My parents, on the other hand, were struggling. Not with having us all under one roof. That part had them in near ecstasy. But Knox had insisted I spill the truth. The whole truth, beginning with why I’d run out on Warner.
While my mother wrote a strongly worded message to Warner’s mother on Facebook at four a.m., Knox had to physically restrain my father from leaving to go after Warner.
Dad calmed down considerably after Lucian assured him that Knox had not only mopped the floor with Warner, he’d also broken the man’s nose.
The truth hurt, as I’d expected it to, which was why I hadn’t shared in the first place. But my parents had stood up under its weight.
Over Mom’s anxiety pancakes, we’d talked until nearly five a.m. before I’d fallen into bed with Knox in his childhood bedroom. I was certain I’d never be able to sleep, but with his heavy arm anchoring me to his side, I’d fallen into a dreamless oblivion and stayed there until ten.
When I woke up, I was alone because Knox had driven into town to pick up Waylay from her sleepover.
I’d taken my gigantic vat of coffee on the front porch and waited for them, thinking about how the man just kept blurring the lines of our agreement. And when they returned, when Knox put his hand on top of Waylay’s blonde head, ruffled her hair, and gave her an affectionate shove.
I realized just how blurry those lines in my heart were getting. I was in trouble. And it had nothing to do with a break-in or a criminal sister or an ex-fiancé.
I was falling for the man I’d sworn I wouldn’t. But Knox made it impossible not to. He made it inevitable.
Unfortunately, at that moment, the caseworker had shown up ready to do the home study that I’d completely forgotten about. I was not imagining the look of surprise on Mrs. Suarez’s face when I tried to herd Waylay into Liza’s house while issuing a vague excuse as to why we were unprepared for her visit.
Thankfully, Knox had stepped in once again, ordering Waylay into the kitchen to get us coffees for the road. When she was out of earshot, he was the one who explained the situation to Mrs. Suarez.
I did not have a good feeling about what this meant for the custody hearing.
“We’re not going shopping,” Knox told Waylay as he took the on-ramp for the highway.
“What’s all the stuff in the back for?” Waylay asked.
Between freaking out over what our caseworker thought of me allowing multiple break-ins to happen, I was curious too. Before he’d closed the cover over the truck bed, we’d spotted more than a dozen shopping bags.
“Supplies,” he said mysteriously.
His phone rang, and I saw Jeremiah’s name on the screen.
“Yeah,” Knox said by way of a greeting.
The man was not one for small talk.
“We’ll be there in about forty-five,” he said into the phone. “Yeah. See you there.”
“There” turned out to be Hannah’s Place, a homeless shelter on the outskirts of Washington, D.C.
It was a newer brick building on a large fenced lot. Knox pulled the truck through the gate and swung it around toward the entrance, where I saw Jeremiah standing under an awning.
“The second string has arrived,” Jeremiah said with a grin as we piled out. “Great ’do, Way.”
Waylay proudly patted a hand to the little French braid she’d worked around her head like a crown. “Thanks.”
The woman beside Jeremiah was short, stocky, and very, very brave because she charged right on up to Knox and wrapped him in a hard hug. “There’s my second favorite barber,” she said.
Knox hugged her back. “How did I lose the top spot this time?”
She leaned back and grinned wickedly. “Jer brought me two hundred rolls of toilet paper.”
“We’ll see how you feel about me after you see what I brought,” he said.
“I see you brought me two new volunteers,” she said.
“Shirley, meet Naomi and Waylay,” Knox said. “Shirley left a seven-figure corporate gig to run this shelter.”