I Knocked Him Out (Love at First Crime Book 2)

by Jessica Frances

  “My mom was a junkie who died when I was eight months old, and my dad has been in prison my entire life. I was raised by my grandmother—”

  “Look,” I interrupt, and his eyes narrow in response. “I know your history, and it still doesn’t explain shit. I also know that we don’t have time for this discussion, anyway. We need to go, or else Zander is going to give you another bruise to match the one I just covered up for missing his big day. And Ava will stick me on diaper changing duties until Jensen no longer wears them. And with the way those two are, they are totally having more babies, and I don’t want to be changing diapers forever.”

  “Fine.” His voice is terse, and when we get up to leave the room, he doesn’t glance at me once. However, he does walk me to the dressing room where Ava and Cynthia are.

  They both poke their heads out after I step in, watching Declan leave with mirth in their eyes. It takes only three seconds for Ava to tell me she knew it, and for Cynthia to tell her about the kiss she witnessed the other night.

  I, on the other hand, make good use out of the champagne flutes and begin chugging away while Ava, in her wedding-addled mind, begins speaking about her thoughts of a wedding between Declan and me.

  Apparently, we would definitely elope, somewhere secluded, like a beach on some white sand covered island, and we would have incredible hot, crazy monkey sex the entire time, and would walk with limps for the next two months. I’m not kidding; this is what they are saying.

  Meanwhile, I finish three glasses before I am able to push Ava out the door and encourage her to get her butt down the aisle and marry her very own prince.

  Thankfully, the wedding is drama free, at least the parts I remember are.

  There are tears, laughter, huge smiles, and loads of alcohol. And unfortunately, the next day brings a hangover from hell and too many holes in my memory.

  But I didn’t do anything stupid, right?

  Chapter 6

  “You don’t have to take me home,” I tell Declan for the third time as I let myself into his car while grabbing my head.

  Seriously, how am I still feeling so shitty?

  Okay, maybe I drank way too much at the wedding, and fine, I don’t actually remember anything after the toasts and when the party really started, but I have never suffered so long in my life. Plus, I have consumed plenty of water and took all the hangover remedies I have in my arsenal, yet nothing is working! Why?

  “I know, but I want to.” Declan’s words bring me back to the here and now.

  My one condolence is that he’s feeling just as awful. Apparently, we both let loose at the wedding. From the way Cynthia and Ava were grinning at us as we saw them off at the airport, and the way Zander was looking none too pleased, I assume we made some sort of scene.

  “I can just get a—”

  “Sash,” Declan cuts me off, both of us wincing at how sharp and loud his voice is. “Just let me give you a ride home, okay?”

  “Fine, whatever,” I grumble as I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the headrest.

  Declan has been tense ever since our talk before the wedding. Although, I guess he wasn’t so tense during the reception when we both got drunk.

  This morning, we woke up in each other’s arms, still both fully clothed—thank God—and with my makeup perfectly pressed to Declan’s white shirt and part of his tux jacket.

  I doubt he will be able to get that deposit back now.

  And let’s just ignore my lipstick marks over his mouth, jaw, and shirt. He definitely didn’t mention it when he cleaned himself up in our rush to get our things packed and ready.

  I made it to the bathroom first to throw up my night, so Declan raced to an outer bathroom to get his stomach pumped. We barely said two words to each other since, and have been in zombie mode.

  We saw Zander, Ava, Van, and Jensen off at the airport early this morning, along with a few of the other guests who were escorting Van to his friend’s place. Later, we caught the same flight as everyone left to come home.

  Because the best time for issues to arise are when you are hungover, I had issues with my luggage when we landed, so by the time I sorted that out, Declan was the only one left waiting. I haven’t really given myself much thought on why he did that, but I also don’t care.

  Is it possible that I might have died last night, and my body is rotting from the insides?

  “Shit, what the hell did we drink last night?” Declan mumbles, pulling his car over so suddenly that my own stomach rebels. He leaps out to empty his guts over the side of the road, and I join him only moments later.

  “Do you think we were drugged?” he asks, his thoughts no doubt moving to Bowen.

  The only time Declan has not looked like death was when he was speaking to Bowen. I don’t know if there were any words spoken at the wedding, but this morning, Bowen moved to approach me and Declan intercepted, basically telling him to fuck off. It seemed to do the trick. Bowen stalked off without even a glance at me.

  Since he doesn’t live in Chicago, and from what I recall from a conversation I don’t exactly remember hearing, I think Mom spoke about their group travelling on to the UK after this. I’m hopeful Bowen is now in my rearview mirror and out of my life. Therefore, once this hangover leaves me, my life should go back to how it was.

  “Fuck!” Declan growls, crawling back to his feet before shuffling to his truck and pulling out a bottle of water, pouring some into his mouth before spitting it back out.

  He offers me the bottle after, making me wonder if we have managed to reach a new low. We left Chicago disliking each other and have returned with us both vomiting on the side of the road.

  “Is this so awful because we’re old?” I wonder, not realizing I said that out loud until Declan gives me a curious look. “I just mean, I’ve never felt so shitty before, and I had a pretty wild college experience. But I was also years younger then. Are we feeling so shitty because we’re oldies now? Is this our future?”

