“Not tonight. I didn’t think it would happen tonight.”
“Regardless . . . if I killed him, I would lose too many moments with you, maybe the rest of them. And I’m not willing to do that.” He kept his gaze away from me as silence filled the bathroom, then finally asked, “Why isn’t this scaring you?”
“What?”
“Our conversation.”
“Why would—”
“Because I mean every word,” Knox said darkly.
Meaning if he could do it and not go to prison, he would kill Collin. When the weight of his words settled over me, all I could do was nod. Finally, I admitted, “I’m more scared of losing you than your darkest thoughts. Besides, they aren’t far off from my own. I’ve spent years thinking of what I would do to him if I knew I could get away with it—granted, I never thought of . . . I don’t think I could . . .” I drifted off, unable to say the words myself.
“I know,” Knox murmured, and placed his hand over my cheek as he had so many times. The touch was comforting and relaxed my tense and aching body. “I need to rinse your hair. You have a lot of blood in it, and more on your neck and shoulders. I can either have you bend over the sink, or stand in the shower, but I think the sink would be hard with how much you’re already hurting.”
I glanced over to it. “Probably.”
He moved my face back so I was watching him. “He tried to drown you, so I’m not letting you get in that shower alone in case anything happens—you break down, freak out . . . anything. All I’m going to do is rinse the blood off, okay?”
“Okay,” I answered as he turned on the water, but with my confusion, it sounded like a question. It wasn’t until he reached behind me to unclasp my bra, then gently gripped the top of my underwear to push them down, that I realized why he was trying to get me to understand all that would be happening in the shower.
I watched as he removed his clothes, and had to resist the urge to touch him. I knew I couldn’t handle it right now anyway. He was holding me up, and my knees were still shaking despite it. But he was there in front of me, and there was nothing stopping us. Once again, what we’d done today kept replaying in my mind. From the look in his eyes, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling the phantom touches and kisses, but he was keeping himself in control.
After testing the water, he helped me into the shower and kept me far enough away that I wasn’t directly under the spray. He used his hands to bring the water where he needed it, and had me tilt my head back so he could try to keep the cut dry that he’d been working on earlier while getting the blood out of the front of my hair.
When he was sure all the blood was off me, he helped me back out and turned off the water before following. He grabbed a large towel off the rack, and with a gentleness a guy like Knox shouldn’t be able to have, he dried my hair—making sure to be even more careful around the spots where I’d hit my head. Once he was done, he opened up the towel and stepped close to me to wrap it around us both. He kept it closed tightly at my back, and just held me in his arms for long minutes, like he was afraid to let me go.
“Come on,” he eventually whispered against my bare shoulder, then pulled away, but maneuvered out of the towel so I could cover back up in it.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he wrapped another towel low on his hips and then bent to pick up all of our clothes.
He passed his lips softly across mine as he walked over to open the door. “I’m taking you to bed. To sleep,” he clarified when he noticed the way my eyes widened. “You need to rest.”
Knox led me down the hall and into a bedroom, and I stood there awkwardly as I watched him move around the room. I didn’t want to think about how many girls he’d had in here, but it was impossible not to. I was beginning to understand the glare directed at my bed that afternoon.
“Put these on; I’ll be right back.”
I glanced down to the clothes he’d placed in my hand, and couldn’t stop the smile. I’d never worn his clothes, but I remembered begging him for shirts of his I could wear to bed when I was in high school. He’d promised me all of his shirts once I was eighteen. I’d never understood why he’d made me wait, but there I was, standing in his room, twenty-two years old and holding a shirt and pair of boxers in my hands.
Because I’d finally decided to get away from my husband . . .
My smile fell, and I quickly pulled the clothes on when I heard Knox coming down the hall. My face morphed into confusion when he held out his cell phone to me. “Wha—”
“Call your parents. Warn them, do whatever you have to do.”
My stomach dropped. How could I have forgotten? “Hadley’s still in the hospital,” I whispered. “Collin had her moved to a suite.”
“Then they need to get her out.”
I nodded as I tapped out my mom’s number as fast as my fingers would let me. My dad answered instead.
“Hello,” he said sternly.
“Dad, it’s Harlow.”