Page 100 of Knot a Bad Idea

“Um…” Skylar says, peering over me. “Are those…doorknobs?”

I dump the contents of the box onto my carpet and stare at them in disbelief.

The reason the box was so heavy was because of all the doorknobs with locks that are now spilled out onto my bedroom floor.

“They’re the doorknobs to the packhouse,” I say slowly.

An envelope spills out of the box as well, along with a keyring.

I try to process what I’m looking at, but my brain short circuits.

“Sorry,” Skylar says. “Did you say those are from the packhouse?”

I nod slowly. “They are,” I murmur. “I recognize them.”

“What the fuck, April. What. The.Fuck.”

“What the fuck,” I agree.

I slowly pick up the envelope, which simply saysAprilin fancy script.

I already know whose handwriting it is.

“Holy shit,” Skylar mutters again. “Did he just get rid of every lock in their house and mail them to you?”

“I think so,” I murmur, removing the contents of the envelope. I unfold the white piece of paper, read what’s on it…

Then burst out laughing.

“What does it say?” Skylar says.

But I can’t stop laughing. I laugh so hard tears fill my eyes, and I hand the paper to Skylar wordlessly.

“This is a receipt,” she says. “Why did he send you a—oh my god is this his bill fortherapy?What?”

“It is,” I whimper, caught somewhere between crying and laughing hysterically.

Donovan paid for a year’s worth of biweekly therapy sessions for himself in advance.

He’s also been to sessions since I’ve left the packhouse—one a day.

“There is nofucking way!” Skylar yells. “What is yourlife?”

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “But I’m glad he’s finally going to therapy.”

“Wow.Wow.” Skylar joins me on the ground and picks up one of the doorknobs. “Do you think he paid someone to take them off, or do you think he did it himself?”

“The second one.”

From what I’ve learned of Donovan, I’m sure he quietly did it in the middle of the night himself.

Or maybe it was the only way Hunter and Liam would let him back into the packhouse.

“Who would have thought the way to your heart was a receipt for therapy?” Skylar says. “And doorknobs.”

I nod, staring in disbelief at the pile on the floor.

“How do you feel?” Skylar asks after a moment of silence. “What are you thinking?”