Chapter One
Knox
I groaned loudly when the knocking on my front door pulled me from a dead sleep. My room was still pitch black and, for a moment, I was disoriented. There was no light streaming in through the windows, thanks to the black-out curtains I'd put up and I wasn't sure what time of day it was.
But as the fog in my head started to lift and my mind began to clear a bit, I knew it had to be daytime. I remember that after that phone call, I'd watched the sunrise over the trees before climbing into bed to get a few hours of sleep. Annoyed, I rolled over and reached for the alarm clock. I turned it around to face me and my annoyance only grew. Eight in the fucking morning. After getting shit for sleep, somebody was banging on my door at eight in the goddamn morning.
As I rubbed my eyes, the knocking grew louder and more insistent, which only made my irritation grow along with it.
“Relax, I'm coming,” I yelled at the door. “Jesus Christ.”
I yawned and shook my head as I threw my feet over the side of the bed and got to my feet. I'd slept in nothing but my boxers. I wasn't in the mood to go digging around for my pants, but I searched my bedroom floor for a t-shirt I could throw on.
I settled on a black tee and, slipping it over my head, I walked down the short hallway to the front door, every step toward the door increasing my irritation.
The gun I kept handy for uninvited “guests” sat on the table near the door. As the knocking continued, my eyes fell on the Glock and I considered reaching for it. Just in case. I pulled back the blinds on the nearby window aside and stared out at my uninvited visitor.
I looked out and it took me a moment to process what I was seeing. Instead of some burly biker – the kind of person I, frankly, would have expected- on the other side of my door stood a woman. And not just any woman, but a smokin' hot woman. Strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun, pale skin with the last hint of a summer glow fading away, and bright blue eyes that could melt ice in the dead of winter.
She was wearing a conservative dress suit, but even with the skirt coming down to just above her knees, I could see that she had amazing legs. As I was staring out at her, she pulled back her hand to knock again and then suddenly turned, catching at the window. Soft, baby blue eyes stared back at me – but the slightest flash of frustration crossed her face. It was a momentary flash that she'd gotten back under control quickly, but I'd seen it all the same.
She gave me a nod and a small smile, so I stepped back, letting the blinds fall back in place and went to the door.
There was no reason someone like that would be at my door, looking for me. Women that looked like her usually didn't run in my kind of circles. I tended to draw a bit of a rougher crowd – women with a little bit of a harder edge to them.
The woman on my porch looked like somebody from a church, or some charitable organization. Somebody who ran with people in a higher tax bracket than me. There was probably some misunderstanding, or something. I opened the door and said, “I'm sorry, but I don't need Girl Scout cookies, wrapping paper, or Jesus – or whatever else it is that you're selling or trying to get me to sign up for.”
The woman stared back at me, a blank look on her face, as if she didn't comprehend a single word I'd just said. She had a kind of wholesome girl-next-door look – a look I didn't even know I liked until that moment. She looked like a former pageant girl turned saleswoman, with long, thick lashes and the clearest, most perfect skin I'd ever laid eyes on. Her posture was perfect – back straight, shoulders back, chin pointed ever-so-slightly up.
“I don't – I mean, I'm not –”
She closed her mouth and looked at me like she was completely perplexed by me. As if she didn't quite know how to respond to somebody who'd shot her down before she'd even been able to start her spiel about starving children or the benefits of having Christ as your personal Lord and Savior.
The way the morning sun fell on her skin and hair made her seem to glow with an ethereal light. If I did happen to be the religious type, I'd say that glow made her look like an angel. But, I wasn't the religious type, which meant that she wasn't an angel, but was in fact, the type of beautiful you didn't see often. Especially not out there in the middle of bumfuck Tennessee.
I was so focused on her face – and undressing her with my eyes – that I hardly noticed as a little boy stepped around her, holding tightly to the woman's arm. The kid looked up at me with wide eyes that shimmered with unshed tears. Cute kid. But he looked at me like he was terrified of me. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing, given that I wasn't really all that fond of kids anyway.
