Chapter 171: Can’t Make It

KNOX’S POV

The bright overhead stage lights glared off the glass of my phone.

Right across the photo Priya had just handed back to me, the preview banner dropped down with my father’s name in bold black text.

Garrison Sheridan: My office. Tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. We need to discuss Thanksgiving and your future.

Beside me, Nora’s eyes flicked to the screen, catching the name. A small crease formed between her brows, and the bright joy on her face threatened to waver.

I pressed the lock button immediately, sending the screen black before she could read the rest of the text.

"Is everything okay?" Nora asked softly, looking up at me with concern. "Do you need to answer him?"

"I’ll deal with him later," I said, sliding the phone deep into my front pocket. I reached out and pulled her flush against my side, wrapping my arm over her shoulders. "Today belongs to you and your mom. Nothing else matters."

Nora touched my forearm, searching my face. "Are you sure? You can take a minute if you need to, Knox."

"I’m completely sure," I murmured into her hair, resting my chin against the crown of her curls. "I’m right where I want to be."

Nora let out a soft breath, relaxing into my ribs. "Okay."

"Hey! Lovebirds!" Bear yelled, waving a thick arm from the edge of the stage. "If we want to beat the Sunday afternoon ski traffic off this mountain, we need to load the truck now."

"Coming, big guy," I called back.

About an hour later, we were in the parking garage behind Bear’s heavy-duty crew cab.

Bear carefully strapped the giant fifty-thousand-dollar cardboard check against the flatbed sidewall under the weatherproof tonneau cover. I hoisted Mrs. Bennett’s suitcase into the back, alongside the crystal wheat trophy securely padded in its velvet case.

Mrs. Bennett insisted on holding the red starter cooler on her lap in the front seat, treating it like a newborn baby.

Priya climbed into the passenger side, leaving the entire plush rear bench for Nora and me.

Bear fired up the engine, the heated seats warming up as the truck pulled out of Emerald Pines and started the long descent through the snow-covered mountain pass.

Inside the quiet cab, the exhaustion of the weekend finally caught up with everyone.

Nora curled her legs up on the leather seat, resting her head against my chest. Her small hand found mine, her fingers lacing between my calluses. I pulled my black hoodie tighter around her shoulders, keeping one arm securely around her waist.

Within ten miles, her breathing slowed into a deep, steady rhythm.

I looked down at her face, relaxed and peaceful in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. The faint smudge of flour behind her left ear was still there from noon.

For the first time all semester, the permanent worry line between her brows was completely gone. The bakery was safe. Her mom’s mortgage was about to be history.

I pressed my lips against the top of her head, closing my eyes and letting the low rumble of the truck tires rock us through the hills.

By five-thirty in the evening, the snowy switchbacks flattened out into the familiar, quiet roads of Oakhaven.

Bear pulled the truck up to the curb outside the small, two-story Bennett house on Elm Street. The warm yellow porch light was on, casting a welcoming glow over the front walkway.

Nora stirred against my chest, blinking sleepily against the sudden stop.

"We’re home?" she asked in a raspy, adorable murmur.

"We’re in Oakhaven, Bookworm," I replied softly, brushing a stray curl away from her cheek.

I stepped out into the evening air, helping Mrs. Bennett down from the high cab while Bear carried their luggage to the front steps. I grabbed the crystal trophy and walked up behind them into the warm, familiar foyer.

Mrs. Bennett set the cooler on the kitchen counter with an audible sigh of relief.

"I still can’t believe this is real," Mrs. Bennett said, touching the glossy mahogany trophy on the table. She turned and gave me a long, warm hug. "Thank you, Knox. For everything this weekend. We never would have made it to that stage without you."

"You did the baking, Mrs. Bennett," I smiled, returning the hug with genuine respect. "I just moved the heavy pans."

Nora walked me back out to the porch, pulling her wool sweater tight against the chilly breeze.

"Priya and the boys are heading straight back to Briar," Nora said, looking up at me. "I’m going to stay here tonight and tomorrow. Mom and I want to be at the bank the second the doors unlock at nine in the morning."

"Good," I said, stepping closer until our boots touched on the wooden planks. I reached up, cupping the side of her jaw in my palm. "Get that mortgage stamped paid in full. Order that stone-deck oven."

"And then I’m coming back to campus on Tuesday," Nora smiled, her hazel eyes sparkling.

"Call me the second you walk out of that bank," I said.

I leaned down and kissed her.

It was slow, deep, and thoroughly unhurried, tasting of sweet mint and the cold mountain air. Nora melted against my chest, her arms winding around my neck as her fingers tangled into the short hair at my collar.

When I finally pulled back, her cheeks were glowing with pink heat.

"Go inside before you catch a cold, Bennett," I murmured, brushing my thumb across her swollen lower lip.

"Drive safe, Sheridan," she whispered with a breathless smile.

I walked down the steps and climbed back into the rear seat of Bear’s truck. Nora stood on the brightly lit porch, waving until Bear rounded the corner toward the highway.

With Priya and Mrs. Bennett no longer needing a buffer, the cab fell into silence as we hit Interstate 93 South.

Priya was in the front passenger seat with her reading glasses on, scrolling through whatever she was always reading on her tablet. Bear tapped the steering wheel to classic rock on the radio.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone.

The screen lit up with Garrison’s text from hours ago:

Garrison Sheridan: My office. Tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp. We need to discuss Thanksgiving and your future.

I stared at the words, feeling zero obligation to play the obedient son. For years, Garrison had used my captaincy, the compliance office, and his board seat to pull my strings like a puppet.

Those days were officially over.

I opened the reply thread and typed four words:

Knox: Can’t make it. Busy.

I hit send and locked the screen, tossing the phone onto the empty seat beside me.

Bear caught my eye in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow. "Everything good back there, Cap?"

"Everything is fine," I muttered, leaning my head against the cold window glass.

Less than three minutes later, my phone gave a sharp, high-priority chime.

It wasn’t a text message. It was an official calendar invitation and legal correspondence forwarded directly from my father’s senior executive assistant at Sheridan Global.

I picked up the phone and opened the notification.

Attached to the email was a formal, embossed digital invitation bearing the Sheridan family crest. Beneath it was an official corporate press release drafted for Thanksgiving morning:

MANDATORY ATTENDANCE: THE ANNUAL SHERIDAN ESTATE THANKSGIVING GALA.

Topic: Formal Press Announcement & Celebration of the Engagement of Garrison Sheridan to Victoria Montgomery.

My jaw locked so tight my teeth ached.

Victoria Montgomery. A wealthy socialite who had been circling my father’s charity galas for the last two years.

Garrison didn’t want to talk about my future tomorrow morning. He wanted his star-athlete son dressed up in a designer tuxedo on Thanksgiving Day, standing obediently beside his brand-new fiancée so the press could capture the perfect family portrait.

I stared at the screen as the highway lines blurred past in the dark, a cold smile touching my lips.

If Garrison thought I was showing up to play the dutiful stepson at his high-society circus, he was out of his mind.