Page 106 of Knot Going Down

“So I’ll be playing the dutiful boyfriend again?”

“That okay?” He’s not joking anymore.

Instead of answering, I reach over and take his hand. “I’ll manage.”

Knox nods once.

The front door creaks when he opens it, and almost instantly, a voice calls from inside. “That you, baby?”

“Yeah, Ma. Just grabbing my tux.”

A woman appears in the front hallway a second later, apron tied tight over a patterned dress. She’s short and stocky, her dark hair graying at the temples, and her smile breaks across her face like sunshine through clouds.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone,” she says, eyes jumping to me with open curiosity.

“Last-minute decision,” Knox answers smoothly.

“Well, come in, both of you. I just started dinner.”

“We can’t stay long,” Knox tries, but she waves him off.

“Nonsense. I’ll pack you some leftovers at least. You still look too thin.”

I’m ushered inside before I can protest. The house smells like tomato sauce and fabric softener, the carpet’s been vacuumed into those tidy little lines, and every surface has a framed photo or knick knacks on it. It's nothing like the kind of life I grew up in. But it'sreal.And oddly comforting.

His dad is quiet, polite, the kind of man who speaks more with nods and raised eyebrows than with words. But every so often, he says something dry and sharp that makes Knox bark out a laugh and his mother swat at his arm, telling him not to encourage the old man. He’s got a not-quite-limp when he walks, like some old hurt still bothers him.

Knox’s sister, on the other hand, has claws and a wicked sense of humor. She teases Knox mercilessly, dropping stories about him peeing his pants at a carnival without a hint of remorse. He tries to shut her up, tossing napkins and mutteringunder his breath, but there’s no heat to it, only long-suffering affection. She clearly adores him. Maybe even worships him a little, underneath the sarcasm.

It’s strange, watching him here. Stripped of his persona. Sitting at a scratched-up kitchen table with a bowl of salad in front of him, arguing about which pasta sauce is best, helping his mom open a stubborn jar, and bowing his head with a serious reverence when his dad says grace.

We eat. Meatballs and spaghetti, garlic bread that’s burnt around the edges but tastes like home, and too-sweet iced tea poured into cloudy plastic tumblers.

We laugh more than I expect.

And for a fleeting hour, we’re just two guys having dinner with family. Not an undercover agent and a once-criminal planning to infiltrate a criminal wedding. Not two alphas with more baggage than a broken airport carousel.

Just people.

But as soon as the front door shuts behind us again, the weight of it all crashes back down.

We take Knox’s car. While he drives, I pull out my phone, my thumb hovering over Emily’s contact for a few seconds before I finally tap it. Knox drums his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s keeping time to a song only he can hear. But I know it’s not music. It’s nerves. The closer we get to tomorrow, the tighter the coil of tension winds between us.

“Hey,” Emily answers on the second ring, her voice warm, soft in a way that makes something in my chest loosen. “How’s it going?”

I glance at Knox. “We survived dinner. His sister threatened to pull out childhood photos, so he bolted before dessert.”

She chuckles. “Sounds like he’s still alive, then. That’s a good sign.”

“How’s everyone else doing?” I ask, shifting gears as we ease through a yellow light. I don’t want to talk about the empty ache in my gut from leaving the others behind, so I focus on her instead.

“We’re okay,” she says after a pause. “Lucas is sad. Ava won’t admit she’s sad. I’m… functioning.”

My fingers tighten around the phone. “Tell them I miss them.”

“I will.”

There’s a stretch of quiet where neither of us says anything. We lived together on a cruise ship, but we’ve never really done a phone call. And definitely not one with something like this weddinghanging on the horizon.