Knots and Knives: The Cottingham Cove Chronicles

You learn who you are by watching the people who watch you. Across the deck, through the humid crush of bodies, the only person I care about is watching me now.

The AC's been dead since Tuesday. Compressor gave out sometime around dusk, a death rattle before it surrendered to the July heat, and the earliest anyone's coming to fix it is next week. Doesn't matter tonight. Half the party's spilled onto the lawn just to breathe. The other half's packed onto this deck like the heat's a joke we're all in on together. Every window in the house is open, and it hasn't helped a single degree.

Tonight, I burn slow. Not from the girl, though she's eager. Hands everywhere like she's trying to memorize me by force.

From the one across the deck, looking completely alone even with people pressed in on all sides, her arms crossed tight like she's holding her own bones together.

She's drowning in that shirt.

Mine, probably.

Hair a mess of dark chaos, like sleep didn't finish with her.

Or something else did.

Maybe me.

I let the thought ride, even though I shouldn't.

Somewhere past the tree line, heat lightning stutters silver over the Cove, gone before it means anything. The air's finally moving, salt off the water, jasmine climbing the trellis below the deck, the first real breath the night's given anybody. She looks like she's been waiting on it same as me.

Nox.

Not her real name, not really.

Alexandriannah Lennox Chandler.

Lex to everyone else.

The girl on my arm stops existing the second she steps outside. Bare feet. No hesitation. Like the night built her out of everything it couldn't keep in.

She's a magnet for moments like these. The kind that stretch just long enough for bad decisions to feel inevitable.

For my part, I never really cared for rules.

Least of all the unspoken ones.

Like not thinking about someone else when your hands are already full. Like keeping your best friend's little sister untouched. Unwanted.

Too bad I break that last one every time.

She's not mine, but she's always been mine—the kind of quiet debt you don't collect because you like the weight of it hanging between you.

It's the same old loop, more fucking reliable than the tides slapping the sea wall beneath us. Or my own compulsive need to push until something gives.

The Zippo flicks open in my hand.

Flame catching blue.

And just like that, she knows we're here.

The girl against me doesn't notice. She's too busy pressing closer, chasing heat that isn't hers. Fingers sliding up my chest like she's trying to find something worth holding onto.

There isn't.

Not for her anyways.

My attention drifts. Locks across the deck.

She's standing half in shadow, half in that weak spill of light from her room, like she hasn't decided which side she belongs to yet.

Or maybe she has, and I just haven't caught up.

Her arms hang loose at her sides, head tipped back, long hair lifting in the breeze. She reaches up, gathers the dark mess, pins it on top of her head. Exhales slow, chin dropping back down and her eyes cut straight to me through the dark.

My back teeth press together.

There it is.

That pull.

Doesn't matter how many times it happens, still hits the same way.

The girl says something.

I don't catch it.

My thumb flicks the wheel again.

Once.

Twice.

The flame jumps, dies, jumps again.

A signal.

Not for the girl. For her.

Lex doesn't move. Her dark eyes find mine across the distance. She doesn't look away.

Good.

The girl's hand slides higher, nails dragging lightly over my collarbone, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. A practiced, deliberate touch. Designed to get a reaction.

I give her one. Just not the one she's expecting.

My hand settles at her waist. Loose. Careless. A placeholder.

Just enough to keep the moment intact.

Because I want it intact, every second of it.

The tension stretches.

Sticky and slow.

I feel it in the way Lex stands, in the way she doesn't leave.

She should.

The girl tilts her face up. Close now.

"C'mon," she whispers, voice soft and coaxing. "Don't make me beg."

My gaze doesn't move.

Still on Lex.

She hears her. I know she does.

The party noise fades to a dull hum. No wind, no movement, just the charged air between us, and the decision.

The girl leans up. I let her.

That's the choice. Not the kiss.

This.

Letting it get this far. Letting Nox see it. Because some part of me… Wants to know if she'll stop it. Wants to see if she'll break first.

She doesn't.

She just stands there. Watching.

The lighter sparks again.

For a second, everything sharpens.

Her mouth. My hand. The space between us.

And Lex. It’s always Lex.

