Chapter 12 Harper
HARPER
Monday morning, I froze in the doorway of the infirmary.
Knox Blackwood was mopping the floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.
No shackles. No CO hovering three feet away. Just six foot four of tattooed muscle pushing a mop across linoleum, the scrape of the handle and the slosh of water the only sounds in the otherwise empty room.
For a moment, I just … watched. The way his shoulders moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The way the tattoos on his forearms rippled with each stroke. The way he handled the mop like it weighed nothing, all controlled strength and easy rhythm.
I caught myself staring and immediately chided myself.
What was wrong with me?
“What are you doing here?” I managed.
He glanced up at my entrance, and his mouth did something that might have been a smile on anyone else. On Knox, it was simply the absence of a scowl.
“Told you I’d see you Monday.”
The words hit me like cold water.
“This?” I gestured at the mop, the bucket, the entire scene. “This is what you meant?”
Something flickered in those silver-blue eyes. Satisfaction maybe. Or something warmer.
“Infirmary orderly job opened up.” He dunked the mop back into the bucket, wringing it with a twist of his wrists. “Thought I’d take it.”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond the two of us. “You mean the orderly job that Doyle used to have?”
“That would be the one.”
My stomach did something complicated. Doyle. The man Knox had beaten half to death for some mysterious reason. The reason Knox still refused to explain.
“And you didn’t tell me this last week?”
Knox paused mid-mop. “I applied for it last week, but it didn’t get solidified until this weekend.”
“This weekend.” I repeated the words slowly, something clicking into place. “So, when you told me on Friday that you’d see me Monday … you didn’t actually have this job yet.”
He said nothing. Just watched me with those unreadable eyes.
“Yet you made it sound certain that you’d see me today.”
No reply.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “How exactly were you planning to see me today if this hadn’t worked out?”
The mop stilled in his hands. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, that tell I was starting to recognize—the one that meant he was hiding something.
And then it hit me. Was I right last week? Thinking that punch to his face was intentional?
It couldn’t have been. It was ridiculous to even think he’d put himself through that to come here.
“Never mind.” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Except it did matter. Because now Knox Blackwood would be here every single day, and I was going to have to pretend that didn’t affect me.
“And what exactly does an infirmary orderly do?” I asked, knowing some basics, but now intensely interested in details. Namely, the details of how frequently I’d be around Knox.
Knox resumed mopping, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each stroke. I tracked the movement without meaning to. Noticed the way his hands gripped the handle—strong, sure, capable of violence but choosing something else instead.
“Mop floors. Sanitize exam rooms between patients. Wipe down gurneys, exam tables, chairs.” He paused, those spellbinding eyes lifting to meet mine. “Restock supplies.”
The words landed with intention.
Restock supplies.
The supply closet. The one past the inmate waiting area. The one I’d had to walk past alone when that CO abandoned his post. The one where two inmates had cornered me before Knox intervened.
“Going to the supply closet,” he continued, his voice dropping lower, “so you don’t have to.”
Something warm bloomed behind my ribs. Something I immediately tried to smother.
“And so you decided now was a good time to get a job?” I kept my tone clinical. Detached. Like my heart wasn’t doing something stupid in my chest.
“Already had one,” he said. “Kitchen duty. Replaced it starting today.”
“Is the kitchen a bad assignment?”
Knox scrubbed his stubbled jaw with one hand. “No. Probably had twenty inmates fighting for my spot this morning.”
“Why? What’s so great about the kitchen?”
“Perks.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Namely, you can sneak bites of food when nobody’s looking.”
I stared at him.
This man—this convicted murderer, who had spent fourteen years learning to survive in a place designed to break people—had voluntarily given up access to extra food.
To mop floors. To wipe down exam tables. To walk to the supply closet so I wouldn’t have to.
He’d done this for me. Given up a coveted kitchen position, all so he could … what? Fetch gauze so I wouldn’t have to walk past leering inmates?
Protect me.
Knox held my gaze. Didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you every day now.”
Every day.
The words wrapped around me like a warmth I couldn't shake off. Couldn't decide if I wanted to.
I should have been alarmed. Should have reminded myself of the thousand reasons this was inappropriate—him finding ways to be near me.
This was the part where I should set a boundary. Tell him this was too much. It bordered on obsessive, to be honest.
I opened my mouth to say exactly that.
Instead, my traitorous heart skipped.
Every day.
I was going to see Knox Blackwood every single day I worked here.
And when he looked at me like that—like I was worth giving up free food, worth restructuring his entire existence for—I forgot all the reasons I should be running in the opposite direction.
And the terrifying part wasn’t that the thought unsettled me.
The terrifying part was that I didn’t hate the idea.
The even more terrifying part? Some small, reckless corner of my heart actually liked it.