Page 39 of Knox's Boy

"He suggested the media room might be to your liking," she continued, her voice gentle. "And perhaps something warm to drink?"

Ten minutes later, I was in a room that was bigger than my old apartment, sunk deep in a sofa that felt like it was made of clouds and money. Mrs. Gable had returned with a plush blanket, soft and white, and tucked it around me maternally, making my throat tighten. On the side table sat a mug of hot chocolate, topped with a mountain of whipped cream and tiny marshmallows. Just like the drink Knox got me the first time we met.

"If you need anything else, simply press this," she said, tapping a small intercom panel on the table. "I'll be in the utility area."

She vanished, leaving me alone with the remote.

I turned on the massive screen that dominated the wall. I didn't want news. I didn't want documentaries. I navigated to the trashiest reality show I could find, where tan, oiled people screamed at each other about cheating while wearing dental floss bikinis. It was glorious.

I sipped the hot chocolate, the sugar and heat spreading through my chest, and let the mindless drama wash over me. For the first time in months, maybe years, my brain wasn't running in constant survival mode.How much for rent? How much for food? Is the landlord coming? Is Finn coming?The memory of the shelter was as distant as a forgotten nightmare.

Here, the only problem was whether Brayden was going to choose Kinsley or Tiffany at the recoupling ceremony. I didn't even have time to think how weird or lucky I was that a man like Knox wanted me. But I'd leave the question 'why’ to another time. I sank deeper into the throw, pulling my knees up. The luxury was a sedative, dragging my eyelids down. But I fought sleep. I kept glancing at the digital clock on the cable box.

11:00 AM.

12:30 PM: Mrs. Gable asked if I'd like a bowl of fresh tuna poke for lunch, and I'd be insane if I said no.

2:15 PM. I watched the numbers change, counting down. He said four.

Around three, the reality show contestants were crying about a failed challenge involving eggs and spoons. The drama on screen felt distant, muffled by the growing anticipation in my chest. I muted the TV.

The door clicked. It was a soft sound, barely audible, but my heart leaped into my throat. I threw the blanket off, scrambling to my feet just as the heavy oak doors to the living area opened.

Knox stood there. He looked tired, his tie loosened, a briefcase in his hand. He hadn't seen me yet; he was looking down at his phone.

Then he looked up.

His eyes found me instantly. I was standing there in his pajamas, my hair messy, looking like I’d just woken up from a nap. But the tension in his shoulders dropped as if someone had cut a wire. He dropped the briefcase on a desk with a heavy thud. He didn't say a word. He just opened his arms.

I didn't think. I ran. I crossed the room, launching myself at him. He caught me easily, the impact knocking him back half a step, his arms clamping around me. One hand went to my back, pressing me into him; the other cradled the back of my head, his large fingers tangling in my hair.

"You're early," I mumbled into the fabric of his coat, breathing in his scent.

"I couldn't stay away," he murmured, his voice rumbling against my chest. He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. "I sat in a board meeting for three hours thinking about nothing but you on my couch."

I melted against him, all my weight supported by his strength. The last knot of fear in my stomach unraveled.

"I missed you," I admitted. “I'm so happy you're here, Daddy!”

"I know, baby," Knox said, tightening his hold until it bordered on painful, just the way I needed it. "I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

Chapter 19. Knox

Two weeks had passed since I'd found Florian in that hellish shelter, two weeks of nourishing meals, uninterrupted sleep, and careful attention restoring the color to his cheeks and the spark to his eyes. His body had healed. It was time for the next phase of his recovery: structure. I ran my finger along the embossed title of the leather folder, "House Rules & Daily Schedule", and felt a surge of satisfaction. This was what he needed. What we both needed.

I checked my watch. 7:58 AM. Florian would be downstairs soon. I had made sure his room faced east, the sunlight a gentle but persistent alarm clock. Although he could sleep in my bed whenever he liked, I also wanted him to have his own room for privacy. I set a mug of coffee at his place on the table, two sugars and a splash of cream, just the way he liked it. The folder sat beside it.

I heard him coming. I looked up to see him shuffle into the kitchen, still wrapped in sleep. His hair stood up in wild tufts at the back, and he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles like a child. The oversized t-shirt he wore, mine, of course, hung offone shoulder, revealing the sharp ridge of his collarbone. He was gaining weight, but he was still too thin.

"Morning, Daddy," he mumbled, making a beeline for the coffee. He lifted it to his lips, inhaling the aroma before taking a cautious sip. His eyes were still half-closed, but a little smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Good morning, my boy," I replied, watching as awareness gradually replaced the fog of sleep in his expression. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm." He nodded, collapsing into the chair opposite me. "Your bed should be illegal. It's like sleeping on a cloud made of puppies, bunnies, and dreams."

I chuckled at his description.

"I have something for you," I said, sliding the leather-bound folder across the polished surface of the table. "It's time we established some proper parameters."