Yes, Mr Knight. Book 3: A Knight to Forget

Today, we wore black. It was a symbol of our grief, a way to honor the memory of someone we’d lost. This tradition had roots that stretched back to ancient Rome, where mourners would don darker togas to signify their sorrow.

Nowadays, it was the standard black suit and white shirt. And of course, the black tie that we men inevitably loosened by the time we reached the reception, where we were greeted by lukewarm coffee and stale ham and cheese sandwiches.

For some, the task of planning a funeral came as a sudden, unexpected blow. But for me…well, I’d had some time to brace myself for this. We all had.

As I adjusted my tie, I glanced at Penelope, perched quietly on the stool next to me. Her hair, a perfect replica of her mother’s, tumbled down her back.

Penelope was so young, yet she’d already experienced so much. I wanted to shield her from life’s harsh realities—the pain, the loss, the heartache. But I knew that was a futile wish.

Penelope reached out to me, offering a hair clip adorned with a red velvet bow. “I think she would like this one,” she said, her voice soft but certain.

I nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “I think you’re right,” I agreed, standing up and moving behind her chair.

As I looked at her long, brunette hair, a familiar pang of longing settled in my chest. It was in moments like these that I missed Jamie the most.

Raising a daughter on my own was more challenging than anything I’d ever faced. Running a business, while demanding, was a cakewalk compared to the trials of single parenthood.

I was clueless about how girls liked their hair styled, or what was considered trendy for a three-year-old. Jamie, however, would have handled it with ease. Motherhood was second nature to her.

Reading bedtime stories to Penelope, wiping away her tears, simply being there for her—it all came naturally. I could do those things too, but she was just better at it.

I ran a brush through Penelope’s hair, smoothing out the tangles. It had been a year since I’d started doing her hair, but I still felt like a fish out of water when it came to styling it. Hair clips were the extent of my expertise, and Penelope wasn’t particularly impressed.

“I think maybe you need to learn how to do it different sometimes,” she suggested, her voice small but firm. “Tie it up here—or—or a braid like Katie’s mom does in her hair. I like braids.”

I sighed. I knew this was coming. “I thought we were doing good with the hair clips,” I countered, hoping to deflect her criticism. “They’re not falling out like they used to.”

Penelope shrugged her small shoulders. “I don’t know, Dad. Sometimes I want it different,” she replied, a little subdued. It was clear today that she wasn’t her usual energetic self.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Stop getting older,” I teased, shaking my head.

The thought of Penelope growing up filled me with a mix of joy and dread. I pictured her as a rebellious teenager, interested in boys and challenging authority. It was a scenario that kept me awake at night.

“All right, let’s get going,” I said, lifting Penelope down from her stool.

We left the house together, sliding into the back of the car, with my hired security, Ezra, behind the wheel.

As we left, caterers were already arriving to prepare for the post-funeral gathering. The idea of over a hundred people invading my privacy was a nightmare, but I knew it was a necessary evil.

Penelope was surprisingly well behaved during the car ride to the church, her usual chatter replaced by a quietness. Even throughout the service and the burial, she’d remained composed, her small hand clutching mine tightly.

Some might argue that she was too young to attend such a somber event, but I couldn’t bear the thought of excluding her.

My home was filled with people dressed in black, their faces etched with pity. I was familiar with this look, the pitying gaze that followed me wherever I went. But it was a look I despised, a reminder of the man I used to be.

Before Jamie, I was a bachelor, a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, a man who commanded respect. Now, I was seen as a victim, a man who had lost his way.

I took a moment to look around the open-concept living area. The tall windows showcased the garden, and the doors were left wide open, inviting guests to enjoy the fresh air. Caterers were bustling about, serving coffee, tea, and the most exquisite gourmet food. Nothing but the best for today. She deserved nothing less.

As I scanned the crowd, I noticed Jacob making his way over, Penelope cradled in his arms.

“Look who I found upstairs,” he said, a chuckle in his voice. “I was just heading to the bathroom when I stumbled upon this little lady playing in your bedroom.”

“What were you up to?” I asked, my voice light and teasing.

Penelope just shrugged, her silence indicating she wasn’t ready to confess her mischief.

Jacob grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Are you going to spill the beans or should I?” he asked.

Penelope remained silent.

“She was rummaging through Jamie’s jewelry in the wardrobe. I don’t think there was a piece she didn’t try on,” he said. He chuckled again. “Judging by her reaction, I’m guessing she knows she’s not supposed to touch them.”

“I don’t know, Uncle Jake,” Penelope responded, her voice small and innocent.

I let out a sigh. “Remember what we talked about touching Mom’s things?” I gently reminded her. “They’re special, and we don’t want anything to happen to them.”

This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. Penelope was always drawn to Jamie’s things, especially the glittering jewelry and vibrant clothes in the wardrobe.

“I just wanted to try them on,” she said, her eyes wide and curious.

Penelope didn’t have any memories of Jamie. She was too young when the accident happened. Her understanding of her mother was based solely on the stories we told and the pictures we showed her.

“I should go check on Melody,” Jacob said, shifting the topic. “Want to come with me?”

Penelope nodded eagerly. Today wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, but Jacob knew how to keep her entertained.

As I navigated through the crowd, I spotted Clay sitting alone in an armchair. He looked out of place and lost, his plate of food untouched. I could relate. My appetite had also disappeared.

