Page 30 of Knot Going Down
Praying to every god in existence, I rush downstairs and head straight for Declan’s bags. Declan arrested Knox, so logically, Declan took the drugs as evidence, but that doesn’t mean he kept them, or that he still has them on him. He could have turned them over to the French authorities. That would be protocol, right?
Realizing I know nothing about police procedures, I go for the three suitcases lined up along the back wall behind thecouch. Maybe we should make the guys keep their stuff up in the bedroom, so the living space doesn’t get cluttered. I hate clutter. There’s already a half-empty pizza box on the counter that needs to be thrown away, a stray pair of sunglasses tangled in a mess of charging cables, and a rogue sock peeking out from beneath the armchair like it’s claiming territory. Somewhere near the window, a crumpled paperback lies face down, its pages dog-eared and forgotten. Heathens.
But if their stuff is in the bedroom, then they’ll come upstairs more, and I really don’t like that idea either. Keeping these alphas away is the best option. Which means their crap stays in the living room.
The first bag is a mess. Nothing is folded. Everything is jammed inside like a hurricane left it there. It smells like warm leather—rich, dark, and a little dangerous, like the inside of a well-worn jacket and the promise of trouble pressed close. Was Knox even able to pack his own shit? Or did Declan throw it in and that's why it’s so messy?
I move on to the next one, but Gunner’s already there, planted in front of the suitcase with his front paws braced on top, guarding it like some kind of gargoyle. His gaze never leaves my face as I inch closer. I like dogs, but I’m not convinced this one likes me.
“It’s okay,” I coo in as soothing a voice as I can muster. “I’m just gonna look inside. I only need one thing.” One very important thing.
I crouch lower and hold out my hand. Gunner sniffs it like I’m a questionable appetizer, then lets out a low, almost offended snort.
“See, you can smell it, can’t you? It won’t be good for any of us if that smell gets worse. So, let me in the bag, okay?”
Why the hell am I explaining things to a dog?
With a cautious hand, I nudge his paws off the suitcase. He steps aside but not far. When I flip the lid open, he plasters himself to my side like a bodyguard with opinions. No growl. No bite. Just one long, hot, judgy exhale against my leg.
I guess that’s permission.
Everything in this bag is placed neatly inside of smaller travel organizers—like the ones I use. The smell of pine and cedar hits me right in the chest. I inhale deeply. Declan’s evergreen, moss, and sun-warmed rock scent curls through me like a memory. My shoulders relax. It’s the kind of smell that makes me feel small, in the best way. Like silence and something ancient wrapped in deep greens.
Just as I’m about to start digging through Declan’s bag, the door creaks open. I drop like a stone, flattening myself behind the couch.
Gunner barks once—sharp and smug, like he’s tattling—then trots off with a little swish in his step, tail high like he just did his civic duty.
Traitor.
“Hey, boy,” Emily says.
A few seconds later, her footsteps sound on the stairs. “Ava? You doing okay? I forgot my meds, and the buffet was super crowded, so I thought we could…” Her voice is muddled now that she’s in the bedroom, so I don’t hear the rest.
After living together for two weeks, I know Emily takes a daily anti-anxiety med. I was surprised when she casually told me about it the first day and followed the confession by asking me to help her remember to take them, since her routine was all out of whack. I should have reminded her about them this morning.
For a moment, I contemplate dashing to the kitchen and pretending I was there all along. But if I do that, I’ll lose this opportunity. It could be a while before the room is empty again.
Crawling on my belly, I scoot back to Declan’s bag and start digging through his belongings as quietly as I can.
“Ava?” Emily calls again, footsteps getting closer. The couch is tucked behind the stairs and the bags are behind the couch, so I know she can’t see me yet, but I hurry my search just in case.
“Was she okay, Gunner? Where’d she go?” Gunner barks sharp and insistent, like he’s delivering breaking news, and Emily laughs. “Stop pushing, silly boy.”
That laugh is way too close for comfort. Shit! I quickly stack things back in Declan’s bag just how I found them—or as close as possible—but I’m not fast enough.
“What are you doing?” Emily asks, her voice low with suspicion.
Gunner answers before I can, nosing her thigh with surprising urgency. He glances back at me, then up at her, like ‘Come on, keep up.’
Shit! Shit! What do I say? How do I handle this?
Like the omega I am now, I burst into tears.
Emily sinks to her knees next to me and pulls me into a hug.
“This i-isn’t l-like me,” I blubber. “I d-don’t cry.” But I’m crying now. All the stress of trying to hide what’s happening to me comes to the surface, and I break. Full cracks right down the middle. Not getting a medal at the Olympics. Watching my ex with his new omega—while she’s in fucking heat! Designating as an omega myself. And now, being stuck on a cruise ship with two men who smell like heaven and hell all at once. It all catches up with me, and I can’t breathe.
I haven’t had a meltdown like this in years. Not since my parents tried taking me to Disneyland when I was ten. It was a nightmare. I was exhausted and overstimulated and cried for an hour straight.
