Chapter 181: You Knew?

NORA’S POV

The sharp knock on the front door echoed through the hallway like a crack of thunder.

Mom set her basting spoon on the ceramic rest and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "I’ve got it! Don’t let the gravy scorch, kids!"

Her wool socks padded briskly across the floorboards as she disappeared toward the entryway.

The moment she turned the corner, the kitchen fell into an icy, suffocating silence.

Knox stood frozen beside the cutting board.

The paring knife was still gripped in his large, calloused hand, his knuckles white against the wooden handle.

He didn’t move; he didn’t blink.

Then, with agonizing slowness, his head turned toward me.

His gray eyes showed disbelief and cold suspicion.

"You knew?" Knox asked in a low whisper that barely carried over the sizzle of the stove. "You knew Drew Miller was coming here, Bennett?"

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I took two quick steps closer, keeping my voice low. "Knox, listen to me..."

"Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?" he demanded, his voice dropping into that dangerously still register he used on the ice before dropping his gloves. "In the diner? In the truck? Any time during a two-hour drive?"

"Because Mom only dropped the bomb on me yesterday afternoon!" I hissed, gesturing frantically toward the hallway. "Since I was six years old, The Millers have been close with our family... Drew and his uncle Hank are practically family neighbors. My mom has zero clue Drew plays for State!"

Knox’s jaw ticked, a muscle jumping beneath his stubble. "She doesn’t know?"

"No!" I pressed my hands against his chest, feeling the rigid, coiled tension in his muscles through his sweater. "She doesn’t follow college hockey, Knox. She doesn’t know about the rivalry, the games, or anything that happened at Briar. She only knows Drew plays college puck and that he and Hank have no family in town for the holiday. She invited them out of pure small-town goodwill!"

Knox stared down at me, his chest rising on a slow, shallow breath. "And you didn’t tell me because...?"

I swallowed hard, looking straight up into his stern, guarded eyes.

"Because I was terrified you wouldn’t come," I confessed, my voice trembling with raw honesty. "Knox, you just walked away from your father’s empire. You gave up nine figures yesterday at noon. If I called you and said my mom accidentally invited one of your biggest hockey rivals to Thanksgiving dinner, I thought you’d turn around and stay in Boston. I couldn’t bear the thought of you sitting alone in that house."

Knox didn’t speak for two long seconds.

The anger in his gray eyes flickered, wavered, and then melted completely into something deep, raw and tender.

He set the paring knife down on the wooden cutting board with care.

Reaching up, he cupped the back of my neck with one warm, massive hand, his fingers tangling gently in my hair. His thumb stroked softly along the edge of my jaw, soothing the frantic pulse fluttering there.

"Bennett... look at me," he murmured.

I looked into his eyes.

"I walked away from Garrison Sheridan for you," Knox said quietly, holding my gaze. "You really think one smarmy State winger was going to scare me off?"

A breathless, watery laugh slipped past my lips. "I panicked, okay?"

Knox’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a crooked smirk. He leaned down, pressing a firm, reassuring kiss to the corner of my lips.

"I won’t burn your mom’s house down," he whispered against my mouth, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "But don’t expect me to be his best friend."

Before I could answer, the boisterous, booming laugh of Uncle Hank echoed from behind.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Ellen!" Hank greeted. "Smells like heaven in here! You could scent that turkey halfway down Elm Street!"

"Oh, Hank, get in here! Give me that wet coat!" Mom’s voice chimed with delight.

Behind Hank, a familiar, lighter pair of boots stepped across the threshold.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Bennett," Drew’s smooth, easy voice drifted down the corridor. "Brought the Dutch apple-pecan pie from the bakery down on Main, just like you asked."

"Drew, sweetheart, you’re an angel!" Mom gushed. "Come on in, both of you. The kitchen is warm!"

Knox smoothly dropped his hand from my neck.

He stepped back against the counter, casually crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest.

He looked like a mountain of collegiate athleticism... jaw set, posture commanding, eyes like polished slate.

Except he was still wearing my mother’s faded yellow floral apron, covered in bright white daisies.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from hysterical laughter.

Footsteps sounded on the floorboards, and Hank rounded the arched entryway first, rubbing his calloused hands together. He was a big, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard, wearing a red plaid flannel shirt and sturdy denim.

Right behind him, Drew stepped into the kitchen, carrying a white cardboard bakery box tied with red twine.

Drew was smiling, shaking melted snow from his light brown hair.

Then he looked up.

Drew stopped dead in his tracks.

His boots seemed to glue themselves to the linoleum. The easy hometown smile vanished from his face as if struck by lightning.

His eyes popped wide. His fingers convulsed around the cardboard bakery box, the pie tilting precariously at a forty-five-degree angle.

Drew stared.

He stared at Knox Sheridan.

Six-foot-three. Two hundred and twenty pounds of Briar’s most ruthless defenseman. The man who had nearly launched him into the eighth row of the arena weeks ago.

Standing in Nora Bennett’s kitchen. Wearing a floral apron.

For five agonizing seconds, nobody breathed.

Knox didn’t move an inch. He just leaned against the counter, raising one dark eyebrow in cool, mocking challenge.

Mom bustled into the kitchen behind them, completely blind to the fact that she had just ushered two mortal enemies into a ten-by-twelve combat zone.

"Hank, Drew, you know my Nora, of course!" Mom beamed, gesturing toward me.

"Hey, Nora," Drew managed to choke out, his voice squeaking slightly before he cleared his throat.

"Hi, Drew. Uncle Hank," I said, offering a tight, diplomatic smile.

"And this," Mom continued proudly, stepping beside Knox and patting his solid bicep, "is Knox. Nora’s boyfriend. He plays hockey down at Briar! Isn’t that wonderful, Drew? You two boys have so much in common! You’re both college athletes!"

Hank’s face lit up with immediate enthusiasm. He stepped forward, clapping a hand against Knox’s shoulder.

"Briar hockey? Well, I’ll be damned!" Hank boomed with a hearty grin. "A defenseman, right? Hell, son, you’re built like a brick fireplace! Good on you, Ellen. Nora found herself a real protector."

Knox’s expression shifted instantly, morphing into polite, respectful charm for the older man. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Happy Thanksgiving."

"Hank! Just Hank, son!" Hank laughed, waving a hand.

Mom clapped her hands together, nudging Drew forward. "Go on, Drew. Shake his hand! It’s not every day we have two hockey stars under one roof!"

Drew stepped forward as if walking across a frozen pond that was actively cracking beneath his feet.

He carefully set the pie box on the edge of the island, swallowed hard, and extended his right hand.

A tight, sardonic smirk tugged at the corner of Drew’s mouth, trying to recover his swagger. "Sheridan. Didn’t realize you made house calls outside of Boston."

Knox unfolded his arms.

He took Drew’s hand in a slow, deliberate grip.

I watched Knox’s forearm flex, the corded muscle locking into place. Drew’s knuckles blanched white within two seconds, the tendons in his wrist straining against Knox’s iron vice.

Neither of them winced. Neither of them broke eye contact.

"I go wherever Nora wants me," Knox said smoothly, his deep voice dripping with icy authority. "Nice pie, Miller."

Mom blinked, looking between the two locked hands with sudden surprise. "Wait... you two know each other?"