Hard Knox

by Amber Malloy

  “Don’t you have that pub opening?” she asked.

  His gaze darted down and to the right, avoiding her stare. “Yeah, it’s no biggie. I’ll send some celebratory cigars.”

  “We can still make it,” she said.

  “Rem.” His face morphed into that judgmental, disappointed mask she hated. “You just got here.”

  “No problem. I need some new clothes then I’m good.”

  “Why do you need clothes?” Knox squinted his eyes.

  “Because I don’t have any.” Since they’d been in such a rush to get to the clinic, he probably hadn’t thought anything of her sporting his T-shirt and a pair of leggings she had dug out of her purse.

  Without another word, he grabbed her hand and took her across the street to some trendy boutique.

  Before they pushed open the door, they could hear the salesgirl’s screams. “Holy shit, it’s Gavin Knox!” The store associate danced from foot to foot with unbridled energy.

  “Hi.” He tossed her his supastar smile. “We just need a couple of things. Do you mind setting up a room for us?”

  “Uh…uh m-my pleasure.” She took off toward the back of the store at an impressive clip. Amused by the reaction Knox managed to get out of people, Remy reached for a ribbed black dress on the rack. He blocked her with his amazing body, and she rolled her eyes. Similar to a dog with a bone, Knox wouldn’t let go.

  “Credit cards?” he pushed.

  “You know the answer to that.” Every so often, Remy had to cancel out her cards and resort to using cash to avoid anyone tracking her. She attempted to dodge Knox’s big body and reached around him. Considering that he moved fast for a living, he easily snaked her hand into his. Dammit, that dress has my name on it.

  “Activity in your accounts came to an abrupt halt a few weeks ago.”

  “Just being cautious,” she lied.

  “It freaked me out.” He stared at her, probably waiting for a confession.

  “Your room’s ready,” the sales associate interrupted them.

  Knox slid Remy a dirty look before he turned toward the girl. “Great! What’s your name?” he asked with his best playboy smile.

  “Kim.” She giggled.

  “Could you show my wife where to go then come back to help me pick out some stuff?”

  “Sure…” The chick bobbed her head up and down in her best imitation of a sports figurine.

  “Knox…” Remy sighed.

  “I’m faster—and you hate doing this anyway.” He smirked, which meant he had an idea of what he wanted to see her in.

  “This way.” Kim damn near snatched Remy’s arm off. Reluctantly, she trailed behind the salesgirl, who unceremoniously dumped her at the door. “There’s wine on ice,” she called over her shoulder, practically tripping over her own feet to get back to Knox.

  Remy slipped off his coat and took a seat on the chaise longue in the changing room. A sparkly chandelier hung above the white, plush, girly furniture, causing the room to resemble a rich woman’s closet. Once she rolled Knox’s coat into a ball and placed it under her head, her whole body relaxed. Weeks on the run from one place to another had finally caught up with her.

  “Hey,” he said. Surprised that she’d fallen asleep so fast, Remy sat straight up. “Let’s go home,” he said.

  “Are you kidding?” Remy stretched with a yawn. “Best nap ever.” She offered him a wan smile.

  “Here.” Knox held out a tank for her.

  When she grabbed it, he didn’t budge from his spot. “Are you seriously staying here?”

  “What? Are you shy?” he inquired with a slightly mocking tone, raising his eyebrow. “You kicked me out of the doctor’s office and you won’t tell me what happened, so-o-o…”

  Judging by his hardened glare, she figured she truly had no choice. Knox waited patiently for her to take off her shirt. Too tired for this crap, she pulled it over her head.

  “Fuck, Remy,” he whispered.

  Ugly bruises colored her body. The doctor had given her a patch for her ribs to cover the small gash. “Your uncle?” he grumbled.

  “Maybe the credit card tracking, but the rest is courtesy of the Rio police.”

