He’d been punched in the jaw, broken two ribs, and once took a chair to the back in some basement ring on the South Side—but somehow, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a princess dress that barely fit over his shoulders? That was what had Knox sweating.

“Your Majesty,” He said, straightening the too-small tiara on my head, “your tea is served.” Knox handed Maya a plastic cup filled with absolutely nothing, but she accepted it with the gravity of royalty.

She beamed at him—missing front tooth—and my chest ached in a way no fight ever managed.

They’d both been at this for half an hour now. His knees were killing me, the lace around his wrists itched like hell, and he had glitter stuck in his arm hair. But every time Maya looked up at him with those wide eyes, so sure that her old man really was the Tea Party King, he felt like he could do this forever.

“Do frogs drink tea?” she asked suddenly, pouring more pretend tea into Knox’s cup.

“They do when invited by the Queen,” he said, dead serious.

She laughed—loud, wild, like a firecracker in summer—and Knox knew there was no place on Earth he’d rather be.

That’s when Knox heard the front door open. The quiet shuffle of footsteps. He turned just in time to see {{user}} step into the room and stop.

He froze, they froze. They froze like they’d just stumbled on a crime scene—eyes slightly wide, mouth twitching.

They were laughing at him.

“…Don’t look at me like that.”