Chapter 67 CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 67
KNOX
My phone rang while I was staring at the ceiling in my dorm, It was Mom. Again.
“Knox?” Her voice was small, shaky, the way it always got when he’d been drinking. “He… he got mad. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to—”
I was already sitting up, grabbing my keys. “Where are you?”
“Home. He’s here. Tipsy, not blackout, but… Knox, don’t come. Please. I’ll be okay.”
I hung up. I was done listening to her say that.
The drive took twelve minutes. I didn’t speed. I didn’t need to. My hands stayed steady on the wheel the whole way, but inside my chest something had finally snapped clean in two. I’d had enough.
I parked right in front of the house like I owned the damn place. The front door was unlocked. I walked in.
Dad was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Not drunk. Just mean. His eyes were red, his shirt wrinkled, and there was already a fresh bruise blooming on Mom’s cheek where she stood by the fridge, arms wrapped around herself.
“Knox,” she whispered.
Dad smirked. “Look who decided to play hero again.”
I didn’t say a word. I just crossed the room and hit him.
My fist connected with his jaw so hard his head snapped sideways. The bottle dropped and shattered. He came at me swinging, wild and sloppy, but he still had weight behind it. His punch caught me in the ribs. Mine caught him in the gut. We crashed into the table, chairs flying. Mom screamed.
“Stop! Both of you, stop!”
I didn’t stop. I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. He got a lucky elbow into my eye. Pain exploded, but it only made me angrier. I drove my knee into his stomach, then my fist into his face again. Blood sprayed from his nose. He tried to tackle me. We hit the floor hard, rolling, trading punches like animals. His ring split my lip. My elbow split his cheek.
“Knox!” Mom’s voice cracked. “Please!”
I got on top of him, pinned his arms with my knees, and hit him one more time—clean, right in the mouth. He went still, breathing hard, eyes wide with shock.
I leaned down so he could hear every word.
“I’m taking her out of here. You ever lay a hand on her again, I will expose every dirty fucking thing you’ve ever done. Every deal. Every woman. Every lie. I’ve got proof, old man. And I’ll make sure the whole world sees it. Watch your back.”
He tried to spit blood at me. I stood up.
Mom was crying, hands over her mouth. I grabbed her arm—gentle, even though I was shaking with rage—and pulled her toward the door.
“Knox, wait,” she begged. “He’s your father. We can—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off, voice flat. “Not right now. I’m pissed, Mom. Just… don’t.”
She went quiet. I got her into the car. She kept glancing back at the house like she expected him to come running out. He didn’t.
I drove to the nicest hotel within ten miles and paid cash for a week. Front desk guy didn’t ask questions when he saw my split lip and her bruised face. I carried her small bag up myself.
Inside the room I set her down on the edge of the bed. She looked so small. So tired.
“Knox…” Her voice broke. She reached for me.
I let her pull me into a hug. She wrapped her arms around my waist and held on like I was still her little boy. I felt her tears soak through my shirt. My own eyes burned. I hugged her back, tight, one hand on the back of her head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have left years ago.”
“I know.” My voice cracked. “But you’re out now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
She cried harder. I just held her, letting her shake against me. For once I didn’t feel like the angry kid who always had to fix everything. I felt like her son again. Vulnerable. Pissed. But here.
After a while she pulled back and cupped my face, thumb brushing the cut on my lip. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’ll live.”
She smiled through the tears. “You always do.”
I stayed until she calmed down and took a shower. When she came out in the hotel robe, she looked ten years younger. I kissed her forehead.
“Stay here. Order whatever you want. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
“Knox—”
“I’m okay, Mom. I promise.”
I left before I could change my mind.
The drive to Yael’s dorm was quiet. My hands finally started shaking on the wheel. Everything hurt—ribs, eye, lip—but the worst part was the relief. I’d done it. I’d gotten her out.
I parked, climbed the stairs, and knocked on Yael’s door. Soft. Three times.
The door opened.
Yael stood there in one of my old hoodies, hair messy, eyes wide the second she saw my face.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “What happened?”