Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
“I’m sorry, Lavender. I just need some air. I won’t go far,” I muttered, then stormed toward the door.
I heard Dr. Patel call after me, but I was already gone, rage propelling me down the sterile hallway as faces turned to stare. My daughter was dying, and some committee of strangers who’d never even met her thought they had the right to judge whether I deserved to save her life based on mistakes I’d made years ago. Eleven fucking years of penance, and still, the universe wasn’t done making me pay.
* * *
Lavender
I bolted from Dr. Patel’s office, barely remembering to thank her before I rushed after Knight’s retreating back. His broad shoulders carved a path through the crowded hallway, patients and staff alike stepping hastily aside. “Knight!” I called, not caring about the heads that turned or the disapproving frowns from the administrative offices close to Dr. Patel’s.
I struggled to catch up with Knight’s longer strides. He turned a corner, disappearing from sight, and I quickened my steps, heart hammering against my ribs. Then I heard a crash and muffled curse from behind the door marked “Stairs.”
I yanked the heavy door open, the sound of ragged breathing echoing off concrete walls. The stairwell echoed with Knight’s curse and the heavy clang of the metal door. Knight stood one flight down, his back to me, his forehead pressed against the wall. Blood smeared the painted concrete block in front of him, bright crimson stark against the drab gray.
“Goddamn it,” I breathed, letting the door swing shut behind me.
Knight didn’t turn, but his shoulders tensed at the sound of my voice. I descended the stairs slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. When I reached him, my eyes fixed on his right hand. His knuckles were split open, blood flowing freely down his fingers to drip onto the floor.
Without a word, I moved to the small custodial station in the corner of the landing, tearing several paper towels from the dispenser with trembling hands. I dampened some with water from a nearby eye-wash station, then turned back to him.
Knight finally looked at me, his black eyes swimming with a toxic mix of rage and despair. “Go back to Brynn,” he said, his voice rough. “She needs you more than I do.”
“Brynn’s asleep,” I replied, keeping my tone matter of fact. “Ada’s with her. Now shut up and let me fix you.”
He tried to wave me away with his uninjured hand, but I stepped closer, invading his space with a determination that surprised even me. I had to deal with this man whose already complicated personality had added a new layer. My Rhys wouldn’t have felt things this strongly. Or, at least, he’d have had a different outlet. Likely a marathon session of Call of Duty. This man had big feelings he had no idea how to process. And I knew he blamed himself for the decisions of monsters calling themselves angels of mercy.
I grasped his wrist gently but firmly, pulling his bloodied hand toward me. He resisted for a moment before relenting with a sigh that seemed to deflate him. “This is going to sting,” I warned, then pressed the damp paper towel against his split knuckles.
Knight didn’t react to any pain I caused him, didn’t pull away. Blood immediately soaked through the thin paper, but I maintained steady pressure. We stood in silence, the only sounds our breathing and the distant hum of noises filtering through the walls.
“You’re getting blood on your sweater,” Knight finally murmured, eyes fixed on a spot where crimson droplets had indeed splashed across my sleeve.
“It’ll wash out.” I shrugged, lifting the soaked towel to examine the damage. The cuts weren’t as bad as I’d feared, but they’d definitely need cleaning. I applied fresh paper towels, wrapping them around his knuckles and securing them with my hand. “What were you thinking? Picking a fight with concrete rarely ends well. For the person picking the fight.”
“Wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Just needed to hit something that couldn’t hit back.”
I nodded, understanding the impulse better than he might have expected. How many nights had I punched pillows, screamed into them until my throat was raw, when Brynn was first diagnosed? How many times had I slammed my palm against the steering wheel while parked outside the hospital, raging at a universe that would make an innocent child suffer?
Knight’s breathing hitched, his massive body shuddering as if something was breaking loose inside him. “What if they’re right to reject me?” he whispered, the words falling between us like stones. “Everything I touch turns to shit, Lavender. All those years thinking I was protecting you by staying away, and all I did was leave you both vulnerable. Now I have a chance to actually help her, and my past might take that away too.”