19. Knox
Knox
Idrive home, white-knuckling the wheel the entire way. Every option plays through my head—turn back to Sawyer, go back to the lake, sleep in my car. Anything but going home to Ella. But all of those raise more questions than they solve and put Sawyer in more danger.
I let myself into my place, making as little noise as possible. Hopefully Ella’s asleep and I can deal with her tomorrow with a clearer head. It’s dark and quiet, not even a faint glow coming from the bedroom.
No reason for me to turn on any lights, I know this place inside out. I slip off my shoes, and carefully put my keys on the entry table, keeping my phone out to text Sawyer that I’m home and I’m going to work on a plan.
When I reach my bedroom, I notice that my bed is made. Ella’s not here. I guess she stayed at her parent’s house. I toss the phone on the bed and turn to switch on the light.
Someone’s waiting for me behind the door, and a fist sinks into my ribs before I’ve fully registered him, driving the air out of my lungs.
A big motherfucker. One of Moretti’s guys.
I should have smelled the stench of cigarettes mixed with body odor.
None of that matters as he repeats the same movement in a quick burst, sending my back into the dresser.
My elbow cracks hard, nerve pain shooting up my arm, and he’s already on me again before I can get a hand up.
He slams his fist against my cheek and I go down, my head slamming on the hardwood floor. Darkness creeps into my field of vision, threatening to pull me under, but his boot on my chest tugs me back.
I groan, trying to move, to stand…anything.
“Stay down,” he says, voice flat, like this is nothing to him, just another day on the job.
Pain blooms against my sternum, sharp enough to steal my breath again.
“You’ve been busy tonight, Knox.” He crouches, grabs a fistful of my shirt, and hauls me up just enough to look me in the eye. “Driving all over town. Making calls. Visiting your little girlfriend.”
My mouth’s full of blood. I spit it near his shoe instead of answering.
He laughs, short and cold, and drives another punch into my side that folds me in half. I hit the floor and stay there this time, arm curled around my ribs, gasping.
“This is a courtesy,” he says, straightening his jacket. “Next time, there won’t be a conversation.”
He steps over me and doesn’t look back. The door shuts and I finally register the pain. My ribs scream and blood fills my mouth as I try to breathe normally.
I flip onto my hands and knees and crawl until I reach the bed, pulling the blanket until I hear my phone thunk onto the floor. It takes three tries to unlock it, with my shaking hands and blood trickling into my eye.
I don’t bother trying to get up. Not yet. I lean against the bed and call the one person I promised myself I’d never go to, the one person who might be able to help me tonight. I barely recognize my voice when he picks up on the fourth ring.
“You woke me up. This better be good,” my father says, voice deeper from sleep.
“I need you to do something for me.” Every word is agony, my ribs screaming with each breath.
“I need you to drive to Sawyer’s apartment right now.
There might be someone watching her building.
I can’t go…one of Moretti’s men just jumped me in my own bedroom.
I can’t be seen anywhere near her tonight. ”
There’s dead silence on the line.
“What did you do now?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I press a hand to my cheek, feel the wet warmth of blood coating my fingers. “I need you to go. Right now. Please.”
“What—”
“If you ever cared about me,” I grit out, “if any part of you meant it when you used to carry me on your shoulders, or take me to little league, or just be a goddamn father. Before everything…this shitstorm—Dad, you’ll get in the car right now.
” I spit out more blood and go on. “Do it for Helen. Do it for Owen. He’d never forgive either of us if something happened to her and we just let it. ”
The quiet stretches so long I’m sure he’s hung up.
“Text me the address,” he finally says, voice low and rough in a way I haven’t heard from him in years. “I’ll go. I’ll sit outside till I’m sure it’s clear.”
My chest shudders in relief. “Thank you.”
“Knox.” He stops me before I hang up. “This is the last time. Whatever this is between you and her…you end it. Tonight, tomorrow, I don’t care how. It’s not safe for her. It’s not safe for any of us. You understand me? Look what’s already happened.”
“Yeah.”
I don’t mean it. We both know that. But the lie will get him in the car, and right now that’s the only thing that matters.
I text him the address, then drag myself up onto the edge of the bed, ribs on fire, and press some tissues against my face to soak up the blood. I don’t want to scare Sawyer, but I have to call her. Let her know that this is real, that she needs to take the threat seriously.
My phone’s slick with blood when I click her number. She picks up right away, and I immediately hear the slur in her words.
“Knox? What’s the matter?”
“Listen to me.” I try to keep my voice even but fail miserably. “Not safe. Stay away from the windows, keep the door locked, and don’t open it for anyone but my father. He’s on his way.”
“Wait, what—your father? Knox, what happened, you sound—”
“I’m fine. Just do what I asked, please.”
“Knox, you’re scaring me.” There’s a pause, and then I hear her moving. “There’s nobody out there and Gia already left. She’d have seen someone.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just humor me.” My ribs scream when I try to sit up straighter, so I stop trying. “My father’s coming to sit outside for a while. Just until I know you’re okay.”
“Why can’t you—” She stops, her voice catching. “Knox, what happened to you?”
“Soon,” I manage. “Have to go.”
“Knox!”
I hang up as my mouth fills with blood again. There’s no more breath in my lungs to speak, not now, not with the pain stabbing into my side.
Maybe I pass out, I don’t know. The next thing I remember is my phone ringing and my head smearing blood on my pillow. I come to, answering the phone without looking at who’s calling.
“I’m here and everything looks normal. No cars idling. No lights on.”
My father. I blink, clearing my throat before speaking. “Did you check on her?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“Did you go upstairs?” I specify.
“Is that necessary?”
I shift, pushing myself to a sitting position with my free hand, biting back a curse. “At least go listen at her door. Make sure it’s quiet.”