  He ran his fingers along the side of her nasty, blueish-purple-colored bruise. It spread across the right flank of her body. “An underground rebellion had planned a protest for the assassination of an activist, Marielle Franco. The police, who were crazy corrupt, had gotten wind of it and had raided the favelas.” While he continued to study her, she stepped out of her pants, but thankfully the bruises on her legs weren’t that bad. “Cops were crawling all over public transportation, which made it harder to get out of the city. They didn’t want any reporters writing about it.”

  “What happened to Plan B? That’s what you told me, that there’s always a back-up, right? Or was that also a lie?” Knox’s gaze glided up her body before his accusatory glare landed on her face. “All this time overseas, and you’re honestly no safer over there than you are with me, here in the States?”

  Remy softly caressed the side of his face. She hid so much from him. It seemed too hypocritical of her to jump out of the frying pan straight into the fire. “Someone sent out this mysterious bat signal, and my pick-up wasn’t ready.”

  “So this is my fault?” He frowned. “If I hadn’t texted you—”

  “It’s nobody’s fault, Supastar. I’m cool.” She stepped into the distressed jeans he had brought her and grabbed the tank she’d laid to the side. Holding in a groan, she slipped it over her head. She had been a little off her fleeing game, so the cops had caught up with her group at the trolley. Remy’s ribs and back had gotten the brunt of it.

  “How are you two doing in there?” Kim’s chipper little voice called through the door.

  Knox gritted his teeth and yanked it open. “Great,” he said, with oodles of charm.

  As he quickly transformed into a better mood for his favorite fan, Remy dug into her purse. She palmed a bottle of hair oil and squirted a few drops into her hand.

  “There’s a gold necklace in the case, three strands with circles at the bottom. Could you grab that for me?” Knox asked.

  “My pleasure,” Kim cooed.

  Remy rubbed the oil through her curls and wound her huge mane into a top knot, securing it with a couple of rubber bands that she had on her wrist. Grabbing her gloss and eyeliner out of the magical sorting hat that she called a purse, she made her way to the mirror.

  “If I’d known you were getting your ass kicked on a daily basis, there’s no way I would have—” Knox began.

  “What?” Her chest constricted. She hated to go back and forth with him about this crap. “We both know that the alternative is much worse.”

  He punched the air with a growl. “Screw this. Let’s just go home. The guys will understand.”

  “No. You heard Doris.” She slid the slick, pinkish-tone gloss across her lips and locked eyes with her superstar husband in the mirror. “We’ve got to figure out if we want to stay married or not.”

  Chapter Three

  Annoyed by the music’s hard bass, Knox ordered a drink at the grand opening of his fullback’s sports bar, Murphy’s Pub. Today had produced worse hits for him than his entire football career put together, which said a lot, considering he had taken some real blows on the field. He felt beat up.

  First, the publicist had thrown him off with those stupid magazines. Then Remy’s response had sealed the deal. She hadn’t batted an eye at those pictures of him with other women, which meant he had played everything wrong.

  What if she has already met someone else? The possibility of her with some other guy shredded his insides.

  Truthfully, they had only gotten married to keep her alive. They needed to stay together long enough to get her a green card—or at least that was the way he had sold it to her. Knox took a hard swig of Patrón from his glass. Done with that drink in record time, he set it down in front of him and ordered another.

 
Beautiful and laid back, the girl of his dreams had offered him an easy out. Knox, on the other hand, had figured he would convince her to stick around. If that hadn’t worked, he would simply knock her up with a few of his babies. Nevertheless, Remy had taken off to destinations unknown, foiling any of his attempts at a plan.

  Knox had used every free minute of his time to track down his beautiful wife. Eventually, they had turned it into a game. No matter how remote the country, Knox had always found himself chasing Remy.

  Throughout the football season, she had left clues to each destination, except for winter break. He had wanted to surprise her. Instead, he’d received the surprise. A simple vacation in Greece had opened his eyes to what Remy really did for a living. He believed the term was ‘death chaser’, but he couldn’t be sure, since no one had ever explained it to him.

  “Hey, man, I didn’t think you’d make it,” Jake cried, clearly drunk off his ass. “That press conference was a disaster.” The team’s favorite fullback waved a couple of his teammates over. After the big win, they’d had to attend the city parade, which had left the guys with no time to pump him for info. “What the hell was that old hack Artie getting at?”

