My parents’ deaths had been my fault. Not literally, of course; I wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. But in a small way, I was responsible, and that was all that mattered. There was no un-doing what I’d done. They’d died in a terrible car accident at the hands of a drunk driver on their way to church one Sunday. I still remembered every vivid detail about that morning.

I’d wanted to sleep in, as I often wanted to do on Sundays. It became a sticking point for me and my mom. We’d fight every weekend because I didn’t care about going to church. I was too old for Sunday school and didn’t see the importance of going. We’d argued that morning, and I’d screamed at them from my room and slammed the door in my mother’s face. They’d left late because of me, much later than usual, and when they drove through the intersection of Main Street and Fourth, the drunk driver was there, running the red light just in time to slam into the passenger side door, killing my mom instantly and banging up my dad pretty badly. He was airlifted to a nearby hospital and died from bleeding inside his brain two days later.

If I’d just been selfless enough that Sunday morning and put my own needs aside, I would have gone with my parents. They wouldn’t have left late, and they’d still be alive. But they weren’t, which was why I worked so hard to make amends for their deaths. It couldn’t be all for nothing.

Glancing at nearby passengers, I brushed at my cheeks, wiping away a few tears that had sneaked past my defenses. I took a few deep breaths, willing myself to think about something different, and clasped the journal tightly on my lap.

The journal. I hadn’t intended to look inside Knox’s notebook, but the boring bus ride, a desperate need to avoid my own depressing thoughts, and my overwhelming curiosity were a lethal combination, and within seconds my fingers were itching to open its pages. I glanced around again at the passengers around me, like they’d somehow know I was snooping. But of course no one was paying me any attention. I took a deep breath and unthreaded the little leather tie securing the book, then opened the book slowly, as if it held a great secret that I wanted to savor.

Inside the pages was anything but what I expected. Outside it looked like a journal, but there were no journal entries. Just sketch after sketch of the same woman. She was incredibly lifelike and beautiful with long dark hair curled in soft tendrils around her shoulders, wide yet sad eyes, and a graceful neck that led to a delicate collarbone. The simple pencil sketches with smudges of gray and black against the stark whiteness of the page gave the drawings a gritty, realistic feeling.

I could almost see Knox bent over this notebook, pencil in hand, a furrow of concentration slashed between his eyebrows. I wondered who the woman was. A former lover? His girlfriend? For the first time, I wondered about the man beyond his sexual addiction. I knew from my training that a sexual addition was often masking some other issue. With Knox, I had no idea what that might be. He seemed healthy and in control. But perhaps that was just a mask he put on.

I was so engrossed in the sketches that when the bus rolled to a stop, I barely noticed. Startled by other passengers rising and exiting the bus, I quickly wrapped the notebook with its leather ties and joined them when I realized it was my stop.

Huddling into my jacket for warmth, I walked through the neighborhood, noting the older homes, likely built in the early 1900s. Most were in need of a fresh coat of paint, and some needed a whole lot more—new windows, a replacement roof, or even a bulldozer.

When I found the house that bore his address, I stopped and looked up at the three-story home to see peeling pale yellow paint, a slanted front porch, and a heavy wooden door. It should have looked cold and uninviting, but some unspecified characteristic gave it charm. It felt homey and inviting, even if it was a strange home for a guy who appeared to be in his early twenties. Maybe he shared the big space with several roommates.

Clutching the leather-bound notebook in my hands, I climbed up the front steps and knocked on the door. Voices sounded from inside, but no one came. I waited several long moments and knocked again, more firmly this time.

A young boy with messy dark hair answered the door. “Hi,” he said simply, his smile revealing two missing front teeth.

“Hi. Um, is Knox here?” I asked uncertainly, all traces of confidence vanishing.

“Uh-huh.” He turned from the front door, leaving it wide open, presumably for me to follow him inside. With my heart slamming nervously into my ribs, I crossed the threshold and followed the little boy, sensing that everything I thought I knew was about to be challenged.

The scene in front of me took a moment to process. Knox was holding a baby girl in his arms and two teenage boys were wrestling on the living room couch. With all the commotion, they’d yet to notice me.

