Things We Left Behind (Knockemout, #3)

“Calling Lina. We need alcohol and Silver Fox Joel.”

“I’m fine. We weren’t together. We were just having sex,” I said robotically. “Oh, look at that. His first date sits on the board of DC’s largest food bank, and the second one is a freaking astrophysicist.”

I wanted to reach through the screen and dump a very expensive cocktail over Lucian’s beautiful head. I also wanted to ask his date where she shopped because her shoes were phenomenal. Not that small-town librarian me could pull off or afford that look.

He looked good with both women. Better than good. They looked like they belonged on his arm. Like they could sit next to him for longer than five minutes without bickering.

“You and Lucian have history. Unfortunately for you as a woman with strong feelings about everything, that means you can’t just have sex with him.”

“I can and I did,” I insisted.

“You just broke your pen and crushed your paper cup. Iced coffee is literally running down your arm,” She pointed out.

“Shit.”



“Feels good to be on this side for once,” Knox said, settling with satisfaction onto a sticky bar stool at Hellhound, a greasy, dingy dive bar outside Knockemout.

“This side of the bar?” Lina asked, angled into Nash, who stood next to her, his back to the bar, his gaze scanning the bikers gathered around rickety tables and arguing over pool games.

“Nope, this side of Men Suck, Let’s Drink,” Knox said.

“We are here purely for social reasons,” I insisted. “There is no reason to participate in Men Suck, Let’s Drink, because that would imply that I care what Lucian is doing when I don’t because he means nothing to me. We had sex. Then we stopped having sex. End of story. Where is Joel? I need a drink.”

“My bar is better,” Knox said, giving no indication that he’d been listening to my convincing tirade.

Naomi beamed at him. “It is. But wait till you meet Silver Fox Joel.” She pointed down the bar to where our favorite bartender poured shots of cheap whiskey in front of three morose-looking women in ripped denim and worn leather.

Lina waved at him, and Joel gave her the cool guy nod.

“Okay, I filled the jukebox with men suck songs and told the biker couple with matching tattoos that you’re in a cult and looking to recruit members. That should buy you some time before anyone starts hitting on you,” Stef said, grabbing the stool next to me.

I patted his knee. “Thanks, Stef. You’re a good friend.”

Knox and Nash moved closer to their women as the studly bartender approached. He stopped in front of me. “Hey there, blondie. What’ll it be today? Shots? Spicy Bloody Mary?”

“Hi, Joel. I’d love a Bloody Mary for no other reason than that you make an excellent one. I’m not drinking away man problems or anything like that,” I told him.

“Glad you cleared that up,” he said with a half smile.

He took everyone’s drink orders and went to work under Knox’s watchful eye.

Naomi elbowed him in the ribs. “Stop staring and glaring.”

“I’m not glaring, I’m judging him professionally,” her husband insisted.

“I, for one, think since you two finally got each other out of your systems that it’s time for you to tell us about that history,” Lina announced.

“I agree. We’re your friends,” Naomi said, nodding her thanks as Joel handed her a very large glass of wine.

“For what it’s worth, I think you should tell them,” Nash said.

“How do you—” I closed my eyes. “You have access to sealed records.”

Naomi and Lina shared a wide-eyed look. “What sealed records?” they demanded in unison.

“Is this like you insisting I burden everyone with a couple of anonymous threats?”

Nash shook his head. “No, Sloaney Baloney. This is different. Your personal safety is one thing. You don’t get to hide dangerous things from the people who care about you. But you get to decide what stories you share.”

Joel set a Bloody Mary in front of me with a resounding thump.

“For the record, if you don’t tell us, I’ll do whatever it takes to get the information out of hotshot here. And I can be very persuasive,” Lina promised, a glint in her brown eyes.

Nash leaned in and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “Damn right, Angel.”

I should have come here alone. Not that I needed to drink away my feelings or whatever. I just didn’t need to be a fifth wheel in the happily ever after party. Especially not when all I wanted was my own happily ever after. And especially not when I’d just wasted weeks on Lucian Assface Rollins.

I took a sip of my drink. My eyebrows winged up at the spice level. “Nice one, Joel,” I coughed.

Nash plucked his beer off the bar. “In accordance with man code, we’re going to let you talk while we go hustle some bikers over pool.”

“What if I wanna know what shit went down?” Knox asked.

“I’ll give you the short version,” his brother offered.

“I fuckin’ love the short version,” Knox decided. He looked at Joel. “You got ’em?”

“I got ’em,” Joel agreed.

“We don’t need babysitters,” I insisted. “And I don’t need to get anything off my chest.”

But it was too late. Nash and Knox were already sauntering off, drinks in hand.

“I’ll help you get something off your chest.”

I turned on my stool and found a greasy, gold-toothed guy drowning in gold chains. He leered at my chest.

“Didn’t you hear about the cult?” Stef asked him.

“I don’t mind a girlie who’s whacked in the head.”

“Go away before I make you require an eye patch,” Lina announced.

“Feisty filly,” he said, licking his thin lips.

Joel leaned across the bar just as Nash and Knox started back toward us, but I held up a hand. “Listen, you unshowered, deodorant-avoiding dumbass. I’m in the market for a husband and kids. So unless you’re willing to start showering, see a dentist, and learn to assemble nursery furniture, I suggest you move along.”

“Nobody ever wants to just have a good time anymore,” he grumbled and wandered off.

“That’s because all good times must come to an end, as I recently discovered,” I called after him.

“Okay. Spill it,” Lina insisted, swirling her mediocre scotch around the glass.

“It’s time,” Naomi squeezed my hand.

“Or we’re just going to speculate wildly,” Stef added.

“It’s not just my story,” I said. Even though Lucian was a big, dumb, well-hung idiot, I couldn’t share his part of the story.

“Then just tell us your part.”

I took a bracing gulp of vodka and tomato juice.



“They arrested Lucian?” Naomi gasped.

I’d told them a heavily redacted version that included no details of what Lucian’s father had put him through. But even this edited version induced rage.

Lina slapped the bar. “Pardon my language but what in the fucking fuck?”

“I never liked that Wylie guy,” Stef slurred.

My friends were a little bit tipsy, which made them an even more enthusiastic audience.

“Wylie Ogden was friends with Lucian’s dad. Ansel told him that Lucian attacked them, and Lucian’s mom backed up his version of the story.”

I stared down at my second, mostly untouched Bloody Mary and decided I didn’t want it anymore.

“That’s horrible,” Naomi said.

“He blamed me. I’d promised I wouldn’t call the police, and then I did.”

“Sometimes the right thing to do is also the wrong one,” Stef said philosophically.

“You had your reasons,” Lina said, reaching out and grasping my hand. Alcohol made her more affectionate.

“May I have some napkins, Joel?” Naomi asked, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Knox looked up from the pool table and glared. His husband radar was top notch. Naomi gave him a watery smile and a wave before blowing her nose on a cocktail napkin.

“What happened next?” Lina demanded.