I leveled him with my best bullshit-detector glare.
Knox rolled his eyes. Actually rolled his eyes, like I was being ridiculous. “Fine. You still seem afraid. I’m still trying to make you less afraid. Happy?”
No. Not happy. Because that answer made all my preconceived notions about this guy shatter, and I refused to let that happen.
I cleared my throat again and focused on tying off his suture.
“People are afraid of you.” Another dab. “I’m sure some of that is your size, but some of that is probably what you did yesterday. Which brings me to my next question. What did Doyle do? To make you beat him up?”
Knox pressed his tongue against his molars. “That’s not a conversation we’re having.”
Well, that’s interesting.“Why not?”
“Because you won’t like the answer.”
What the hell?
This time, when Knox looked at me, he unleashed the full weight of his stare. It was overwhelming. Intense in a way that should have scared me, but didn’t. Unlike those other inmates with their leering grins and hungry eyes, Knox looked at me like I was a person. A person worth breaking his no-talking-to-staff policy.
“Why wouldn’t I like the answer?”
Knox’s expression shuttered. “Drop it.”
“Knox.”
“I said, drop it.” His voice was harder now. Final. And I realized it was the first time he’d been even a hint of curt with me.
“Fine. Keep your secrets.”
We fell into silence, but as I resumed stitching his wound, Knox began to relax. And, after a couple of minutes, he filled the silence again, this time with his usual gentle tone.
“It made you uncomfortable today that I stuck up for you,” he said.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. “I can see it in your body language. You try to hide your fear by jutting your chin up and straightening your shoulders, but I saw you grip that tray so tight, your knuckles turned white.”
Okay, that’s … unsettling.And maybe a tiny bit impressive. Not that I’d ever admit it.
“Maybe I was thinking of taking that tray and smashing it over the guy’s head.”
Knox’s smirk deepened. “Now that would’ve been interesting to see. But for a minute there, you were afraid. That’s why I stepped in.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, as he finally answered my original question. “I didn’t want you to feel afraid.”
Well, shit. There he went again, saying things that made my stomach clench ten percent less.
“But right after I stepped in,” he continued, “I saw the way you nibbled on your lower lip, processing it. Could see you wrestling with your feelings. The way you shifted from one foot to the next. You appreciated me intervening, but you hated it too. Because you wanted to be able to stand up to those guys all by yourself.”
He’d seen all that? In the chaos of the moment, while facing down two other inmates, he’d been watching me that closely?
My heart did something stupid in my chest.
“I’m guessing that’s because the last person you tried to stand up to left you that scar.” Knox nodded toward my cheekbone, his voice gentler than I’d heard it before.
I swallowed hard. He wasn’t kidding; he really was good at reading people. Fourteen years of practice, honing his craft with nothing else to do but observe and survive.
Not that I would confirm or deny anything he’d said. That would be inappropriate. Just like the tiny flicker of … something I’d just felt. Not affection. Definitely not affection. Just appreciation. Professional appreciation for a patient who’d protected his nurse.
Right. Keep telling yourself that, Harper.