“Mr. Sheppard, I presume?” she asked.
“Who's asking?”
The child at her side had very large, dark brown eyes and olive colored skin. His hair was long, falling to his shoulders and unkempt – it looked like he'd just woken up. I feel your pain, buddy, I thought to myself. Those eyes though – they somehow seemed familiar. Very familiar. And I found myself staring at him for a long time as scraps of memories came flooding back to me.
“Mr. Sheppard, my name is Grace Lawton,” the woman said as she handed me a business card. “I'm a social worker for the city of Charlotte.”
I was still looking at the familiar face of the child. So scared, but yet so curious. And so damn familiar. I barely heard what she said – and didn't quite process it.
“Mr. Sheppard?”
“I'm sorry, yeah. Uhh – is this about my brother, Curtis?” I asked, already knowing the answer – and dreading it.
“Well, sort of,” she said, glancing down at the little boy as if to emphasize her point. “May we come in, please?”
I was hesitant to let her into my house with the kid. I just had a feeling that once they were in, it was going to be really hard to get them back out again. And like I'd told the cop on the phone earlier this morning, I was not the right person to be asked to raise a kid. Nephew or not.
But as if my body were acting of its own volition, I found myself stepping back and letting her and the boy pass on by. He didn't look too enthused to be walking through the front door of my house. Which was appropriate, since I wasn't too enthused to have him walking in either.
But then, Grace didn't look all that enthused either, honestly. As soon as she stepped in the front door, she started looking around, scrutinizing the place – taking stock of what my home looked like. And judging by the look on her face, she wasn't particularly liking what she was seeing. Not that I really cared what she thought of my house.
Watching her inspecting my living area sent a wave of memories washing through me – and not the particularly pleasant kind.
Beer bottles littered the coffee table and the floor in the center of the living room. A half full bottle of whiskey sat on the island in the center of the kitchen. The cap was missing and it was still open, ready for somebody to take a long swallow.
I knew exactly what Social Workers looked for – I'd met a few of them myself as a boy and had gotten used to the routine. And if walking into my house hadn't already taken me off the approved list and sealed the deal in her head, then I didn't know what would. My place was a hazard to little kids like my brother's son. And honestly, I had no intention of making any less that way. This was my house and I was going to live in it the way I goddamned pleased. And if this woman – gorgeous though she may be – didn't like it, then –
“Mr. Sheppard –” she interrupted my thoughts.
“Please, call me Knox,” I said.
I did my best to remain civil and cordial as I invited her to sit down on the couch. I took the chair across from them and waited for her to begin her spiel – a spiel I was going to shut down pretty damn quick.
“Okay, great. Knox then,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and upbeat.
Although she tried to sound chipper, her mouth was set in a thin, hard line as she and the kid sat down – and although she momentarily looked like she might crawl out of her skin sitting on my couch, she managed to reign it in. But just barely.
The kid still held tightly to her hand, not saying a word, just staring up at me wide-eyed up with a terrified look on his face that said he was afraid I might bite him, or worse.
“I'm sure you've heard the tragic news –” Grace started.
She cut herself off and cleared her throat as she looked down at the little boy, her eyes softening as she stroked the long, shaggy hair away from the side of his face.
“I have,” I said, nodding. “And like I told the nice police officer who called me, I'm in no position to raise a kid. I mean, look at my place. Look at me. I'm barely fit to care for myself.”
Pursing her perfectly pouty red lips together, she nodded slowly and tried to give me a look of pure empathy. But there was also a hint of steely resolve behind those big, blue eyes; one that said she wasn't going to take no for an answer.
So, not only was she hot as hell, she was feisty too – which was like catnip to me. This woman seemed to have it all. The whole package.
“I know, and you're probably right. And maybe, I'm out of line here, but knowing the foster system the way I do, I couldn't help but try to convince you,” she said, her eyes starting to fill with tears.
