Broken Knight (All Saints High, #2)

by L.J. Shen

I’d promised her I’d be strong, and I was going to be. For her. For me. For them. No more bullshit, half-assed dad. I’d been stuck in my own little Rosie-colored universe for far too long.

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“I needed to suck and do my job as a parent months ago. From now on, I am going to suck like a whore in a brothel, kiddo.”

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“Here’s the thing about love—it’s an uncomfortable feeling. It pushes your boundaries. If any of you would have told me I’d be standing here talking to you a year ago, I’d have laughed in your faces. Silently, of course.”

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With that, I turned around and walked toward the woman I’d joined with between these pews two decades ago. Only then, she’d worn a wedding gown and a mischievous smile. Only then, she’d promised me forever. Only then, I’d taken it, knowing damn well forever wasn’t going to be the longest time. As I peeked into her casket, at her tranquil smile, her gorgeous, porcelain face, that white chiffon gown she loved so much, I knew forever wasn’t long enough. Not for a love like ours.

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“Knight Jameson Cole,” I said, loud and clear, not caring that we had an audience, that the saleswomen took out their phones to record this. That Edie, Mel, and Emilia had tears in their eyes. That Daria muttered only half-jokingly that I was stealing all her thunder. “You come here right now and tell me the L word if you want to be my awful-wedded husband.” The entire football team erupted in laughter, and Knight’s nervous smile broke into the cockiest, most arrogant, most adorable grin I’d ever seen on a human face. He made me weak in the knees. And I knew, impossibly, that this was the way it was going to be until my last day. My heart would always miss a beat the first time he entered the room—no matter how many times I’d seen him. Tossing his sign behind his shoulder, he threw the glass door open and strolled inside, ignoring Arabella and Alice to his right. When he reached me, he got down on one knee, but instead of looking up at me, he bowed his head, like a warrior kneeling in front of his queen, his sword piercing the ground. Producing something from his pocket, he held a ring up in the air, no box. I recognized it immediately. It had belonged to Rosie. Story was, Dean had given it to her on their second wedding anniversary. It was a round-cut, yellowish-green diamond, surrounded by much smaller diamonds. For every year of Dean’s sobriety, he’d added one more mini-stone to surround the bigger one. At some point, he’d begun to decorate the band itself with precious...

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