiet After The Fall

Chapter 1

Knox

I’ve made a catastrophic mistake. But I knew that already. The second I watched Moretti walk out of my father’s office last night, the gravity of what was asked of me sat on my chest like a pile of bricks. Crushing the life out of me.

I know pain. I know the weight of responsibility. Hell, I could live with what’s being asked of me…if it wasn’t for her. My Sawyer.

I’m coming apart from the inside.

Ella is in my arms, laughing and crying at the same time. She’s genuinely happy. Somewhere in her mind, she believes this is real. Her tears are on my collar. Her hand is shaking as she gazes at the ring I slid onto her finger. My grandmother’s ring, pulled from a velvet box my father slid across the desk last night while I tried not to kill him then and there.

It’s not just Ella, but everyone at this table is in a haze of delusion. My mother has her hand pressed to her mouth. My father is already refilling his glass, readying to give a toast. Moretti’s wife is recording the whole thing, laughing with joy. And Vince Moretti himself is looking up at his daughter with pride, but I know there’s something else in his expression. It’s the same one my father’s worn every time he’s closed on a deal. Because that’s all this is. A deal where my soul is the piece being leveraged.

I hold Ella. I say the things you’re supposed to say. I let my mother take my face in her hands and tell me Owen would have been so happy, and let that add to the inescapable weight of it all.

And in the space between one breath and the next, I look up.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a force of habit. Maybe I needed to give one of my senses a reprieve from this sham. But I look toward the bar, and there’s a vodka cranberry sitting half drunk on the counter, the diluted juice looking more pink than red. Movement catches my eye and I see the back of a head I would know anywhere.

Sawyer. She’s walking out the door, shoulders set, her movement almost robotic.

Fuck. No. What did she see?

I stand frozen, staring at her retreating frame, my heart pounding against my ribcage. The restaurant hums around me. Silverware against china, low conversation between families, someone’s laugh carrying over the light classical music. None of it truly reaches me.

Ella’s still against my chest, her floral perfume burning my nostrils. My mother is studying my face and if I so much as flinch, the whole thing falls apart. So I stand there and watch Sawyer Thorne walk out of the restaurant, and I think how twenty-four hours ago, I could have had it all. I could have had her.

A part of me should have known that was never really on the table.

I watch the door swing shut behind her and her silhouette disappear into the hallway. The moment she’s out of sight, panic sets in.

“Knox,” my father says. “Why don’t you sit back down? Let’s toast.”

He knows I’ve been staring at the door for too long. Did he see Sawyer? Did Moretti?

Ella finally releases me, an agreeable sound escaping her before she settles back into her chair. I take a shaky breath that doesn’t reach my chest, sit, smile, and reach for my wine glass. The smile probably looks like a grimace, but it’s something.

“To family,” he says, raising his glass. Everyone follows, and the crystal rings out across the table as the glass in my hand is tapped.

I drink and keep drinking until there’s nothing but crimson droplets left running along the inner rim.

The dinner moves around me. Courses arrive. Moretti makes a joke that gets a big laugh. Ella keeps looking at the ring, tilting her hand in the candlelight to get a better view, and every time she does, I feel it like a splinter driving deeper. My mother starts talking about venues, and guest lists, and whether a spring wedding is too soon. I answer when I’m spoken to and cut my food into pieces I don’t plan on putting into my mouth. I can’t eat when my stomach is carrying a lead weight.

I glance toward the bar. The vodka cranberry’s still sitting there, the ice melting down to almost nothing, the glass fogged with condensation.

And all at once, I can’t breathe. It hits me hard enough to knock me out of my seat. I don’t even have it in me to excuse myself. One moment, I’m cutting into my steak. The next, my knife clatters onto the plate and I’m on my feet, heading toward the door. Toward the lobby. Toward the parking lot where maybe I can suck down air and it’ll actually reach my lungs.

Humidity hits me the second I clear the hotel entrance, thick and warm, wrapping around me like a fist. The parking lot’s quiet, just a couple walking toward the entrance and a valet leaning against a pillar checking his phone. No sign of Sawyer’s car.

I knew she’d already be gone.

I’m almost glad she is. I can’t face her. Not yet.

How the fuck did it get to this? My hands are shaking. I stare at them like they belong on another person’s body. These same hands that had the privilege of touching Sawyer an hour ago are now the hands that offered another woman a ring.

I wish I could rip them from my body.

The valet shifts beside me, and I hear the spark of a lighter. I turn to him, asking without thinking, “Can I bum one of those?”