Max knocked on my door with his whole fist.

Not a gentle tap. Not hesitation. A full loud knock that came with urgency and small boy confidence.

“Blake,” he called through the wood. “I cannot sleep.”

I smiled even before I answered. “Come in.”

The door creaked open and there he stood in his dinosaur pajamas with one sock missing and his hair sticking up in five different places like he had fought sleep and lost badly.

“I had a bad dream,” he announced.

I sat up on the bed ...