Page 26 of Knox

“Hey,” he began quietly but firmly, but I cut him off.

“I’m not your problem.”

Knox’s jaw ticked in frustration. “No, you’re not. But you’re not nothing either.”

We stared at each other for a long time—or maybe no time at all. I had no idea. I just knew I couldn’t look at him too long or I’d try to punch his nose in.

I snatched the hydrogen peroxide and unused cotton balls. Before he could withdraw his arm, I poured a splash onto the cuts from the glass. He hissed in pain and tried to yank away, but I caught him fast. “Stay the fuck still, you pussy ass Devil,” I said, not showing him the same compassion he’d shown me. “I’m patching you up.”

“That’s what you call this? Take it easy on the?—”

“Stay the fuck still.”

Unlike me, Knox was quicker to obey commands. After my admonishment, he took the stings like a man and let me wrap the bigger cuts in gauze, but he watched my every move when I tended to his split lip and bloody nose.

“There,” I said finally, sitting back. “That’s as good as you’re going to get. You’re not any prettier but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Knox smiled and nodded in thanks. “I’ll take it. You hungry?”

“No,” I lied.

He snorted and gathered up the medical stuff. Standing up, he tossed the bloodied supplies in the fire pit. The alcohol soaked cotton flared blue and disappeared.

“Guess I should stop asking you shit because you’re always going to say no, huh?” he said. “Not good at accepting help. Do you like ramen? Or do you only do steak and asparagus with wine?”

I snorted. “Is that what you think is a fancy meal?”

“Another not on a paper plate is fancy to me.” Knox shrugged and went into the trailer and retrieved the sad excuse for noodles. Then I watched him with begrudging respect as he pulled out a medium-sized pot, a grate, and a milk gallon jug filled with water. It didn’t take him long to have the makeshift kitchen set up.

“You need to eat,” Knox said as the water started to boil. “I don’t know when your last meal was, but you chugged half a beer and some tequila. I’m not having you pass out after all the shit we’ve been through. I’m not having you throw your guts up, either, so eat slow.”

I hated to admit he was right. The tequila was fucking me up more than I already was. For my own survival, I had to accept his offer of a meal.

Eventually, Knox was handing me a chipped bowl. I didn’t remember when the ramen was done or when he’d gotten bowls and silverware. I didn’t realize he was sitting in the folding chair instead of beside me on the bench.

My vision was a little hazy when I forked a mouthful and brought it to my lips—until Knox barked, “It’s fucking hot, woman! Wait a second for it to cool.”

I managed to make out the aggressive curls of steam coming off the noodles. I halfheartedly blew on them, then shoved the fork into my mouth.

Damn that’s good.

Also… Ouch. Add scalded roof of mouth to the list of injuries. I wasn’t about to let him start poking around in there.

Knox sighed heavily. His fork clinked against the edge of his bowl. “You’re impossible. I told you to eat slow.”

“I’m not going to puke,” I mumbled around the next bite.

“That’s what they all say.”

I swallowed hard—the noodles and my bone-deep pride. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I?”

“The fuck?”

I startled, jerking my head to the side—ouch—to stare at the wild disbelief in Knox’s voice. His eyes blazed with defiance. How had that survived Vane’s beating? “What?”

“Why the hell do you think that?”

“Because I am,” I fired back. “You saw what my father did. You see how I look. You saw me try to chug tequila. I don’t even remember you cooking these disgusting noodles. What’s not pathetic?”

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