Knox (Merrick Brothers #1) - Prescott Lane Page 0,2

in. She’s totally awesome. I never miss it.”

Seems like as good an excuse as any for me to make a getaway. Shifting her off me, I get up, reaching for my clothes on the floor.

“Found it!” she says, sitting up straighter in the bed, the sound now coming in clearly.

“I’m going to go,” I say, pulling up my pants. “You stay, enjoy the room.”

The woman with the mysterious L name grabs my hand. “Listen with me. You’ll like it. I promise.”

“Our caller brings up an interesting point.”

My heart starts to race. I’m frozen, unable to even finish zipping my pants. Her voice stops me dead in my tracks. I’d know her sassy tone anywhere, even after all this time apart. I can’t remember the name of the woman I just banged, but I’ll never forget that voice, her name.

Mae Sheridan.

My Mae. The one I let get away.

“Some heartbreaks haunt you. You think you’re over the person, but then bam! You break down all over again.”

How my dream woman turned into the love that haunts me, I’ll never know. Well, I do know. I fucked it up. It’s the classic story of man who doesn’t know what he has until she’s gone. Let me tell you, the pasture isn’t always greener on the other side.

Prime example: the “L” named woman before me.

Mae keeps talking, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. She’s on the radio? Is this really her? I look over at my one-night stand. I can’t have Mae’s voice in my head, and a different woman’s tits in front of my face. It feels wrong, even though it’s been five years since I’ve seen Mae.

It makes no sense, but I imagine this is what infidelity feels like. I wouldn’t know firsthand. I’ve never been married, and I’ve never cheated. I’ve had a romp or two or twenty in my trailer on movie sets and one-night stands aplenty, but if I’m exclusive with a woman, I don’t stray.

“Got to go,” I say, throwing on the rest of my clothes.

“Call me,” she says as the door slams behind me. I don’t bother with a response. We both know I won’t call. Why lie?

When the door closes, Mae’s voice disappears. It’s almost like losing her all over again.

*

My first memory of Mae is the day my mom died.

Haven’s Point, Colorado sits just forty-five minutes outside of Denver, but that day, no haven could be found. I had just finished kindergarten two days earlier. I was sitting on my front porch across the street from her grandmother’s house. People had been coming over all day, dressed all in black, carrying flowers, cards, and casseroles. I was crying because my dad wouldn’t let me kiss my mom goodbye. I was six years old. I know now it was because he didn’t want me to see her lifeless body, to have that image burned in me forever, but back then, all I wanted was to kiss her one more time.

Mae walked over, all knees and elbows in a navy sundress with red flowers on it. Her light blue eyes looked almost clear, and her brown hair was pulled up in pigtails, except for a few loose strands hanging around her face and neck in little curls. Her grandmother and parents walked inside the house, and she took one look at me and ran back towards her grandmother’s house. I thought it was my shaved head that scared her off. My dad, older brother, and I all did that for my mom. But Mae wasn’t scared.

I learned that about her early. Mae Sheridan doesn’t scare easily.

She came out carrying a pair of scissors. Looking me right in the eye, she cut one of her pigtails right off. Her lopsided haircut made me smile. Even at six, I already knew how important a girl’s hair was to her. My mom losing hers taught me that. There Mae was, just six herself, and she cut her hair off to make me feel better. This kid she never met. That’s who she was.

That day began a fifteen-year relationship, most of which we spent as friends and pen pals across the continents that separated us. Me, living a quiet life in Haven’s Point, and her, the military brat shuffled around the world from base to base. Then there were the years we were together. Those teenage years when everything feels so damn intense. It’s now been five years since things ended. We spent more time