“Up!” Storm cried.
“Coming, sweetie. Do you need a diaper change?”
Storm didn’t answer, of course, but practically leaped into my arms as I picked him up out of the crib. He did, in fact, need a diaper change, so I went over to the dresser that had a changing pad secured to it and made fast work of the dirty one. I was snapping up his onesie when the doorbell rang.
I frowned, wondering who that could be. We didn’t get a lot of unexpected guests. The last time I remembered someone just showing up here had been nearly two years ago, when CPS had shown up with Cruz after his mother had voluntarily relinquished him to the state since she could no longer take care of him.
“I’ll get it,” Knox yelled from the other room.
“Are you thirsty, Storm? Do you want some milk?”
“Duice and ‘ookies.”
I kissed his cheek, loud and annoying, making him laugh. “You can have a little juice, but no cookies. It’s almost dinner. How about some apples?”
“Apples!” He was so easy to please sometimes.
“Okay.” I placed him on the floor and took his hand. “Let’s get you a snack.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Knox’s voice was dark and deeper than I’d ever heard it. Dangerous. Something was wrong. “You need to leave now.” I could hear him loud and clear despite being upstairs.
I didn’t waste another second. I scooped Storm up in my arms and rushed out of the room. Theirs was the farthest downthe hallway, so I couldn’t look down the stairs to see what was going on. Cruz and the twins’ room was the closest to the stairway, and they’d clearly heard Knox because they were all crowding the hallway.
“W-what’s going on?” Cruz asked when he saw me. He sounded terrified. The twins were silent, even Rue, which was alarming.
“It’s okay. I’m going to see. Can you take Storm please?”
Cruz didn’t hesitate, reaching for his younger brother. “I want all of you to stay in your room, okay? Lock the door and do not come out until either Knox or I say you can. Understand?”
“What’s happening?”
The voices were getting louder downstairs. I could hear mostly Knox, but there was the muffled sound of someone responding to him.
“I don’t know. But it’ll be okay. Go back in your room and stay there, got it?”
I could see that Rue wanted to argue, but Bel grabbed his arm, shaking his head slightly. “We will,” he told me, his voice quiet. Cruz nodded, and finally the four of them went back inside. I waited till I heard the door lock before rushing down the stairs.
Knox was in the doorway, using his full size to block whoever was on the other side. Even from here, I could see the tension in his body. The closer I got, the more I could see him shaking, even as he held his ground.
“What’s going on here?” I boomed, coming to stand directly behind Knox.
“Who the fuck are you?” My eyes fell onto the man at the doorway. He was probably in his early forties. He had dark, curly hair and dark eyes. He had gang tattoos running up his neck, peeking out from the collar of the leather jacket he was wearing.
“I should be asking you that question.” I very carefully pushed Knox so he was behind me and I was between him and the perceived threat. Knox was vibrating with anger and so focused, I wasn’t sure he even realized I was there, and I didn’t want to startle him.
“Knox, tell this asshole to let me in. I want to see my daughter!”
Daughter. This was Wynter’s father, Aren. Immediately, I could understand why Knox was reacting the way he was. The first thing Riot had done when he’d learned that Aren Azarian was out of jail was get a restraining order against him. One he was violating by being at our door.
“Fuck you!” Knox screamed over my shoulder.
I reached my hand out behind me, trying to calm him. Aren attempted to push around me, but the effort was laughable. I had about half a foot on this fucker and probably close to fifty pounds. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“Knox,” I said, my voice icily calm. “Can you please call 911? Tell them Aren Azarian is here and in violation of his restraining order.”
Aren’s eyes widened in surprise. He might not remember me, and I’d be honest, I hadn’t recognized him immediately either—he looked a lot different—but now I knew exactly who he was. He featured in one of the memories that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Wynter had been four, Knox eight, and Riot sixteen. Aren had been high as fuck and had tried to smother Wynter with a pillow. Riot had gotten her away, and he and Aren had beat the fuck out of each other. Knox had grabbed Wynter and run barefoot with his little sister all the way to my house for help. By the time I’d gotten to the scene, Riot had been unconscious and barely breathing. I’d broken Aren’s arm by throwing him through the wall.
“Wait, that’s not necessary. I’m not here to cause trouble. I only wanna see my kid.”