The girl's lips brush mine. Soft. Barely there. I could end it. Pull back. Say something.

Instead.

I kiss her back.

It's shallow. Meaningless. All motion, no weight.

I keep my hand loose at her waist, maintaining that careful distance between us. Her body, all those curves meant to fit against someone who wants them, stays exactly on the other side of the space between us. I don't thread my fingers through her hair or tug her head back to expose her throat. She doesn't gasp my name like salvation. The kiss is mechanical. Empty.

A performance for an audience of one.

Pretty enough, I guess. The girl. But the whole time, I keep my eyes open. Fixed on the only one that matters.

She hasn't moved from her spot across the deck.

Hasn't looked away either.

Just stands there, watching me pretend to want someone else.

The girl sighs into it. Mistakes it for something it's not.

The only honest thing about that kiss was the smoke I left behind, and the way my eyes locked with hers in the dark.

I pull back first.

The lighter snaps shut. Metal clicking sharp in the quiet. And just like that, it's over.

For her.

She doesn't realize it yet.

Her fingers linger. Hopeful.

"Torrin..." she says, softer now.

I don't answer. My attention already back where it belongs.

Lex is still there.

And something in her face lands harder than anything else tonight.

The girl shifts, finally following my line of sight.

Understanding comes quick.

"Oh."

She steps back. Fixes her dress. Finds her dignity where she can.

"I, uh, should probably go."

She doesn't wait for a response.

Smart.

Her footsteps disappear down the stairs. Gone before the silence settles.

And then. It's just us.

My cigarette burns low between my fingers.

I take a slow drag. Exhale. Still watching her.

Nothing new. Never has been.

It's always been like this.

Even years ago.

The garage was loud that night, not with music but with noise. Tools clanking. Ethan talking too much while Rhyker argued with him like it was a sport. The air was thick with oil and heat that stuck to your skin, the bay door cracked just enough to let the coastal air keep us from suffocating.

She was there.

Curled up on the old leather couch shoved against the far wall, one leg tucked under her, the other swinging lazily as she flipped through something on her phone she probably wasn't even reading.

"Lex, you're in the way," Rhyker called without looking up from whatever he had pulled apart on the workbench.

"I'm literally not moving," she shot back without looking up, her thumb flicking rhythmically over the cracked screen of her phone.

"You're breathing in the way," he fired right back.

"That sounds like a you problem." Her voice was lazy, but she shifted her weight slightly on the leather, the old springs squeaking under her frame.

Ethan snorted. "God, you're both insufferable."

"Shut up," they said at the same time.

She grinned at that.

Quick. Easy.

And there it was. That thing. The way she fit. Not like an outsider trying to keep up. Not like someone we had to adjust around. Like she'd always been part of it. Because she had.

I was under the hood, hands buried in the engine, a single line of sweat cutting a slow track down my spine. Didn't need to look to know where everyone was.

Rhyker pacing, silently working out a problem only he could see.

Ethan running his mouth while surrounded by parts.

Lex. Still on the couch.

Until she wasn't.

I didn't hear her get up. Didn't see her move. Then she was there. Closer than before.

"Hand me that," I said, nodding toward the scattered tools without looking.

There was a beat, and a wrench slid into my hand. The right one.

I glanced up, one eyebrow raised in question.

She shrugged one shoulder. "Figured it out."

She always does.

I went back to work.

She didn't leave.

Just leaned her hip against the side of the pickup, watching like she had all the time in the world.

"You gonna teach me what you're doing," she said after a minute, "or am I just here for the ambiance?"

Ethan laughed from behind her.

"Ambiance," he repeated. "That's generous."

I huffed out something that might've been a laugh.

"Pay attention," I said, wiping a streak of black grease off my forearm with the back of my hand. "You might actually learn something."

She tipped her head, mocking. "Doubtful."

But she watched anyway.

Actually watched. Not pretending to watch. Not waiting to get bored and leave.

I felt it then. Nothing big or obvious. Just a shift.

Like something had settled into place without asking.

Her shoulder brushed my arm when she leaned in, light and unintentional.

