Page 198 of Secret Obsession
Knox.
“Don’t,” I hiss.
He looks stricken, still in his skates and standing on the concrete.
“We’re going to the hospital,” Violet says. “Knox, are you coming?”
The door opens, and Coach emerges with Knox’s bag and street shoes. Knox quickly bends down and unlaces the skates, handing them to his coach.
“Go,” Coach Roake tells us. “Keep me updated, and we’ll see you after the game.”
Knox nods. He shoves his feet into his sneakers and shoulders his bag, turning his gaze to Violet.
“Okay,” Violet says.
I nod my own agreement.
Getting in the car with him is another issue entirely. The ride over is silent, and the tension between us just keeps climbing. Violet drops both of us off out front and goes to park, and Knox takes over at the front desk. Says we’re there for his brother, who was just brought in.
“Six-foot something hockey player, probably griping about needing to be here.” Knox leans on the counter and smiles at the girl. “You probably couldn’t have missed him.”
“They’ve got him up for testing,” she says. “Rush order for CPU’s finest goalie.”
She smiles at him.
Ugh, is he flirting?
I step up beside him and elbow him in the gut, but I only connect with the hard plastic under his jersey.Ow.
He snorts at my effort.
“You can take a seat in the waiting room,” she says. “When he’s back down, you can see him.”
I glance at Knox, then move away. I take a seat in the far corner of the ER waiting room, folding my arms over my chest. Worry has taken ahold of me, but I don’t know how to manage it. There’s some part of me that still wants to go to alcohol. It numbed me for months, it was my fallback, it was a safe haven I could sink into.
Not anymore, though. I can’t do that to myself—or Miles.
Knox fiddles around with the cups at the water cooler, pouring a cup, then comes over and takes the seat right next to me. His freaking shoulder brushes mine.
“Willow.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, refusing to turn my head.
“Willow,” he says again.
“Knox,” I sigh. “What do you want?”
He’s silent.
I direct my attention to my nails, which are suddenly way more fascinating than anything else. Including my ex, who seems determined to annoy the life out of me.
“Do you think you could forgive me?” he finally asks.
I scoff. He’s already apologized, and I didn’t have an answer for him then. I’m not sure I do now either.
“What? Is that a no?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I stand and pace away from him. “What do you want forgiveness for? Which part?”
