Page 1 of Hard Bargain

Chapter 1

Knox

Stockton smelled like rain and regret.

It was well past midnight when Knox Wolfe made his way home on foot, hood up, and a bag of groceries digging into his fingers hard enough to leave marks. The streetlights flickered above, weak and washed out, like they might give up at any second.

He kept his head down and moved fast. The city played by different rules at this hour, and he’d learned early not to meet anyone’s gaze unless he had a reason. Today, all he wanted was to get home without being pulled into someone else’s mess. He barely had enough energy for his own.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, harsh and insistent. Three missed calls. He didn’t need to check. It was always her.

The apartment building came into view: three stories of old brick and peeling paint, tucked at the far end of a street people avoided after dark. This was the part of town nobody talked about unless they had to.

Knox took the stairs two at a time, counting them out of habit. At the front door, he slowed, listening. His mother’s voice drifted through the thin wood, rising and falling, talking to ghosts that only existed in her head.

He unlocked the door, paused with his palm pressed against the chipped paint, and counted to three before pushing inside. The apartment was dim, shadows clinging to the corners. His mother sat curled on the couch, knees to her chest, gaze fixed on a TV screen that showed only static.

She looked… put together. Her hair was bleached nearly white and swept up high, roots barely showing. Her makeup was bold as always—black liner, red lipstick, and a thick layer of foundation. Long, bright nails tapped lightly against the arm of the couch, rings glinting on every finger. Even on her worst days, she refused to look undone. Too proud to let anyone see the cracks beneath.

She didn’t look up. “You’re late.”

“I know. Shift ran long at the gas station.” He dropped the grocery bag on the table. “Didn’t make it to the store till after midnight.”

She didn’t move. “Don’t leave me here alone, Knox. They come when you’re gone. The man upstairs… he’s watching me again.”

He wanted to tell her the truth, that nobody cared enough to watch, that the man upstairs worked nights and barely spoke English, but it wouldn’t matter. He swallowed the words.

The truth didn’t live here anymore.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked instead.

She lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Don’t remember. They don’t work.”

Of course they didn’t. Nothing ever did.

Knox pulled out a chair and sat by the window. The wood creaked beneath him as he stared down at the street: wet pavement, empty sidewalks, the city humming softly as if settling in for the night.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands pressed over his face. Twenty-two shouldn’t feel this old, but on days like these, exhaustion sat heavy in his bones. It felt like it had carved out a space and decided to stay. The weight of everything pressed in until there was no space left to breathe. He bit down hard on his lower lip, like the pressure could keep the feeling contained.

Anger came next, twisting up inside him ugly and familiar, aimed at the fragile woman across the room. He knew it wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked for any of this. The sickness. The depression. The emptiness that seemed to follow her everywhere. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing she’d tried harder to get better—just once.

He knew exactly how bad she could get. He’d been the one to find her more than once. That’s how he’d learned young how to press his fingers to her wrist and wait for a heartbeat. How to lean close enough to feel her breathing. How to grab the phone with shaking hands and call for help, trying to keep his voice steady while everything else wasn’t. No one had taught him that. You just learn fast when the person who’s supposed to keep you alive is the one you have to keep alive instead.

Even on her better days, she never really saw him. There was never any room for what he felt, only for what she needed. His wants disappeared beneath the noise of hers.

He searched his memory for something warm—a word, a gesture, anything—and came up empty. He loved his mom, but most of the time that love felt less like comfort and more like a cage he couldn’t escape.

Sometimes, he thought about leaving. Most nights, he knew he wouldn’t. Leaving her alone wasn’t an option. Tomorrow, he’d do it all over again. Survive, repeat. But for now, he watched Stockton blur under the rain and waited for something—anything—to change.

Behind him, his mother spoke. “Did you get my cigarettes?”

He shook his head. “No. Didn’t have enough after groceries. I’ll get them tomorrow, okay?”

A sharp huff before she turned her face toward the window. “Don’t let me run out next time.”

Knox nodded, not trusting himself to say anything else.

He pushed himself up, crossed to the kitchen, and pulled open the cabinet above the sink. The pill bottles were right where he left them, lined up beside the chipped mugs and a half-empty jar of instant coffee. He shook out the pills, filled a glass at the tap, and brought them over.