Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Knox

I walk up to the front door of the little condo, not sure what I expected, except to say it wasn’t this?—

Homemade garland is draped artistically on the front door.

Something twinges deep in my chest—memories that I’ve long pushed aside threatening to swell to the forefront of my mind.

My mom, Ella, and I cutting strips of paper, gluing them together into colorful strands of paper to match the seasons—green and red for Christmas, pink and white for Valentine’s day, pink and yellow, blue and green for Easter, red, white, and blue for the Fourth of July, orange and black for Halloween, red and orange and brown for Thanksgiving.

I shouldn’t be here.

There’s a reason I don’t fuck around with single moms, don’t fuck around with anything permanent.

This entire experience has been a lesson in idiocy.

It doesn’t matter that the rest of the area surrounding the front door is decorated too. I can’t care less about the heart-shaped placard that’s propped up in one corner of the porch. Nor the fact that it’s surrounded by pink and white lights and a collection of baskets filled with red, sparkly garland.

Nor that the entire scene is festive.

Nor that I’d never expect anything like this to be in the vicinity of Ivy and all of her badassness.

Then again…Evie and her glitter and braids.

It doesn’t matter that it’s not Ivy’s aesthetic.

She’s a mom. Evie loves all that’s bright and shiny and sparkling…

So, it’s here on the front porch.

The decorations.

And her love for her daughter.

And that’s the point it becomes too fucking much and I start to turn on my heel, to get the fuck out of there, to stop this insanity in its tracks before it’s too late and?—

“Knox!”

I still, dread snaking down my spine at Evie’s little voice.

At her excitement.

At me being here.

What fucking right do I have to be here? Stomping over boundaries, interjecting myself where Ivy doesn’t want me.

First at school.

Then in the hallway.

Now in her fucking house.

And yet, I can’t make myself do anything but spin around and greet Evie like she deserves—with a big smile and enthusiasm. “Short stuff!” I exclaim. “I didn’t think I had the right house.”

“Why?” Her brows pull together.

I hitch my head at the decorations. “Not nearly enough glitter.”

“That’s what I said, but my mom said there was already more than enough sparkles for her to sweep up.”

My lips twitch.

And then all thoughts of leaving and escaping slide out of my mind.

Namely because Evie’s snagging my hand and dragging me forward into the house, calling, “Knox is here, Mom!”

I catch a glimpse of deep red hair and concerned brown eyes before Evie keeps towing me along. “I’m going to show Knox my room.”

Me. In a kid’s room.

Umm…

But I don’t have a chance to get out of it because then we’re barreling through a door and…

I’m assaulted by an explosion of pink.

My God. My eyes.

Did I know this many shades of pink existed? Logically, yes. Same as the amount of glitter on the curtains and the walls, the artwork and even the pillows sitting on the bed.

But experiencing it like it’s an immersive art exhibit?

Yeah, not so much.

“Do you like it?”

I step inside, spinning in a circle, taking it all in. “I think it’s the most Evie room I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“My mom says it makes her head hurt.”

“It does have a certain…brightness.”

She smiles wide, flopping back onto her bed with her arms spread wide. “I love it!”

Grinning, I move over to the bulletin board—pink, of course, and covered in a crisscross pattern of gold, glittering ribbons. It’s filled with photos of Ivy and Evie and my heart squeezes as I look through the collage.

Baby Evie in a tired looking Ivy’s arms.

Evie in a tutu and tiara.

Evie and Ivy covered in flour and laughing, a sheet pan filled with misshapen cookies between them.

Evie with those glitter-covered braids and a Sierra jersey.

Evie in a karate uniform, holding a big ass trophy.

Evie at a concert for a big time pop singer even I’ve heard of—Jade Cantrell.

A life in pictures—a full, beautiful life that this little girl deserves. And yet, I have the sense that it’s all for Evie.

What’s it been like for Ivy?

Who’s looking out for her?

Where are her special memories? The small moments just for her? The concerts or nights out or….well, not ballet classes complete with tutus and tiaras, but hitting a PR in the gym or going on a hike or hanging out on the beach.

Where’s the evidence of what Ivy loves?

I wonder…

Well, damn, I know that?—

There isn’t any.

“We got first place.”

I blink, not having realized that Evie’s come close. “What’s that, kiddo?”

She points to the picture of her that I’ve missed—Evie in some sort of dance outfit, clutching a ribbon. “We won our dance competition,” she says. “We did the sailor dance.”

I see now that the hat she’s wearing in the photograph is distinctly nautical, same as the blue and white costume.

“What about that one?” I ask, pointing at another.

She scowls. “We didn’t win that one.”

Competitive spirit. I have to respect the hustle. “Did you have fun?”

She nods. “I always have fun at dance.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you like my mom?”

I freeze, not knowing what to say—yes, I want to see her naked isn’t exactly appropriate conversation for a six-year-old. Neither is yes, but I’m too fucking chicken shit to do anything about it. Luckily, I find I don’t have to come up with anything more than, “Yes.”

“Good.” Evie spins around, flouncing over to her bed and picking up a stuffed bunny. “This is Mr. Hoppity.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hoppity,” I say, patting him gently on the head.

She giggles. Then skips over to her desk, picking up a coloring book and some markers. “Want to color?”

“Sure,” I say, “but should we take it back out into the front room, so we can help your mom with dinner?”

“Okay!”

She tucks her book under her arm and heads for the hall.

Only, Ivy is there, her expression unreadable. “Dinner’s ready,” she says quietly.

“Aw, man,” Evie whines. “Knox promised to color with me!”

“Well, Knox needs to eat, kiddo. Hockey players work hard.”

Evie takes a long moment to consider that, and though she scowls, she also nods. “That’s okay. We can color after dinner.”

And then, she’s running down the hall, markers rattling in their case as she goes.

Ivy sighs. “Don’t worry, I won’t torture you with coloring. Just shovel in some food, and I’ll get you out of here.”

That’s what I want…

Right?

But my eyes drift to the bulletin board, to those pictures of Ivy and Evie—mostly of Evie—and though I follow Ivy down the hall to the kitchen, I don’t look for the first opening to escape.

Instead, I eat the surprisingly delicious meal of rice and chicken and vegetables that have far more flavor than anything I cook on my own.

And then I color with Evie while Ivy takes a call from the school district’s superintendent.

And then I’m not thinking about making a quick exit or even thinking about staying within the lines.

That shit’s been blurred to hell and back.

I’m coloring well outside anything I’ve outlined.

And I have the feeling there’s no going back.

Because the Pierce women…well, they’re mine.