  “I hope not. But just in case, I plan on never drinking again,” Declan grumbles.

  “I’ll go in on that,” I agree, partly because I’m pretty certain that just the sight of any sort of alcohol will send me rushing for a toilet.

  Could be an interesting diet, I suppose.

  “Come on; sleep is what we both need.” Declan grabs the water bottle from me, finishing it off, but keeping the water in this time.

  I do feel a tiny bit better. I hope I have reached the point where I’m now bouncing back.

  The drive is silent, the radio long ago turned off. I wish Declan had one of those new model cars where the engine is so silent you can’t even tell if it’s on. I never saw the point of them until now.

  When I notice him turning down streets that are farther away from my home, I lift my head off the headrest and glance over at him. “Where are we going?” He isn’t taking me to his house, is he?

  Did I misread things? While we might have crossed some lines in California, we definitely didn’t leave in a place where things might progress here.

  I got the impression that our recent trip would be a Vegas-type scenario. What happens there, stays there. I figured my obstacles would involve Ava and Cynthia not letting this go. I never assumed Declan would be one.

  “I’m taking you home,” he tells me like he doesn’t understand how I could not have figured that out.

  “Home? But you’re going in the wrong direction. You should have turned left before, not right.”

  “What are you talking about? This is the most direct way.”

  “Dec,” I sigh, my earlier thoughts of feeling better vanishing as another wave of nausea hits me. I take a deep breath and push through, realizing the longer I take, the farther away from my house we are getting. “I think I know how to get to my own house.”

  “I might have never been to your place, but I know where you live,” Declan counters, momentarily shocking me.

  I have hosted loads of dinners at my house where I
invited the guys. I rock a barbeque with my backyard and comfy outdoor setting. I have definitely invited Declan, right? Yet he has never shown up before? And I am seriously only now realizing that?

  “Where do I live?”

  He spares me an exasperated glance before he fires off my old college apartment.

  “I don’t live there.”

  “You do.”

  “I don’t. I stayed there in college after … well, you know. But I haven’t lived there since I graduated.”

  He spares me another curious look, this one staying on me longer than I think might be safe for someone driving.

  “Why are you lying to me? I know you still live there,” he finally says, narrowing his eyes on me briefly before looking back to the road ahead.

  “And how do you know that?” I want to know since he is obviously wrong yet sounds so sure of himself, like he knows when he clearly doesn’t.

  “I …” He trails off, looking guilty now. “I might have looked into you a couple times.”

  “Looked into me? What does that mean?” And now my headache is beginning to go from an annoying ache to pounding. Just great!

  “I know your father pays for that condo, and I know he drops ten grand into your bank account every month.”

  I’m shocked for a moment, not only at the invasion of my privacy, but also the fact that I don’t get why he did it.

  “You were investigating me?”

  “What? No,” he quickly replies.

  “Then why did you look into me?” I’m staring at him hard, my pounding head making it difficult for me to concentrate.

  “I don’t know.” He gives me a small shrug. “I was curious, I guess.”

  “And that gave you the right to invade my privacy?” I hiss, wanting to yell, yet not ready for that type of sound level.

  “It wasn’t like that! Look, sometimes I …” He scratches the back of his neck as he pulls his car over, the traffic luckily light for a Sunday.

  “Sometimes you what?” I demand.

  “I care about you, Sash. We might not be close, but you’re still one of us. You grew up with us, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “What would make you think I wasn’t?”

  He hesitates for a moment, his gaze looking directly at me. Whatever he sees drives him to begin explaining himself.

  “You drive that piece of shit car to make some sort of point, I guess. Fuck knows what. But seeing it, and then overhearing a conversation you once had with Cynthia about having to apply for a credit card to cover a bill, I wondered if things hadn’t maybe changed with your parents. Maybe they had run into financial issues. I didn’t look into you so much as I looked into them. They’re still millionaires and, if anything, they’re getting richer every year. I saw what your dad was doing for you and knew you were fine.”

  “So, you made a bunch of assumptions and judged me over it as you usually do?” I snap, more than over this.

  “What? No, I—”

  “I don’t live in that condo, Dec.” I decide to enlighten him, at the very least in the hopes he will believe I know where I live and take me there.

  “Your dad owns it, and he lets you live there rent free,” he counters.

  “He does own the condo, but I don’t live in it.”

  “You don’t?” His eyes bulge now, and I see the fast thinking going on behind there, likely wondering if he actually discovered any proof that I did recently live there.

  “No. After Jordan—that creepy stalker I had in college—Dad got me the condo, and I couldn’t exactly refuse. It has great security, and it beat a shared room and bathroom. But once I graduated, I didn’t want it anymore. Dad wouldn’t listen when I said that, and after I kept at it, he just told me he would buy me a new place if I was going to insist. So, I stopped telling him I wanted to move and now just rent it out to three college students.”

  “You rent it out?” Declan asks, dumbfounded.

