Things We Left Behind (Knockemout, #3)

“You two hot dudes are head over heels for each other,” I said, keeping my voice low.

Stef looked both hopeful and nauseated. “We haven’t really discussed a future. But I want us to have one. What do I do? Ask if I can move into his bachelor pad, which by the way looks like it was furnished by some renegade rebel motorcycle gang? Seriously, who has a diamond-plate steel coffee table? You can’t even slide a wineglass across it. Besides, won’t I come off like some crazy stalker if I’m all like ‘Hey, can I move in with you?’”

“I’ll be honest. The whole spending fifteen days a month here when you technically live in New York is a lot more crazy stalker-y than buying property here,” I pointed out. “Honestly, I can’t believe you let me ramble on and on about my ovaries and my dead dad for that long without bringing this up.”

Stef snorted. “I know. Geez, Sloane. Stop making everything about your recently departed father already.”

We were all still laughing when Jeremiah returned with the blender and the pizza.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, handing me the entire pizza tray.

“Oh, I was just telling everyone what Knox did during the last snowstorm,” Naomi said innocently.





4


Ambushes and Angels


Lucian




It’s showtime,” Nash said, stifling a yawn as another gun battle raged on screen.

My gaze flicked to the laptop on the ottoman. Sloane’s front door was open, and five bundled-up adults appeared to be tiptoeing down the porch steps.

The smallest of the shadowy figures drew my attention. Just as she always did.

“My wife insists they’re getting ready for bed,” Knox said, holding up his phone.

“Your wife and my fiancée are beautiful liars,” Nash said, getting up to stretch.

The dogs perked up on the couch, sensing the activity around them.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night during a snowstorm. How much trouble could they get into?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t put it past them to hack into a nuclear reactor,” Knox muttered, heading for the foyer.

Nash followed. “Never a dull moment,” he said fondly.

I watched them stagger and stomp their way toward my place. I sighed and rubbed my hands over my thighs. Waylon peered at me from under one long, floppy ear, begging me with sad brown eyes to stay on the couch so he wouldn’t be forced to go outside.

“Sorry, Waylon,” I told the dog and headed after the Morgans.

“You joining us in the lady wrangling?” Nash asked as he pulled on his boots.

“You’re outnumbered,” I pointed out. “My gear is in the mudroom. I’ll meet you out there.”

“Hang on,” Knox said. He was peering through the sidelight window. “They’re behind my truck. I can’t tell what they’re doing.”

“Smells like an ambush to me,” Nash said, shrugging into his coat.

There was a grumble, a thump, and then a smaller thump from the living room. Both dogs appeared. Waylon looked pissed off about his interrupted nap. Piper looked thrilled to be included in the manly conference.

“An ambush?” I repeated.

“I may have hidden on the porch roof during the last snowstorm, rolled an arsenal of snowballs, and then destroyed Naomi and Way when they came home from the mall,” Knox said.

Love turned men into idiots.

Knox’s phone lit up in his hand. He rolled his eyes and turned the screen to us.

Naomi: We just saw a bear outside! It ran toward Lucian’s house! Do you see it?

“Definitely an ambush,” Nash said, yanking his Knockemout PD knit hat over his head.

“Can’t believe Jer is out there with them. He’s supposed to be my friend.” Knox heaved a heroic sigh. “Guess I should probably face the firing squad alone.”

“I can’t stand by and watch that happen,” Nash insisted, slapping his brother on the shoulder. “I don’t wanna spend the next week listening to you bitch about your stupid frostbitten face.”

I, on the other hand, had no problem watching Knox be force-fed snow by three vengeful women…and Stef and Jeremiah. But I was at least going to do it with a front row seat.

“We can use the door on the side of the garage,” I offered.

Knox brightened. “We’ll flank ’em. That’ll teach ’em!”

We trooped into the mudroom with the dogs on our heels, and I armored up.

In the garage, Knox glanced down at my gloves and snorted. “I can’t believe you’re going into a snowball fight with fucking designer driving gloves.”

I peeled one off and slapped him across the face with it. The sting was most likely absorbed entirely by his thick beard. “Don’t make me challenge you to a duel. I have a better arm than you do,” I warned him.

“As much as I enjoy watching anyone slap my brother in the face, if we don’t get out there soon, they’re just going to try to steal your truck and do doughnuts in the street,” Nash said, gesturing toward the door.

“Right. Here’s the plan,” Knox said. “We head out, take a minute to build an arsenal, then we attack.”

“Sounds good to me,” Nash agreed, a little too amicably.

I was immediately suspicious. The Morgan brothers’ love and loyalty ran deep, but they still behaved like prepubescent pains in the ass on a sugar high when left to their own devices.

Knox gestured for us to be quiet and opened the side door. When he peered outside, Nash turned to me and made a slashing motion across his throat. Then he mimed making a snowball and hitting his brother in the head with it.

I gave him the double thumbs-up.

“Do you see anything?” Nash whispered to Knox.

“It’s dark and it’s fucking snowing. All I see is a bunch of white shit,” Knox snarled back.

“Look harder,” Nash advised before reaching into his pocket, whipping out his phone, and texting someone. Presumably his fiancée. Smirking, he pocketed it again. “Let’s move,” he said.

“I’m on point,” Knox insisted.

“Then get your ass out the door so we can at least start packing snow, dumbass,” his brother said, pushing him out the door.

I followed them into the white night. Six inches of snow blanketed the ground, but it didn’t quite muffle the giggles that were coming from the front of the house.

Waylon and Piper trotted outside. The basset hound put his nose to the ground and immediately snowplowed a path to the fence that divided my property from Sloane’s. He lifted his leg, nearly peeing on the curious Piper, as she followed.

Knox knelt in the snow and began frantically forming snowballs. “Just make as many as you can carry,” he hissed at us.

Nash followed suit.

I, however, went to war, thinking bigger than a pathetic handful of snowballs. I stepped back into the garage and grabbed a yellow plastic bucket off the shelf. Outside, I dragged it across the ground, filling it in one sweep.

“Waylon, c’mere,” Knox ordered.

The dog had a full muzzle of snow and a crazy look in his eyes.

Knox held the hound’s jowls between his hands. “Go get Mommy.”

Waylon sneezed, and we heard the giggles abruptly cut off. “Bless you,” came Jeremiah’s deep baritone in a stage whisper.

“I didn’t sneeze,” Naomi responded. “But thank you anyway.”

“Guys, shut up or they’re going to hear us,” Lina hissed even louder.

“Go, Waylon,” Knox whispered, pushing his dog toward the front of the house. “Find Mommy.”

Nash looked down at Piper, who was standing on the toes of his boots, looking like she was hoping to get scooped up and saved from the indignity of snow. “You heard your uncle. Go find Mommy.”

The two dogs tore through the snow and cut around the front of the house, barking ecstatically.

“Let’s go,” Knox said grimly.

“We’ll see you on the other side,” I promised.

Knox rounded the corner of the house and earned a full-frontal pelting of snowballs before he could throw his first round.

There was a torrent of hysterical laughter as Nash eagerly unloaded his arsenal on Knox’s back, paying special attention to his head and ass.