Chapter 26
Knox
Awareness seeped back in slowly. First came the weight of his body against the mattress, then the warmth of the sheets, and finally the unfamiliar ache that brought last night rushing back.
Heat and pressure flooded his mind. Everything had spiraled too fast and not fast enough at the same time. He remembered it all in vivid detail—the sounds he’d made, the way he’d begged.
Oh, god.
Knox opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
That had happened.
He dragged a hand over his face, exhaling quietly. His body shifted and the ache sharpened just enough to make him suck in a breath.
Yeah. Not a dream. Not something he’d imagined because he’d spent too much time thinking about Dominic Rivera.
He let the thought sit for a moment. Waited for the panic, the regret, the sick twist of shame that should have arrived by now.
It didn’t come.
He remembered Dominic cleaning him after. Careful in a way Knox hadn’t expected. Hadn’t asked for. He’d been half gone by then, might not have even stayed conscious long enough for Dominic to finish. The thought settled oddly in his chest.
He let his arm fall back to the bed and finally turned his head. The space beside him was empty.
Yeah. That tracked too.
He pushed himself up slowly, muscles protesting just enough to remind him—again—exactly what he’d done last night. He grabbed his clothes from where they’d been thrown and pulled them on.
The loft was quiet when he stepped out of the bedroom. Dominic stood in the kitchen, dressed and composed with a mug in hand. Every line of him was back under control, as though nothing in the world could touch him.
Knox slowed. It was almost jarring to see him like this after last night, as if two versions of the same man now shared a single body. Last night felt close enough to touch, and yet looking at Dominic now, you wouldn’t know any of it had happened at all.
Knox walked closer, more aware of himself than he’d been two minutes ago. Aware of the ache. Aware of the fact that this—whatever this was—had actually happened. Dominic looked infuriatingly composed while Knox’s entire understanding of himself had been rearranged in the last twelve hours.
Dominic’s gaze moved over him. “Are you okay?”
Knox nodded. “Yeah.” No elaboration. He didn’t trust his voice with anything longer.
Dominic studied him a second longer, then gave a small nod and looked away.
Knox leaned against the counter instead of sitting. He wasn’t planning to stay long enough to get comfortable. “I’m heading home,” he said.
Dominic took a slow sip of his coffee before setting the mug down. “Alright.”
No pushback. No questions.
Knox rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “I should check on my mom. She’s not been great this week.”
That got a reaction. Subtle, but there. Dominic’s attention moved back to him, sharper now and more focused. “Did something happen again?”
“No. She’s just been… off.”
“Off how?”
He wasn’t letting it go. Knox let out a short breath, something between irritation and resignation. “She’s been really depressed. More episodes. Not eating much.” He looked away, annoyed with himself for saying even that much. “I just need to make sure she’s okay.”
Dominic looked at him. “She hasn’t hit you again.”
It wasn’t phrased like a question, but Knox answered it anyway. “No. Not since that last time.”
Darkness flickered across Dominic’s expression and vanished so quickly most people would have missed it. “I don’t like your living situation,” he said.
Knox huffed a short, humorless laugh. “Why do you care? I’m used to it anyway.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”
Knox looked back at him, irritation surfacing fast, because this—the care, the attention, the insistence—was considerably harder to deal with than indifference. “She’s sick,” he said. “You already know that.”
“Yes,” Dominic said. “I also know sick people can still do damage.”
The words landed hard between them. Knox’s shoulders stiffened. “I know how to handle her.”
“Do you?”
That shut Knox up. Not because he agreed, but because he didn’t want to answer. His gaze dropped briefly before he shrugged. “It is what it is.” The words landed flat. The kind of answer that usually ended a conversation.
It didn’t.
Dominic watched him for a beat, something hard settling behind his eyes. “No,” he said.
Knox frowned. “No?”
“No,” Dominic repeated, reaching for his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Having someone take you home,” Dominic said, already typing. “He’s going up with you to make sure everything’s fine.”
Knox stared at him. “Dom.”
Dominic didn’t look up. “You said she’s been off.”
“I also said I would check on her.”
“And you will,” Dominic replied, still typing. “You just won’t be doing it alone.”
Knox let out a breath. “It’s not like that.”
Dominic looked up then and held his gaze. “I’ve seen what it’s like.”
Knox’s shoulders went tighter, caught between arguing and knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere. “You’re seriously doing this?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Knox shook his head, reluctant acceptance settling in underneath the irritation. “Fine.”
Dominic nodded once. “Grant will be downstairs in two minutes.”