He grumbles but I hear his car door shut. While he’s huffing and puffing his way up the stairs, I force myself into the bathroom and finally get a glimpse of my face in the mirror. I look exactly how I feel—like dog shit.
I’ve had a lot of ass beatings in my life. Most from the prick on the other line of the phone. But I’ve never been in this much pain. That asshole knew exactly where to hit to inflict the most damage. Every punch was a message. Get in line or this will seem like a walk in the park.
I use a damp hand towel to wipe some of the blood off my face, and check my teeth to make sure none of them are chipped or loose. They’re good, thankfully, just a cut on my inner cheek. My eye is swelling, so I pluck my contacts out and put on my glasses.
“Okay, I’m listening at the door,” my father cuts in. “It’s quiet. No lights on.”
“You sure?”
“Do I look like a fucking private investigator, Knox? You asked me to check, I checked. It’s almost 1 AM, I’m going back to bed.”
There’s nothing I can do to keep him there. I’ve already played my hand. “Fine.”
He hangs up, and I’m already getting my shoes and grabbing my keys.
The drive is a blur, but I could navigate these streets half dead.
Which, considering the state of my ribs, isn’t far off.
Every pothole sends a fresh wave of pain radiating through my side, and by the time I’m parking outside her building, my hands are shaking so bad it takes two tries to open my door.
I check the lot before I get out. Nothing’s out of place. It’s dark and empty. So is the sidewalk and street. It doesn’t stop that crawling feeling on the back of my neck the entire walk to her door.
I use the elevator, bracing my hands on the wall, my ribs screaming in protest with each passing minute, and by the time I reach her door, I’m sucking in air like I just ran a marathon instead of taking a few simple steps.
I’m ashamed to come here like this. She’s going to flip out, I know it. But I have to be with her. Keep her safe. I knock before I can talk myself out of it.
The locks turn faster than I expect, one after the other, then the chain, and she’s there, looking like a fucking miracle with her hair a mess and eyes glassy. Thank God she’s alright.
“Told you not to open the door,” I groan.
She turns, flicking on the outside light, my head throbs from the brightness. “Knox, I’ve called you like ten times, why didn’t you—”
She stops.
Whatever she was about to say dies right there in her throat. Her eyes drop from my face to my shirt, dark with dried blood, and I watch every ounce of color drain from her cheeks.
“Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh my God, what—Knox—”
“I’m fine.” Which is a damned good joke, considering I can barely stand upright.
“You are not fine, you’re bleeding, your—” She grabs my arm before I can sway into the doorframe, hauling me inside, kicking the door shut and locking all three locks. “Sit. Sit down right now.”
She gets me to the couch and I go down harder than I mean to, a groan coming out of me. I don’t even try to swallow the coppery taste in my mouth.
“Who did this to you?” She’s on her knees in front of me, hands hovering an inch away like she’s terrified to touch me. “Knox. Who?”
“Who else?” I manage, my head falling back against the cushion. “Moretti’s guy. Jumped me in my bedroom.”
Her jaw drops. “Was Ella there?”
“Nah,” I say. “Somewhere else.”
Slowly, she traces my swollen cheek, dragging her fingertip to the bridge on my glasses, making me wince. Then she moves lower, lifting my shirt. I try to hunch, to hide it. I don’t want her to worry. But there’s no stopping Sawyer when she’s on a mission.
“Oh my God. I’m calling 911.”
“No.” I catch her wrist before she can move. “No hospitals. No records. Please, Sawyer.”
“You might have broken ribs, you might have internal—”
“I need you here. That’s it. That’s all I need right now.”
She stares at me, rolling her lip between her teeth. I know she wants to fight me. And hell, she’s right. I’ve already had cracked ribs from the accident. They were barely healed and they didn’t hurt nearly as much as I do now.
“Stay here.” She uses my knees to push up, hurrying into her bathroom. I fight to keep my eyes open, but she’s back quickly with a towel, pressing it to my wound. “You need to ice this. All of it.”
I let her fuss around me, icing my face, unlacing my boots, stripping off my filthy clothes and getting me set in her bed even when I protest that I’ll get her sheets dirty with blood.
The moment my head hits her pillow and her comforting scent fills my nostrils, I melt.
I can’t rest though, I need to keep her safe.
“I can’t believe you called your father.” She climbs on the other side of the bed, leaning close but still not touching. “After everything he’s done.”
“Didn’t have a choice.” I find her free hand and press it against my chest, right over the worst of the ache. Her touch soothes me, makes me feel something good beyond the pain. “I couldn’t come to you. Couldn’t leave you alone either. He was all I had.”
She goes quiet, deep in thought, and then carefully lays beside me. I move my arm, letting her curl in against my shoulder. Her breaths are shaky. Is she crying?
“I hate this,” she whispers. “I hate that you’re hurt because of me.”
“Not because of you.” I reach for her hand, and plant a kiss right in the center of her palm. “Because of them. And me. Never you.”
I try to count the seconds between one thought and the next. Try to keep some part of my senses focused on the door, the windows, the street noise outside. Vigilance is the only thing I’ve got left tonight, the only job that matters.
But her hand’s warm, rising and falling with every shallow breath I take, and her hair’s tickling my jaw, and the ache in my ribs is starting to feel far away, like it belongs to someone else.
“You should sleep,” she murmurs against my shoulder.
“Somebody should stay awake.”
“Me then.” Her thumb moves up and down my sternum, over the fine dusting of hair along my pecs, down my abdomen. “Close your eyes, Knox.”
I don’t mean to. I’m still running through the list of things I need to take care of, everything I need to watch, when my eyelids stop cooperating.
The last thing I register is the sound of her steady breaths and the care in her touch. Softness. My Sawyer.