Neither of us moved. Didn't need to. It didn't mean anything.

Not then.

"Careful," I muttered, more out of habit than anything else. "You'll get grease on that."

She glanced down at her shirt.

"Tragic," she deadpanned.

I almost smiled.

Rhyker looked over then. Eyes flicking between us for half a second before he shook his head like he already knew better than to get involved.

"Don't encourage her," he said.

"She encourages herself," Ethan added, still breaking down whatever part caught his attention.

"Damn right I do." She nudged my arm with her shoulder. "Move," she said. "You're blocking my view."

I shifted without thinking. Made space. Let her in. Like it was nothing. Like it had always been nothing. And maybe it was.

Back then.

Before I started noticing the way she looked at things.

At me.

Not like she was trying to figure me out. Like she already had. That should've been the moment I stepped back. Set a line.

Didn't.

Never really saw the point.

Because she was always there.

And I never wanted her anywhere else.

The water's gone dead calm below the seawall. No cicadas tonight, no late boats, just that thick backcountry hush that makes the whole night feel emptied out, like everyone but the two of us packed up and left.

The filter's gone warm against my fingers. Ash lengthening, threatening to fall. I don't tap it. I just stand there. Watching her.

She hasn't left. That tracks. What doesn't? The way she's standing.

She’s still. Too still. Like something already happened, and I missed it, even though I haven’t taken my eyes off her.

I take another drag.

Let the smoke sit in my lungs longer than necessary. Buy myself a second. Figure it out.

Nothing obvious.

No slammed doors. No attitude. No sharp edge in her posture.

Just distance. Subtle. Wrong. Like an engine knock you can feel but can't quite place.

"What are you still doing up, Nox?"

My voice cuts through the night. Easy and familiar. Routine.

"Couldn't sleep." Her voice is flat. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But I do.

My mouth pulls slightly at the corner. "Yeah?"

I push off the railing, step toward her. Close the distance. Let proximity do the work.

It always does.

The boards creak under my weight. Old wood complaining. She doesn't move back. Doesn't step in either.

I stop in front of her.

Close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

Close enough that she should react.

She doesn't.

My eyes narrow slightly.

"You watched." Not a question.

"Was I?" Her hands stay locked around her middle, her knuckles pale against the thin cotton of her shirt. She doesn't deny it.

There's a beat. I tilt my head.

"Yeah," I say, quieter now. "You were."

Her arms tighten around herself. There it is again, that shift. Small, but it keeps happening.

"You didn't stop." The words land between us.

I don't hesitate.

"No."

Because I don't see the point in lying about something that obvious.

Her gaze holds mine for a second longer, heavy and unreadable in the damp night air. Then, a small nod. "Why?"

My brow pulls slightly. "Why would I?"

Because why would I?

I don't set boundaries with Lex. I just watch her try to build them out of nothing.

My chest tightens. Just a fraction. Something doesn't land right, despite her expression not changing.

"Right."

The word is soft, but it settles wrong. Too final.

Silence stretches.

I don't like it.

My hand lifts before I think about it.

I brush a piece of hair back from her face. She lets me, but there's no give, no softening.

My fingers pause, lingering. Then drop.

"There's a breeze out here," I say, because the quiet is starting to press in. "Better than cooking in your room."

"Yeah, for sure. About time." Same tone. Same distance.

My jaw tightens. I take another drag. More out of something to do than anything else.

"Go back to bed, Lex." The usual edge is gone from my voice. Close to concern, but wrapped in dismissal.

She nods. Turns. Moves toward the door.

And for a second, I expect it. The pause. The look back. The pull. The thing she always does.

But the glass door slides open. She steps inside. Gone.

No hesitation. No second thought. The door shuts behind her with a quiet click. And I'm left standing here. Alone.

The cigarette burns down to the filter between my fingers.

I don't remember finishing it.

Didn't feel it.

Didn't feel anything except that.

The absence.

My tongue presses against the inside of my cheek. Something's off, and I don't fucking like it.

I flick the cigarette over the railing. Watch the ember fall, disappearing into the dark.

I look back at her door.

Closed.

And for the first time, it doesn't feel like something I can just open.