I squeezed his hand as hard as I could. “She’s coming first thing in the morning. Only reason she stayed back was when I assured her you were okay and needed rest.”
“Thank you,” he choked out. “Harper, I … thank you.”
I brought his hand to my lips and kissed his bruised knuckles.
“That’s what family does,” I said. “And like it or not, you’re stuck with me now.”
He laughed. Wet and broken and beautiful.
“Yeah,” he managed. “I think I can live with that.”
The fluorescent lights hummed. The monitors beeped their steady rhythm. And somewhere in the quiet space between us, I felt something shift into place.
Not an ending. A beginning.
I’d spent so long living in absolutes. Good or bad. Innocent or guilty. Victim or monster. It was easier that way. Cleaner. If I drew hard lines, I’d never make the same mistake twice. I’d never trust the wrong man again.
But absolutes are just fear wearing a disguise.
I’d looked at Knox and seen a cautionary tale. I’d told myself that bad men don’t deserve empathy; they deserve consequences.
But lying here, my hand in his, watching this man who had risked everything to keep me safe … I realized I’d been wrong.
About him. About myself. About all of it.
Compassion isn’t weakness. I knew that now. Forgiveness wasn’t permission. And people weren’t just the worst thing they’ve ever done.
Sometimes, the sin and the salvation really did live in the same heart.
I squeezed his hand tighter, watching his eyes drift closed, and made myself a promise.
I was done living in absolutes. Done letting fear dictate who deserved my empathy and who didn’t. Done punishing myself for trusting the wrong person once.
Knox had shown me another way.
And for the first time in years, I was ready to take it.
64
KNOX
When Gwen stepped into the room, relief and joy twisted through my chest.
“Hey, Gwen!” Harper stood from her bed and gave her a quick hug. “I was just about to go get some bagels,” Harper claimed, grabbing her IV pole and dragging it behind her.
She wasn’t. She was just giving us time together. Harper gave me a smile and a wink before shutting the door behind her.
Gwen crossed toward me, but I caught it. Just for a second. The way her eyes flickered over the monitors, the bandages, the oxygen tube. The slight tightening around her mouth before she smoothed it over.
She was worried. And not just about my injuries.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I said quietly. “Another violent situation. Another hospital bed.” I held her gaze. “You’re wondering if this is just who I am.”
Her expression flickered. Caught.
“I wasn’t—” She stopped. Took a breath. “Okay. Maybe a little.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture nervous. “When Harper called, after she assured me you were okay, my first thought was?—”
“That your violent father became violent again.”
