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I haven’t told Dean yet. Not because I don’t want him to know—I do. I know this isn’t only mine to carry, but tonight, everything has belonged to someone else. My body belonged to Ben. My story belonged to the police. Every bruise and injury has been examined by doctors and nurses.
I need this one thing to belong to me long enough to understand how I feel about it.
A day. Maybe two.
Then I’ll tell him.
There’s a soft knock at the door, pulling me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I call.
Knox steps into the room, and the second I see his face, something inside me tightens.
No grin. No ridiculous comment. No bullshit.
That scares me more than it should.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.” I give him a soft smile.
Knox lifts a bag of chips in one hand. “Hospital survival kit.”
I stare at the bag. “You just missed Dean. He’s gone on the hunt for actual food.”
“Yeah, well.” Knox crosses the room and holds the chips out to me. “Mine’s better.”
There he is.
Almost.
“Does Dean know you snuck in here?” I ask, taking the chips from him. Turns out adrenaline makes you hungry.
“Uh, no. Not yet.” Knox glances around the room before his eyes finally land on me.
His gaze catches on the bruises around my wrists and neck, and I see him wince before he can hide it.
“You okay?” I ask.
Knox lets out a dry laugh. “Pretty sure I’m meant to be asking you that.”
“Everyone else already has.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Figured.”
Something about the way he’s standing there tells me this isn’t just a hospital visit. There’s something sitting heavily on his chest, and he has no fucking idea how to get it out.
“You don’t have to say anything, Knox,” I tell him gently.
His eyes meet mine. “Actually, I think I do.”
He drops into the chair beside my bed, resting his elbows on his knees. For a few seconds, he stares down at his hands.
“My dad used to drink,” he finally says.
I stay quiet, giving him the space to continue.
“A lot,” Knox adds, his jaw tightening. “Dean knows some of it. Logan too. Everyone knew he could get rough.”
