I shrugged. “He’s staying as long as I say.”
He eyed me, caught the edge in my voice, and his mouth curled in a smirk. “That so.”
I held his gaze. “You got a problem with that?”
Knox shook his head, but the air was thick with challenge. “Just don’t break him more than he already is.”
I let him stand there, sizing me up, and finally he broke first. “Tell him I’ll call tomorrow. See if he wants to come out to the farm.”
“I will.”
Knox nodded once, sharp, then turned on his heel and walked out. He left the bag behind, the door swinging shut with a hiss of cold air. I stood in the hall, letting the silence settle. My hands were shaking, just a little. I flexed them, forced the adrenaline back under my skin.
When I heard the rumble of Knox’s truck pulling away, I climbed the stairs two at a time, heart pounding in my throat.
Upstairs, Bo hadn’t moved. He sat on the floor where I’d left him, pencil in hand, the light from the window streaking his bare arms with gold. He looked up when I came in, eyes wide, searching my face for something.
I closed the door, locked it, and leaned back against the wall. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“You handled him?” Bo asked, voice soft.
I nodded. “He brought you clothes.”
Bo made a face. “Bet they all smell like fabric softener and judgment.”
I crossed the room and squatted down beside him. The sketchbook was in his lap, page half-filled with lines and smudges. I took it from his hands, set it aside, and cupped his chin in my palm.
“You didn’t move,” I said.
He shook his head, a tiny motion against my fingers. “You told me to stay.”
My thumb drifted over the edge of his jaw, rough with the start of a beard. “You like it when I tell you what to do.”
He blinked, then nodded, almost shy. “I do.”
I felt the air between us crackle, every nerve ending stretched tight. “If I told you to get on your knees right now, would you do it?”
His tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I would.”
I let my hand slide to the back of his neck, drew him closer until our foreheads touched. “You don’t have to run anymore, Bo. I want you here.”
He let out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into my shirt. “I want to stay.”
I held him there, both of us breathing hard, the rest of the world outside and irrelevant. “Good boy,” I said again, and this time, he smiled like it hurt.
I kept him there, right where he belonged, and promised myself I’d never let go.
Chapter Seven
~ Bodean ~
I sat on the floor at the foot of Josiah’s bed, knees drawn to my chest, toes curling into the grain of the hardwood. The lights were off except for a dull, shadeless lamp on the dresser, which pooled a circle of yellow onto the battered floor and turned the rest of the room into a geography of shadows.
I kept my head angled toward the ground, but watched Josiah in the glass of the closet door, the way he paced and braced the frame with his arms whenever he stopped. It was less like a man relaxing in his own bedroom, more like a sentry doing perimeter sweeps.
He hadn’t said a word since Knox left, not even when he poured himself a glass of water and set it on the table with enough force to make the lamp shudder.
I should have been afraid, maybe, or at least nervous—alone, injured, boxed in by a man three times my size. But fear had long since burned out, replaced by a restless energy that felt like the last five seconds before the ropes snap or the bridge gives way.