  Not quite loose enough to have this conversation, Knox hoped for a few more drinks. Honestly, he’d wanted to drown his anger the minute he had laid eyes on Remy’s battered body. “Art used to be a real asshole when I first joined the team,” he explained. “So I got his car towed a couple of times from the stadium. He’s had it hard for me ever since.”

  “Maybe he has dementia or something, because I’ve never seen you with…well, anybody.”

  As more players wandered over, the beefy fullback laughed hard at his own joke. “Dre!” he called out. “Hard Knox is going to sue Artie’s rinky-dink paper.”

  All the Mavericks gathered around the bar fairly quickly, with their wives and girlfriends in tow.

  “Saying you need a green card…” Doug, one of the guards, said, loud and drunk. “I mean, when do Canadians need green cards?”

  “Since forevah,” the rookie Mooch muttered.

  Knox chuckled and raised his hand to the bartender.

  “Where’s my girl?” Doug asked about his fiancée, who he never let out of his sight for more than five minutes.

  “She’s over there talking to some groupie nerd,” Alli, Juan, the replacement QB’s wife, answered. She was bossy to a bitter degree, and no one cared for her very much.

  “Hey, Lisa, come here,” Doug hollered. She stood near the door next to Remy. The raven-haired woman grabbed Remy’s arm to pull her along.

  The high heels, jeans and a sexy leather jacket he’d chosen for her complemented Remy’s banging body and heartbreaker face. If only I could keep her, Knox groused in his head before he chugged back another drink. Ever since college, she’d continued to slip further and further away.

  “Guys, you won’t believe who this is,” Lisa said.

  “Be quiet,” Doug snapped. “Hard Knox is talking about suing that paper for lying. What’s that called?”

  “Defamation, idiot.”

  “What did you say, rookie?” Doug’s badger face scrunched into an ugly red mask of anger.

  Jake put his hand on the roided-out freak’s chest. “Chill out,” he told him. “No one’s fighting in my bar. Sorry, Knox. Go ahead.”

  “The article got it half right.”

  “Crap! You don’t have a green card? The government is going to deport you. Dammit,” Jake hissed. “That damn wall…”

  “Not that part.” Knox tipped his glass to her. “Everyone, Hot Wife. Hot Wife, everyone.”

  “Hi.” She waved at the bar with a twinkle in her brilliant brown eyes. “Code name Remy.”

  “Shoot,” someone said behind him, “I was going to hit on her.”

  “Yeah, me too,” a different voice responded. Not entirely sure if that one was a dude, Knox turned around but didn’t find the offender.

  “Uh, I thought I heard you mention being a writer or something?” the relief QB’s wife asked.

  “Kind of, sort of,” Remy replied, with a deliriously bright smile.

  “Anything good? I mean, we’ve never seen you before now,” the bossy blonde continued to fire off questions in that nasally baby tone that he hated.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was trying to tell you.” Lisa’s enthusiasm bubbled over. “She was featured in one of my classes.”

  “Oh, you’re a student?” Remy asked her. “Which school?”

  “No,” Doug grunted, before he yanked his fiancée toward him. “This one gets bored and goes up to Chicago State, but she’s not enrolled anywhere. She thinks it’s cute.” The enthusiasm on Lisa’s face evaporated, which made Knox hate the douchebag even more.

  “Cool!” Remy cheered. “I should have done that.”

  “Why the hell would that be cool?” bossy Alli snorted. “What’s the point?”

  “Steve Jobs did it. I mean, why pay if you don’t have to?” Remy shrugged.

  Lisa bit her lip, but Knox could still make out the smile she tried to hide. She probably didn’t want to get too amped, because the wives had a hierarchy that Remy had trampled all over. Normally, no one ever put the blonde in her place—at least, no one in this group. The other half of the wives who wouldn’t tolerate that crap generally didn’t hang out with them.

  “Well, my class… I mean the class mentioned an exhibit. The Art Institute is displaying work from photojournalists around the world, and you’re featured,” Knox told her.

