Refusing to cave in to that apprehension, I checked his pulse. Strong, steady, slightly elevated beneath my fingertips. His skin was warm, callous from years of labor, and I tried not to notice how carefully he kept his hands still. Open. Nonthreatening. And reminded myself this was just restrained power. Someone who could snap bones without effort, choosing not to. For now.
At least he wasn’t being a dick. In fact, he just … let me hold him. Let me take the lead.
“So, what did he do?” I asked, releasing his wrist and preparing the suture kit.
“Come again?”
“The other guy. The one who might need reconstructive surgery. What did he do?”
Knox’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Never had a nurse ask that before.”
“Maybe I’m not like the other nurses.”
“Clearly.” His lips rose slightly on one side. “But why do you care?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m curious what makes people do what they do.”
Because I need to understand.What made someone cross that line? What switch flipped in their brain that said violence was the answer?
With Silas, I’d never figured it out. The triggers, sure. Jealousy rooted in insecurity. Anger when he drank. Like my dad. But why escalate? Why not stop at yelling? Why graduate to fists?
Knox seemed to study me again, his gaze gliding over my face like a scan. “Sounds like you’re not just asking about me.”
The implication landed like a punch I didn’t see coming. Direct. No lead-up. No warning.
I swallowed. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He seemed to consider this, and I wondered if he thought about pushing me on his question. Thankfully, he went with, “Who says I’m the one who hurt him?”
I gave him a look. “Your knuckles are hamburger meat. and his face looked like it went through a blender. I’m not exactly Sherlock Holmes here.”
A low sound escaped him. Almost a laugh. “Sometimes, injuries look worse than they are. He’ll be fine.”
“Spoken like someone who knows exactly how many hits a face can take.”
He studied me again, something unreadable in those husky eyes. “Why do you care what happened to him?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. Not one I wanted to say out loud.
“Just making conversation.” I threaded the needle, focusing on the task. “This is going to sting.”
“Pain and I are old friends.”
I glanced up. “That’s either very tough or very sad.”
Something flickered across his face. There and gone. “Maybe both.”
Knox sat up slowly, and I watched his movements carefully. Controlled. Deliberate. The chains clinked softly as he adjusted, but he kept space between us, like he was conscious of not crowding me, not looming over me the way Silas always had.
Silas had always gotten bigger when he was angry. Taller. Louder. He’d fill up a room until there was no air left for me.
Knox did the opposite.
Stop cataloging the differences, Harper.
I applied the numbing agent and began the first stitch.
“Most people would at least wince.”