  “Yeah. Years ago, my dad set up a scholarship. One student a year gets a free ride. But the money doesn’t cover food or accommodations. The college sets up rooms in the campus, but we both know how safe that is. So, I give them the option to live in the condo. It’s only a ten-minute walk to the campus, and it’s safe. I am also friends with one of the professors who helps me get me in touch with kids who are struggling financially. Obviously, there is no shortage of them.”

  “And you what, just pocket the money?”

  “Not that it is any of your business, but no, I don’t. I charge them a ridiculously low rent that is manageable and doesn’t put them in a position where they prioritize work over school. And what rent I get paid, I put toward the homeless shelter three blocks away. My dad already pays all the utilities, so the kids only have to worry about their food and books. Simple.”

  “I … I can’t believe … Why would you do that?” Declan appears speechless, and a big part of me is smug about that.

  “Because I want to. Because my dad can’t just click his fingers and demand I live where he wants. Because I am my own woman and make my own way in life,” I snap, touching my forehead when the pounding turns into a full-on rave inside my head. I need to slip into a coma for a year to recover from this, I swear.

  “You know that would mean a fuck of a lot more if you weren’t getting a monthly allowance from your parents, right?” I don’t need to look at Declan to hear the sneer in his voice.

  I shake my head, too angry to voice to him that I never touch the money they give me.

  How dare he act like he has any moral high ground in this discussion? He is the one who illegally looked into my parents’ financials. He is the one who made an assumption about what he saw. He is the asshole here.

  “Whatever. I just want to go home,” I say, sounding defeated to my own ears as I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes, giving him my new address.

  I wonder what he will think of the house I actually have a mortgage on. The one I have gotten completely on my own, using my own money.

  By the time I have directed him to my small, two-bedroom home, he has a frown over his face. It’s pretty obvious what he thinks.

  “Why are you living here?” he demands.

  “Why wouldn’t I live here?” It might not be the richest suburb, but it isn’t a poor one. I feel safe here, and it has some nice houses and gardens, ones you can see when the weather decides to play nice.

  “You spend all that money you get a month paying for a regular looking house?” Now he is looking at me like I have grown an extra head.

  I miss silent Declan, the one I got to know after Bowen broke into my room, the one who barely spoke to me for an entire day. That Declan made me want to hit him considerably less than asshole Declan.

  “The money I make is for me to decide what to spend on. Are you being a snob?” I finally mutter.

  “If you’re paying ten grand a month for this, then you are seriously getting ripped off.”

  Fury bubbles inside me again, but I try to keep it down. I am far too hungover to be throwing a fit at Declan. Deserved or not.

  “You have gotten me home. Thanks for the ride. You can leave now,” I snap, throwing open the door and shivering a little at the cool air. His cab was beginning to feel overheated.

  “You’re not going to let me walk you to your door? Is the inside made out of gold or something?” he scoffs.

  I think I might have rattled him. He wasn’t expecting this, and now I have thrown him off. Well, good. Declan is so convinced we are from different worlds, maybe it will be good for him to see he’s not someone who knows everything.

  “I know you think you’re being funny, but you’re really not. I love this house, I have made a home out of it, and I don’t care what you think. It’s mine.”

  “Look …” He sighs as he swings my suitcase out from the back, and I quickly take hold of the handle before he tries to carry it to my door. “I don’t know what point you’re trying to make, but—”

&n
bsp; “My point is: you judged me on something you don’t even know the truth of. Yes, my parents are rich. Yes, my dad puts however much money for me into an account every month. No, I don’t touch that money. No, I haven’t taken a cent from them since I left college. No, I am not close to my parents. Yes, it cost me a lot of pride and dignity to ask them to help me out for Zander and Ava’s wedding. Yes, that was the first time in years I have seen them face-to-face. No, I am not some spoiled, trust fund baby who you have the right to ridicule. No, you will not be getting more discussion out of this, because yes, you are an asshole.” I storm away, but my dramatic exit is cut short when Declan grabs my arm, swinging me around.

  “What are you talking about? You … you …” He is lost for words again, and I can’t find any patience within myself to help him find his way through this.

  “Just spit it out or let me go. I’m tired, I feel like shit, and I don’t need more of your crap.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he finally gasps, his gaze penetrating me. I have no idea what he’s looking for when he stares at me so intently.

  “Tell you what?”

  “That you were on your own? That you weren’t close to your parents?” he hisses like I kept some huge secret from him.

  “Why would I tell you any of that? You’re not my friend, Dec,” I say, knowing it’s brutal but also honest. Besides, I’m way too hungover to care about saying any of this delicately now. “You have always been an asshole to me. I don’t know why, or maybe I do. Regardless, your misinformation is your own fault. That is on you, not me, so let me go.” I tug on my arm, and he releases me, though I notice it’s reluctantly.

  “I never knew. I always thought …” He is still mumbling to himself, lost in this apparently revealing moment.

  “It’s not a big deal. I’m still the same person I was last week.” Although, much more hungover.

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought I was a spoiled bitch. I know. I get it.” I sigh. “You know, for a private investigator, your deduction skills are shit. Zander and Joey both know I’m not loaded. They also know I’m not close to my parents. The only reason you don’t know is because you were too busy being the snob, not me. You judged me. And again, that’s on you.” I storm off again, finally reaching my front step.