He takes a deep breath and continues. “But we were kids, right? And you said it was all too much, too fast, and you were right, even though I didn’t want to admit it at the time. I stayed away, respected your wishes. Every fucking day, I wanted to call, to text, to find you. You took my heart, Willa, and all you left behind was the memory of what it felt like to be loved. But my broken-hearted ass got drunk one night. Big shocker, right? Ty’s a big poetry guy, and I got it in my head that if I wrote you a poem, you’d come back to me. So, with help from a bottle of Jack, I typed up some high-quality poems. Here… just watch…”
He hands over his phone and a grainy video comes into view. It’s foggy, but then I realize that’s smoke and the guys are all at a bonfire. Knox is passed out in a camp chair, his face peaceful while Whit doubles over in laughter next to him.
“Dude! This is classic. Holy shit. You getting this, Book?” he looks into the camera. “Listen to this shit, ‘Green eyes/Loved you/Big tits/I miss the way your hair smells’. What the fucking fuck? You owe us big time, Knox. You can’t send this crap. Holy…” Whit howls in laughter and tears pool in his eyes. “He wrote a haiku to her pussy. Jesus, Lord on the cross…”
Knox rouses from his camp chair and reaches for the phone, but he’s clearly drunk, and his aim is off. “Fuck off... I need her back... I…”
Off camera, Booker says, “You’re really into this girl?”
Knox looks straight at the camera, his eyes lucid for just a moment as he says, “I love her.”
The video cuts out, and Knox reaches for the phone, spinning it idly in his hand. “I thought I sent them. Granted, I didn’t remember what I wrote, but I thought I sent them. I thought my words were so offensive, so awful, that you couldn’t bear to respond. I mean, I kinda remember the haiku, and yea...it was graphic.” He sighs. “But you saw Whit hit delete. So, tell me, please,” his voice breaks, “tell me what I did to hurt you. Tell me what I said that made you think I wouldn’t have sold my fucking soul to get to you and our baby.”
“Your...you said... Knox, I don’t understand. You didn’t sendthosetexts, I get that... but—”
“But what?” his eyes plead with mine.
“But you did send these.” I unlock my phone and pull up the screenshots I rarely look at. It’s too painful to see his cruel words on the screen, but Knox needs to know why I don’t really trust him, so I hand the phone over.
“Jesus…” His face blanches into a greenish-gray as he reads. Then he drops the phone on his bed, doubling over and hanging his head between his knees. He takes a few deep breaths, then sits up and looks at me. “Baby, I would never. Holy hell, Willa. I would never have said that. ‘Sounds like a—’ Christ, I can’t even repeat it. I…”
My words are shaky, and tears are streaming unbidden down my face. “I know. But, it’s your number. Your old number, anyway, and…”
“Lemme see it again.” He holds out his hand, and I place the phone in his palm.
Immediately he shakes his head. “This is fucked up. Look at the date, Willa. July 19th. I’d already lost my phone by then. I lost it the day after the campout. I was driving back to Annapolis, and I left it in the bathroom at the 7-11, I think. I looked everywhere, my car, my mom’s place. I had the guys search Ollie’s cabin. Nothing. My phone was gone.”
“But…” None of this makes sense. “Why would some random stranger in a 7-11 fuck with me like that? What—”
“No way. No fucking way…” He jumps up from the bed and paces, then swings the door open and races down the stairs. I follow.
“Hey, everything ok?” Booker turns toward us and immediately realizes that no, everything is not ok.
“She.... Holy Christ. She ruined my life.” Knox’s cry is so raw, so vulnerable. His voice shakes as he sinks to the ground in the middle of the living room.
As if sensing things are about to get worse, Phoebe lifts Rose out of her highchair and coos softly to her as they head upstairs. “We’re going to play upstairs for a bit, ok?” I’m afraid Rose will howl in protest, but she’s happy in Phoebe’s arms, and I’m grateful because Knox is in the middle of a panic attack, and I don’t know what to do.
The guys gather round, close enough, but not to where they’re crowding him. “Who?” Ty asks.
“My mother.”
“What did she do now?” Booker asks, and Knox hands my phone over. They all read the texts, and their faces are filled with disbelief.
“Jesus. This is low, even for Heather,” Whit shakes his head.
“I’m... I... Why would…” I can’t form the right words to ask what in the hell is happening. Why would Knox’s mother steal his phone and spew hatred at me?
“To fully understand, you have to get that Heather, my mother, is a narcissist. If she’s not happy, no one can be. And her life’s mission is to make mine a living hell. I must have left my phone out when I got there. That makes the most sense. She saw your texts before I did and intervened.”
“But she doesn’t even know me? Why would she do this?”
“It has nothing to do with you. It’s all just a way to hurt me, a way to prove that she can control and manipulate me. But Jesus Fucking Christ. This... You... Rose is her—”
He stands and runs into the bathroom slamming the door behind him, the sounds of retching echo through the door.
I take a feeble step forward, but Whit shakes me off. “I got this, mama bear. You deal with enough puke. Let me handle this one.”
I smile weakly and lower myself onto the couch, looking up into Ty and Booker’s watchful eyes. Where Whit is loud and bold, these two are quiet. Ty’s much more reserved, and Booker is gentle, but quiet. He’s the first to speak. “You ok?”
