Page 68 of Knox's Boy

"Completely," Knox agreed without hesitation. He kissed my forehead, his lips lingering there. "Thank you for understanding, little one. You have no idea how much better I will sleep."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled, but I hugged him back just as hard. "Now can we watch that movie? I think I deserve popcorn. And a Diet Coke. I know you say it's not healthy."

Knox chuckled, the sound rumbling against my chest. "I think that can be arranged."

***

The next morning, moving was HARD. I couldn’t do it without wincing. The welts from the belt had settled into a deep, bruised ache that reminded me of my place with every step. It also made me hard with every step. Go figure.

Knox found me in the kitchen after breakfast. "Come with me," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

He guided me toward the door. I stiffened slightly as we approached the garage. The memory of the night before, skulking in the shadows, trying to hide the jagged scar on the Jaguar, was still sharp and sour in my mind.

"Daddy, I don't really want to see it yet," I admitted, hanging back. "I know you said it's just metal, but... this car really means the world to me, and I don't want to see it ruined."

"Trust me," Knox murmured, pushing the door open.

My eyes went automatically to the far corner where I had abandoned the car in shame.

I gasped.

The Jaguar was there. It sat gleaming under the lights. The blue paint was liquid perfection, deep and flawless.

I walked toward it, stunned. I reached out, my fingers hovering over the driver's side door, searching for the jagged white canyon Finn had carved into the metal.

There was nothing. Smooth, cool glass and paint met my fingertips. The mirror was whole, pristine, reflecting my bewildered face without a single crack.

"How?" I whispered, looking back at Knox. He stood near the workbench, hands in his pockets, looking pleased with himself. "It's been... twelve hours. How did you get it fixed so quickly? It looked like a shark had bitten it."

Knox smiled. "I have a very good relationship with a specialist body shop in the city." He shrugged, as if moving heaven and earth was a minor administrative task. "Some problems are easier to solve than others, Florian, like I told you."

I circled the car, shaking my head. It was magic. It was money, yes, but it felt like magic. It erased the violence of yesterday, wiped the slate clean just as effectively as the punishment had wiped my conscience.

"It's perfect," I said, running my hand along the fender. "Like nothing ever happened."

Knox moved then, crossing the concrete to stand beside me. His expression sobered, the playfulness vanishing. He reached out, tilting my chin up so I had to look at him.

"The car can always be fixed, Florian," he said, his voice dropping to that serious, intense register that made my toes curl. "I can buy a thousand Jaguars. I can repaint them a thousand times."

His thumb brushed my cheekbone.

"It's you I can't replace," he whispered. "You are the only thing in this garage, in this house, in my life, that is truly one of a kind. If you are broken... I... I don't know what I'd do."

“I won't break, Daddy,” I said, laughing now, so happy, and so relieved. Everything was new and good again. “You're the only one that can break me, and only in a good way.”

He smiled, wide, his eyes warm.

Chapter 30. Florian

I was curled up on the living room couch, highlighter poised over my textbook when Knox appeared in the doorway. He looked different somehow. His eyes found mine immediately, dark and beautiful. That look always meant something was coming, something that would either thrill me or terrify me, sometimes both, both being equally amazing. I set my textbook aside, suddenly unable to focus on sociology theories when he was staring at me like that.

"What?" I asked, feeling a smile tug at my lips despite my attempt to sound casual.

“You know how I like to spoil you, right?” he asked. That was so true, he spoiled me rotten. He moved into the room with that mischievous smirk.

“You're scaring me. Usually, I'm the one with that bratty smile,” I said. He chuckled, hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks.

“Pack your bags," he said, his voice low. "We're leaving tomorrow morning."