I had to wonder how long she'd been on the job. Social work wasn't an easy career for anybody. Most people who'd been in the field for a long time, at least those I'd been exposed to, became hardened. Calloused. Jaded. So, for someone to get that emotional and misty-eyed that quickly – it made me wonder if she was still new to it. It also made me wonder if it had been the right career path for her. Foster care was filled with stories a hell of a lot sadder than that kid's.
“You see, Mr. Shep – Knox,” she started, “Liam is a really special boy. And personally, I'd hate to see him lost in the system. I understand you know what that's like.”
So, she'd done a little homework on me and Curtis, and found out that we'd both been in the system before. She was obviously as smart as she was tenacious.
“I'd hate for that to happen too, Ms. Lawton. I honestly would,” I said quietly, clasping my hands in front of me. “But he's young and seems well-behaved enough. I have no doubt that some family out there is going to snatch him up in a heartbeat and give him a good home – a far better home than I can give him.”
Liam's brown eyes bored into me. His gaze was so direct, it was almost like he was searching the depths of my very soul. Maybe even weighing me. Judging me. The bluntness of his stare made me uneasy and I had to look away.
“It's not that easy, Knox,” she said, her blue eyes looking into mine pleadingly. “The adoption process –”
“And it's even less easy for me. Look, I know you want what's best for the kid, but I'm definitely not it. I can't just take in a child, Ms. Lawton,” I said. “I'm usually up all night, sleep all day, I can't –”
“What do you do for a living, Knox?” she asked me, eyes wide.
Chuckling, I rubbed the stubble on my chin and chose my words carefully before I answered her. “You could say I run an organization.”
“Oh?” she asked. “What kind of organization?”
“I own a bike shop in town,” I said – which wasn't exactly a lie. “And a clubhouse.” didn't see how she could. She screamed high class and seemed to be a good girl who didn't mix with lowlifes like me. She was probably educated in a wealthy private school, had a home with a white picket fence, and volunteered in homeless shelters in her spare time.
And Liam, well, he looked like he might absolute break if I did so much as raise my voice around him. And God knew, I swore up a storm on a regular basis. That's just how I was.
“Uh huh,” she said.
I watched her take out a pad of paper with kittens on it, and a pen from her obviously expensive designer bag. Still sitting there all prim and proper-like, she pulled the cap of the pen off with her pouty little lips, and then wrote something down.
“And – what's the name of your shop, please?”
“Why does it matter?” I asked.
“Just for my records, that's all,” she said, looking up at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”
I sat back on my seat and looked at her. I knew what she was doing. Even though I'd already said no, she was still vetting me as a potential parent figure to the kid.
“Actually, yeah there is,” I said. “There's a big problem.”
“Oh?” she asked. “And what might that be?”
“The problem is you still seem to think there's a chance I'm going to keep the kid,” I said. “When I've already made it clear that I'm not interested.”
I eyeballed the bottle of whiskey from across the room, suddenly feeling the need for a drink. Or ten. If I had to be up, the alcohol would do me some good and would probably help take the edge off a bit. But then I looked at Grace and knew it wouldn't go over particularly well. Not that I should have cared, but for some reason, her opinion of me mattered to me.
“Call me idealistic, but I see real potential here,” she said, a quiver at the corners of her perfect mouth.
“I'd call you naïve,” I said flatly.
“No, really,” she said. “I think with a few tweaks here and there, this could be a fantastic home for Liam. With family.”
“I don't,” I said, my tone not inviting debate. “To be perfectly honest, I don't see anything close to what you're seeing.”
She frowned and looked down at her kitty cat pad of paper, and I could see the wheels turning in that gorgeous, perfectly coifed, head of hers.
“How about this – how about you promise to think about it?” she asked, crossing her legs and showing off just a hint of knee. “For Liam's sake?”
I looked over at the boy, and when I did, I saw a younger version Curtis staring back at me. The pangs in my chest took me by surprise. It was like somebody had stuck a lance straight through my heart. Liam pushed his hair back from his face with a pudgy little hand and continued staring, unblinking, at me.