“Two coffees, milk, no sugar,” I told the server, barely audible over the crowd’s chatter. I waited, tapping my foot impatiently as she prepared the drinks.

Alcohol wasn’t an option around Penelope, so coffee would have to do. After Jamie’s accident, I had a rough time, often drowning my sorrows in booze. But I realized that wasn’t the answer.

I needed to be there for my daughter.

I made my way to the living area, my steps measured. “Thought you could use this,” I said, offering Clay one of the coffees.

He looked up from his armchair, his eyes a mix of gratitude and sadness.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” he admitted in a whisper. “Is it that obvious?”

“I don’t think any of us did,” I replied, settling into the armchair next to him.

We both sipped our coffees, the warmth a small comfort in the cool room. “It’s been a long day. How are you holding up?”

“As well as I can,” Clay sighed heavily. “I’ve had a long time to come to terms with losing her. I knew it was going to happen eventually. Still, I can’t imagine my life without her.”

“I understand,” I said softly.

Clay nodded, his eyes distant. “Cancer, it just eats away at a person until there’s nothing left. She wanted me to end it for her a couple of weeks ago… She said the pain was too much and she hated that we were left with that image of her. I couldn’t do it.”

What Clay shared wasn’t news to me. Julia had told me about Clay’s struggle. We had become close since the accident, and I had often sat with her during chemotherapy when Clay couldn’t.

Thankfully, no one around seemed to overhear our conversation. They were too consumed with their own grief.

“We still have hope for Jamie,” Clay said with a determination that surprised me. “It’s going to be a lot for her to process when she wakes up and finds out her mother is gone.”

“It’s been two years,” I replied quietly.

“Mason, I know my girl,” Clay said, his smile faltering. “Jamie will wake up when she’s ready.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if his faith in Jamie’s recovery was the only thing keeping him afloat. I didn’t share his optimism. It felt like I was losing Jamie, much like my dad lost my mom.

The fear of falling in love and then losing that person had always haunted me. Yet, here I was, having fallen for Jamie and now facing the same loss my dad had experienced.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, interrupting my chat with Clay. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

“I need to take this,” I told Clay, who nodded understandingly. I excused myself and retreated to the garage for some privacy.

I answered the call, pressing the phone against my ear. “This isn’t a good time, Patrick,” I said, my voice tight.

“Mr. Knight, you need to hear this,” Patrick responded urgently.

I sighed, annoyed. “I’m at a funeral. Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“I found him,” Patrick said. His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart pounded in my chest. I had been waiting for this news for what felt like forever. Every call from Patrick, every lead he had pursued, had led to this moment.

“Where?” I managed to ask, barely whispering.

“He’s hiding out in a motel in Toronto,” Patrick informed me. “He’s in trouble with some serious drug dealers. You need to come here. I’ll send you the address.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few days,” I replied, trying to steady my racing heart.

“If you want him, you need to get here now, Mr. Knight,” Patrick warned. “We don’t know how long he’ll stay.”

I rubbed my forehead, frustrated. My first thought was of Penelope. Leaving her now was the last thing I wanted to do. She needed me. But this might be my only chance to confront him, to make him pay for his actions.

“I’ll be there soon,” I said, making up my mind. I ended the call and left the garage. The aroma of coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the chatter of people now grated on my nerves.

As I neared Clay, I noticed Penelope was with him in the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Clay asked, wiping mud off Penelope’s hands with a damp paper towel. She sat on the kitchen island, her cream lace tights smeared with dirt up to her knees.

“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice strained. “What happened here?”

“She took a tumble while playing football with her Uncle Jake,” Clay chuckled. “I think he needed the distraction. But you’re okay, aren’t you, P? Grandpa fixed you right up.” He kissed her forehead, and she giggled.

I often wondered how growing up without a female figure would affect Penelope. No mother, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, or cousins. Would it shape the person she would become?

“Can you look after her for a few days?” I asked.

Clay gave me a puzzled look. I knew the timing was awful, but I had no other choice. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“Where are you going?” Clay asked, curiosity in his voice.

I glanced at Penelope but didn’t respond. He understood from my expression that I couldn’t discuss it in front of her.

“Penelope, why don’t you grab another cookie from the buffet? I need to chat with your dad,” Clay suggested gently.

“But—but I already had a cookie, Grandpa,” Penelope protested.

“It’s okay, you can have another,” Clay reassured her, helping her down from the counter.

She scampered toward the buffet table, her tiny legs moving as fast as they could.

“He found him, didn’t he?” Clay whispered.

“He’s in Toronto,” I confirmed, my voice a mix of anticipation and fear. “Patrick wants me to act quickly before he slips away.” I let out a heavy sigh. “It’s been too long. I can’t miss this opportunity. I need to confront him.”

“Get out of here!” Clay urged me. “You’ve got to do this. I’ll stay here, keep an eye on Penelope until you’re back. I could use the distraction.”

“Thanks,” I said, turning to head upstairs to pack for a couple of nights. I was aware that Penelope wouldn’t be thrilled about my departure. She never was.

“Mason,” Clay’s voice echoed worriedly.

I spun around to face him, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Whatever happens, don’t let them catch you,” he cautioned.

His words hung heavy in the room, a stark reminder of the gravity of our situation.

“I don’t plan on it,” I responded, sounding steady despite the chill that ran down my spine.

The stakes were sky-high, and the thought of failing was simply too terrifying to contemplate.