Knox looked completely at ease with the baby resting in his strong arms, and she was happily engrossed watching the wrestling match, blowing bubbles and cooing at the sight. I took all this in within a matter of seconds, trying to place what exactly I was seeing.

All three boys looked like mini versions of Knox. Dark hair, soulful caramel-colored eyes, and all of them were tall. Even the little boy who’d answered the door nearly reached my height of five foot two. But the baby had me baffled. She had light golden-blonde hair that hung in tiny ringlets around her face and big bright blue eyes.

Knox and the other guys still hadn’t noticed me, and the little boy who’d answered the door had busied himself with a giant pile of Legos in the center of the living room floor, while the others continued arguing. I took the opportunity to glance around at the rooms around me. The house was decorated with mismatched furnishings that had seen better days. But it was cozy and fairly neat. A large blue couch sat atop a woven brown rug and was flanked by wooden end tables scattered with papers and a baby bottle. A set of shelves held an array of toys and books, and straight ahead I could see the kitchen and dining room, along with a set of stairs that went off to my right. The home felt lived-in, not at all like my cramped, industrial-feeling apartment where everything was beige.

“Luke, Jaxon, cool it, would you? Grab me a diaper and some wipes,” Knox said, hoisting the baby up higher in his grasp.

“Oh fuck. Do you smell that?” The taller of the two boys rose to his feet, sniffing the air. “We’ve got a code green!”

“Don’t curse around Bailee, you dipshit.” The slightly shorter boy rose from the couch and shoved the other in the shoulder.

I cleared my throat and four sets of expressive brown eyes swung over to mine.

“McKenna?” Knox asked, his eyebrows rising. “What are you doing here?”

A bundle of nerves rose in my stomach and lodged in my throat. The grand plan I’d hatched about coming here to face him suddenly felt immature and idiotic. He had his own life and responsibilities, and here I was tracking him down like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“I—” My voice squeaked and I started again. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier.” I held up his notebook. “And return this to you.”

His eyes searched mine and his face softened. The little girl in his arms let out a short cry, pulling our gazes apart. “It’s okay, baby girl.” He bounced the little thing on his hip to quiet her like he’d done it a million times before.

“These are my brothers. Tucker.” He pointed to the little boy on the floor. “Jaxon and Luke.” Jaxon was the next tallest after Knox, probably six feet and had longish hair that hung in his eyes, and Luke was just a fraction shorter. “And this is Bailee.” He looked down at the little girl in his arms, but offered no further explanation.

“Guys, will one of you change Bailee so McKenna and I can go talk?”

“Hi, I’m Luke.” The shorter boy offered me his hand and I shook it. His entire hand closed around mine. I’d guess that he and Jaxon were both in high school, and I also guessed with their thick hair and gorgeous eyes fringed in dark lashes, they were both popular with the girls. Just like their older brother.

“Hi, Luke. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Who are you?” Jaxon asked, his mouth in a crooked grin as he looked me up and down.

“I’m a…friend of your brother’s.”

“Knox doesn’t have friends who are girls,” he challenged.

My mouth hung open. I was clueless about how to respond.

Knox stepped between us. “Enough, guys. Go take care of Bailee.” After handing the baby off to Luke, Knox turned to fully face me. I took in his chest-hugging thermal tee, dark denim, and bare feet. It was a side of him I wouldn’t have guessed at. Softer, paternal. It made my stomach tighten. I was used to things in my life being neat and orderly; I liked knowing what to expect. Knox challenged everything I thought I knew, and left me wanting to piece it all together.

“Join me in the kitchen?” he asked.

“Sure.” I waited for him to lead the way. I should have felt intimidated around him, with his broad shoulders and height, but I didn’t. Seeing him around his brothers made me feel completely comfortable.

His jaw tensed as he noticed the boys still watching us. “On second thought, there’s too many little ears down here. Are you okay if we go upstairs?” His dark honey eyes latched on to mine and I was rendered speechless. Join him in his bedroom? I should probably say no. But my head bobbed up and down in a nod.

Knox motioned me in front of him and I started up the stairs.

I could feel his hot gaze on my backside the entire way up the stairs. I wanted to spin around and catch him looking, but then what would I say? Like what you see? I wasn’t that brazen, so I continued climbing while my body heated under his stare that I could feel all the way to my core.