  “Exsqueeze me?” Remy looked straight at him.

  “Zing,” he responded from his favorite movie, Wayne’s World, with a laugh, finally feeling the effects of the Patrón. “I was going to surprise you, but—” He stopped himself from mentioning that she hadn’t called him in weeks.

  After the playoffs, he had planned to hire a guide and track her down. Thankfully, old man Artie had solved the mystery of his lost wife. He should buy the old buzzard a steak dinner for delivering her straight to his doorstep…or shove his foot up the reporter’s ass. Either scenario worked for him.

  “That still doesn’t explain why we haven’t heard anything about you until now,” the blonde whined.

  Officially over the whole Q-and-A mess, Knox reached into the sea of giants to grab her. “We’ve got to get going. Remy has jetlag.” Moving the mass of players with the force of his body, he led her out of the door. “Great opening, man. We’ll catch you later.”

  “What about Barbados? Are you still coming?”

  Knox opened his mouth to respond.

  “We don’t have room for a plus one on the plane,” Alli cut him off.

  “I’m sure if—” His relief quarterback tried to stop his wife, but the blonde bowled him over.

  “The promoters made limited arrangements for our accommodations, and since I set this whole thing up, I should know. Besides, all the starters made a commitment, so… Sorry… What was your name again, sweetie?” she asked sarcastically.

  “Remy,” Allison’s husband hissed.

  “But I don’t remember,” Alli muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “And on that note,” Knox said, throwing up the peace sign and ushering Remy to the door, “we’ll catch you guys later.”

  Night had fallen upon the city at an unbelievably fast rate. Winter barely held a good eight hours of sunlight in the day. Knox figured they could catch a cab back home.

  “Nice meeting you, Remy.” Mooch exited the building with them.

  “Hey, wait up.” Knox jogged toward the kid’s SUV. Thanks to the tequila, it took a minute for his brain to manufacture a good idea.

  Chapter Four

  Ambient lighting illuminated the wall-sized photograph of Remy’s work in the Chicago Art Institute.

  “Wow,” Mooch said.

  The three of them stood in front of a large-scale picture. Girls in uniforms were running from religious radicals. It showed one child, who had fallen, while another tried
to help her up. In the background, a young teacher was ushering them into the school. “What happened? I mean, after?” Knox asked.

  “They made it inside safely.”

  “And you?” He grabbed Remy’s hand, intertwining their fingers while they moved on to the next picture.

  “Goat Herder,” Mooch read off the card underneath the shot. The front of the picture showed an old man herding his goats across a road. Hundreds of refugees waited patiently for them to pass.

  “Do I need to ask?”

  “They made it and I made it,” Remy told him.

  “Amazing!” Mooch said to the last one.

  Pure blue skies highlighted ten black nuns dressed in all-white habits. An ancient-looking woman held a dead child wrapped in a shroud and the sign of the cross appeared on the cloth from the sunlight. It was stunning.

  “Ghana,” Knox read off the card. “You were in Africa?”

  “Passing through,” she muttered.

  The museum had closed two hours earlier but Knox had managed to call in a favor and got them to open Remy’s exhibit. Of course, scoring championships for the city didn’t hurt his ability to get them into hard places. Finished with their walk-through, Knox thanked the guard, who opened the door for them to leave.

  “What’s this about Barbados?” she asked.

  “Some liquor company is sponsoring an all-expenses paid trip to the island for promotions,” Knox told her.

  “Are we going?” Remy asked with a hopeful tone.

  “Stop me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just land less than twelve hours ago?”

  Completely ignoring him, she turned toward Mooch. “What about you?”

  “Uh”—he ducked his head—“I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.”

  “But you won. You should come with,” she pushed.

  Knox knew what the kid meant. He had a ton of legal bills and court dates to deal with. It was something to do with an abusive, alcoholic stepfather or some such crap. Knox didn’t have all of the details, but he knew Mooch didn’t have the cash to pay for everything. Unfortunately, he hadn’t exactly gotten the best contract.