Ryker was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: “Or maybe you’re a great father who wants her to know you never stopped trying.”
I didn’t answer.
“You should mail these, Knox. Let her make the choice whether to open them or not.”
“Someday,” was all I said.
Ryker tucked the envelope into his jacket. He didn’t push further. That was the thing about Ryker. He knew when to stop.
He glanced toward the door, then back at me. Something flickered across his face. “You’re a good guy for sticking up for that nurse. But it’s not your job.” His voice shifted back into lawyer mode. Firm. Final. “And you can’t get involved with a prison employee. The parole board won’t look fondly on that.”
He paused at the door, looking back at me.
“Stay away from her, Knox.”
The guard led me back toward my cell. Through the gray corridors and past the other inmates who avoided my eyes.
“Stay away from her.”
That ship had already sailed.
And if I was being honest with myself?
I didn’t want to call it back to shore.
18
HARPER
I’d spent the entire weekend replaying Dr. Mercer’s words.“Knox Blackwood beat Doyle half to death. For you.”And then replaying that moment in the infirmary Friday afternoon—the gauze box, the collision of fingers, the heat that had spread through my hand like wildfire.
By Sunday night, I’d rehearsed about forty different ways to confront him. By Monday morning, I’d forgotten all of them.
Knox was already there when I arrived, mopping the floor like it was any other day. Like Friday hadn’t happened. Like there wasn’t a conversation hanging between us that I’d been carrying for two days.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning.”
I busied myself with the charts on my desk, hyperaware of his presence the way I always was now. The soft scrape of the mop. The rhythm of his movements. The way the fluorescent lights caught the silver in his eyes when he finally glanced my way.
“Knox—”
A sharp curse cut me off.
I looked up to find Knox gripping his forearm, blood welling between his fingers. The supply cart beside him had a jagged edge where the metal had rusted and peeled back.
“Shit.” He held up his arm, and I could see the gash was deep enough to need attention. Cleaning, bandaging, and?—
“When was your last tetanus shot?”
Knox frowned. “Before prison.”
“Then you’re getting one.” I pointed to the exam table. “Sit.”
Something flickered in his expression. Amusement maybe. Or satisfaction. Like he didn’t entirely mind being on the receiving end of my orders. Or the object of my undivided attention.
He sat.