Curtis had always had that intense, unblinking stare – the type that could make you feel really uneasy – down pat from a young age too. He had a way of looking at you that allowed him to manipulate you out of anything. Looking at his son – my nephew – reminded me of the way he'd beg outside of grocery stores. He'd played the homeless kid card so convincingly that he'd eventually collected enough change to buy himself a bike.
And all that money given to him was on a false premise. He'd played on people's heartstrings so well that he absolutely sold the illusion that he was starving – partly because his eyes were the biggest things on him and he'd always been such a lanky kid.
I almost wanted to smile when I thought back to the time our mom found him outside Save A Lot, dressed in a dirty shirt and ripped jeans, holding out the can of change and shaking it as folks passed by. I'd never seen her so mortified in my life. We were a poor family, but proud, and mama had whipped his ass so bad for that.
But it wasn't a week later that Curtis was back in business, riding his bike into the next town over to beg for change to avoid running into anyone we knew. He was manipulative as hell, but he was also smart. Calculating.
But it all started with those wide, innocent looking eyes, dammit. He'd conned so many people out of so much because of those eyes. The same eyes that were looking back at right now from the face of his child.
“I'm sorry, but I can't, Ms. Lawton. I really can't,” I said, closing my eyes to banish the memories of my baby brother, returning them to the dark recesses of my mind. “It's just a really bad idea.”
“Alright then,” she said, her voice soft as she looked over at Liam with eyes that radiated her sadness for him – and her disappointment in me. “You have my card. If you can think of any family members who'd be able to take him in – or if you reconsider – I'd really appreciate it if you called me.”
“Will do,” I said, standing up to let the two of them out.
I checked out her ass as she walked to the door, mentally kicking myself for it. A girl like her wouldn't be caught dead in bed with a guy like me. Besides, she was there for Liam, not me. And any chance of a little spark of romance was about as likely as me attending Harvard in the fall.
At the door, she stopped and turned to me, the look on her face saying she was determined to give it one last shot. Like I said, I had to respect her tenacity.
“You know, Knox,” she said, an inscrutable expression on her face. “I see a lot of people in my line of work. I've learned not to judge a book by its cover. And I see the way you're looking at your nephew. I wouldn't make any rash decisions if I were you – decisions you may find yourself regretting at some point down the road. It might not be a bad idea for you to take a little time and just think about this.”
Leaning against the door frame, I gave her a small smile and shook my head. “You need to trust me on this, Ms. Lawton. If I took him like you're asking me to, you'd be regretting placing him with me before long. And I might potentially end up in jail for neglect or whatever it is they punish parents for these days,” I said. “Believe me, it's better for the boy to be with a family who can raise him right and give him all of the love and attention he needs.”
“Personally, I think it's better to keep families together if at all possible,” she said. “Just think about it, Knox. And think about what Curtis would want you to do.”
As she turned to leave, Liam turned and stared over his shoulder at me, his eyes cutting straight through me once more. Watching him walk away with Grace brought back memories of the first time Curtis and I had been taken away by the state. My brother had stared at me as he was led away, taken to a different family, while I was left in a group home for troubled boys. Curtis begged me, with his eyes, to not let them take him away; to protect him. But he was a young, adorable kid, and I was trouble. There was no way a family wanted to take us both – especially me.
I'd told myself it was for the best back then, and I repeated that to myself now. Even knowing what happened to Curtis all those years ago, I still told myself – it's for the best. What happened to Curtis won't happen to Liam. They're better than that now. And Liam sure has hell deserves better than what I could offer him.
Besides, judging by the way Grace Lawton looked at the boy and doted on him, I had faith that she'd make sure he was well looked after. I knew that she would make sure no one laid a hand on him.
If only we'd had social workers like that when Curtis and I were younger – social workers who actually gave a shit. Maybe some things would have turned out differently for all of us.