Page 99 of Knox's Boy

I stared at him. It was so clean. So clinical. Knox had taken the chaotic, screaming nightmare of my childhood and turned it into a logistics problem.

"But..." The old guilt, the one implanted in me since I was a baby, flared up. "I can't just ship him away. He's my dad. He doesn't know anyone in Arizona. He'll be alone." I hunched my shoulders, looking down at our joined hands. "It feels wrong."

"Look at me."

I didn't want to, but his tone compelled me. I lifted my chin.

"You are not throwing him away," Knox said, his dark eyes fierce. "You are saving his life. If he stays here, on the street, drinking cheap liquor and chasing you, he will die. Probably soon. In Arizona, he will be detoxed. He will be fed. He will have therapy. He will make friends. He will be safe."

He squeezed my knees again. "But more importantly,youwill be safe. You cannot heal if you are constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to appear. I am building a wall, Florian. Not to punish him, but to let you breathe."

"It costs so much money," I whispered, the shame burning my cheeks. "Thousands of dollars. For him. He doesn't deserve your money."

"He doesn't," Knox agreed without hesitation. "But you deserve peace. And I am willing to pay any price for that."

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against mine. "Let me do this. Let me take this weight. You've carried him long enough."

The knot in my chest, the one that had been pulled tight for twenty-one years, loosened just a fraction. I let out a shuddering breath, closing my eyes. "Okay," I whispered. "Okay, Daddy."

***

The night air was cool, but under the duvet, the world was warm and silent. I lay with my head on Knox's chest, listening to the steady, powerful thud of his heart. It was a slow rhythm, unhurried. I hadn't touched my phone all evening. I didn't want to know if the plane had landed. I didn't want to track the flight. I had given the burden to Knox, just as he asked, and he had swallowed it whole.

Knox’s hand moved lazily up and down my back, tracing the line of my spine under my sleep shirt.

"Are you awake?" he murmured.

"Yeah."

"Thinking?"

"Trying not to."

He shifted, turning on his side so he was looming over me, blocking out the moonlight, blocking out the room. He cupped my face, his fingers sliding into my hair, holding me still.

His eyes were serious. There was no lust in them tonight.

"I need you to hear this," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "As long as I am breathing, nothing touches you. Not him. Not the world. You are safe now."

He didn't say it like a hope. He said it like a law of physics. Like gravity.

"I know," I whispered, and I wasn't just saying it to please him.

I reached up, tracing the hard line of his jaw. He turned his head, kissing my palm.

"Sleep, my boy," he commanded softly. "I have the watch."

I curled into him, burying my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of pine. The terror of the afternoon felt like a distant memory, something that happened to a different version of me.

My father was gone. And I was here, held by the beast who would burn the world down to keep me warm.

My eyes grew heavy. I let go of the tension in my muscles, bit by bit, until I was just a weight in his arms.

"Goodnight, Daddy," I mumbled, already drifting.

"Goodnight, my boy."

Chapter 42. Florian