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“Yep. As soon as I saw what a shithole my house is, I decided to come back. Packed a bag and everything. Got my undies and my stash from under the bed. Thank you for not taking that when you searched my room.”
“I have no need to steal.” Knox shifts uncomfortably in the armchair. I'm on my feet before my brain engages, plumping a cushion to shove wherever he needs it. “Can I show you the safe in the spare room to store it in?”
“No you cannot. You just sit right there.” I insist.
“I didn't mean right now,” Knox shakes his head at me. “But I want you to think of the spare room as your own. A personal place just for you.”
“Why would I-”
“When you realise that, you'll be glad to have it.”
“Well, when I understand why I need it, I'll thank you.”
“The doctor said I'm very lucky,” Knox grins as I tend to him like a nursemaid. “If you hadn't knocked his arm, I'd be dead now.”
“If I hadn't been so stupid, you wouldn't have been there to be shot in the first place.”
“This is true. But then I wouldn't have found your sister's dealer, my sister's murderer, or made up with my father.”
“You're going to be the first to get dinner with my parents.”
“Pfft.” I should think after a bit of team building murder, the mother should be a walk in the park.
forty-nine
Knox
Myboyhassucha spring in his step when he feels free to be himself. This side of him is quickly becoming my favourite. I was wrong to try to cage it, but now I have tamed him to about the same degree as Bog Cotton.
He will need his own refuge from time to time, and he’ll find it in the dance studio, but he will always have that one room.
“Do you want your shoes off? We never wear shoes indoors at home.” Porter states.
“Uh. That's because you are a slob,” I chuckle. Everyone wears their shoes in my house. Imagine all the staff walking around barefoot.
“OK, what do we have to do to be ready for your parents?”
“Nothing.” My parents are coming to meet him and fuss over me. My house is perfect, and I don't need to be. Porter needs a shower, a haircut, and a change of clothes. But love him or hate him, they are meeting him just as he is.
“They are coming to meet you, fuss over me and eat Gladys' muffins. You are perfect. The muffins are perfect, and I'll do my best to look wounded.”
I sound more convinced than I feel, my well-schooled exterior doesn't fail me like my strength does. I'm fine, just worn out from surgery and being shot. And I deserve every twinge of pain for putting Porter in danger.
There's a tap on the open door, but I'm not ready for my parents just yet and neither is Porter.
“Mr Caeo, sirs.” Freddie introduces.
“Ah, Caeo. Come in and steal a muffin.” Porter offers away one of our muffins, which should be fine because Gladys can make more, but isn't fine because they are for my boy.
“No thank you. Gladys has packed me a goodie bag full.” Caeo saves himself a whole heap of trouble.
“How isthe task?” I ask, with the tack of a sledgehammer.
“The task?” Porter frowns. “What are you doing?”
“We can't leave the club empty. If anyone comes to work and the club doesn't open, they'll call the police. If they come to the club and find a new management team, things will go so much smoother. Mr Faraday signed over the club to a Mr Nico Balan to clear a debt and has left town.”
“Nico?” Porter frowns. “That's the tiny guy who can't speak English?”