* * *
Knox eased his pace before unlocking the apartment door, aware of Grant behind him without turning around. The thought of someone else witnessing this sat wrong in his chest, but it was too late to worry about it now.
He pushed the door open and they stepped inside. “Mom?”
No answer.
She was on the couch, curled in on herself, a blanket pulled around her even though the apartment was too warm. The cigarette in her hand had burned down to the filter, ash long and bending, but she hadn’t moved to tap it.
Her eyes flicked toward him when he entered. “You’re back,” she said, voice distant.
“Yeah.” He kept his voice even. “Told you I would be.”
Her gaze drifted past him and landed on Grant. No sharp reaction this time, just a faint crease in her brow, like it cost her to process the information. “Who’s that?”
“Just someone who drove me,” Knox said. “He’s not staying.”
Her eyes slipped away again, back to the TV. Knox moved closer, stepping into her line of sight. “You eat anything?”
A small shake of her head.
“When was the last time?”
Nothing. She shifted slightly under the blanket and didn’t answer.
Knox swallowed, forcing his tone to stay light. “You need to eat. And you need to take your medicine.”
“I’m not hungry.” The words fell flat, stripped of any trace of feeling.
Knox stood there, looking at her. He always hated this more than the yelling, more than the paranoia. At least those gave him something to push against. This was like she was already halfway gone and he was just standing in the room she’d left. “I’ll make you something,” he said.
No response. He turned toward the kitchen without waiting for one. Behind him, Grant stood partway into the apartment, taking it all in.
Knox didn’t look at him. He didn’t want to see what his life looked like from the outside. Didn’t want to see it reflected back at him through someone else’s eyes.
He opened the fridge. There wasn’t much; he’d been meaning to get groceries but the days had gotten away from him. He gathered what little he had and put together something simple she might manage a few bites of.
He exhaled through his nose and glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got it,” he said.
Grant held his gaze for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Alright.” Quiet steps carried him to the door, the lock clicked, and then he was gone.
Knox turned back to the counter and stared at nothing. The silence that settled around him was heavier than it had any right to be. He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the counter, his head dropping.
Yeah. This was it. The life he hated. The way it pressed down on him the second there was no one else to see it, heavy and suffocating and completely, relentlessly his.
He stayed like that for a moment, then straightened and forced a deep breath into his lungs. He shoved the turmoil down, burying it so deep it couldn’t reach the surface. Standing still only made it worse, and nothing would change unless he kept moving.
He plated the food and walked back to the living room. She hadn’t moved: same position, same distant look. “Mom.” He stepped closer. “You need to eat.” He crouched in front of her, setting the plate on the table within reach.
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.
He breathed out slowly through his nose. His patience was thinning at the edges, but he held his voice steady. “I know. Just a few bites.”
A small shake of her head. “I can’t.”
He watched her, something tightening in his chest. It wasn’t anger, not really, just the same familiar frustration that never had anywhere to go. “I know you don’t feel like it, but you have to try anyway.”
Nothing.
He reached for the plate, broke off a small piece of bread, and held it out. “Open your mouth.”
She turned away.
Knox’s jaw clenched. “Mom. Look at me.”
She didn’t. So he reached out—not rough, but firm enough—fingers against her chin, guiding her face back toward him. Her eyes finally met his, empty and tired. “Just a few bites,” he said. “Then you can stop.”
Her lips parted. Knox moved fast, guiding the food to her lips. She chewed with visible effort, as if even that drained her.
“Good,” he muttered.
She swallowed slowly, and Knox immediately offered another bite. After a few minutes, he lowered the plate, shoulders sagging with the weight of it all.
She sank back into the couch, the few bites seeming to have drained what energy she had left. He looked down at the plate. Half untouched, but better than nothing.
He sat there on the floor in front of the couch, plate on his knee, thinking about yesterday—Dominic’s hand in his hair, feeling things he’d never felt in his life. And now here he was, crouched on a dirty carpet, feeding his mother bread because she couldn’t do it herself.
Home had never been easy, but lately it felt worse. More claustrophobic. Like the walls weren’t just there anymore but actively pressing in.
He knew why. He’d been in Dominic’s world, where everything felt unpredictable and alive, where the air was charged and something could happen at any second. A darkness that felt intoxicating. A world where he didn’t carry everything alone just to keep things from falling apart.
Coming back here after that made the apartment feel smaller, like the space itself couldn’t hold him anymore. He looked down at his hands. The same hands that had gripped Dominic’s shoulders last night, that had twisted in expensive sheets.
He wasn’t going to shrink himself back to fit in here. Not anymore.