Page 94 of What Comes Around

When I asked who took care of Titan when Knox traveled, he told me about Maria, his live‑in housekeeper and cook. She had been his late mother’s friend. She kept the penthouse running, cooked for him, made sure Titan was fed and walked. Professional cleaners came twice a week, but Maria kept everything else in order.

Liam arrived later that afternoon. The moment he saw me, his expression hardened. He stepped closer, examining the bruises with careful restraint. Then he pulled me into a gentle hug.

“I am proud of you,” he said quietly. “You fought back. You saved yourself.”

“Thank you,” Knox said. “For teaching her. For looking out for my girl.”

There was tension there. Less than before, but still present.

Liam’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Knox.

“I owe her,” Liam said. “And I always help her. Always.”

I watched them both, anxious at first, but the tension eased.

By the time Liam left, I felt good. Like the pieces were shifting into place.

Knox stayed with me every night. He worked from my dining table with his laptop whenever he could, taking calls in the living room, answering emails while Titan snored at his feet. When the first time Knox had to leave for the office for something urgent, he saw the way I hesitated, the way my fingers curled into his sleeve before I could stop myself. He didn’t comment. He just left Titan with me.

Titan, despite his size and intimidating looks, turned into a complete softy the second Knox walked out the door. He nudged my hand for pets, rolled onto his back for belly scratches, and followed me from room to room like a shadow. When I sat on the couch to watch something mindless, he rested his huge head on the cushion beside me and stared up with warm, patient eyes.

A few hours later, when Knox returned, Titan was asleep on the couch with his head in my lap.

Knox stopped in the doorway, shook his head, sighed, and smiled a little. Amused. Resigned. Like he knew he had lost some silent battle.

By the fourth day, he even let me give Titan a treat. That felt like a major decision for him. He was strict about the dog. Only he, Maria, or Nathan were allowed to feed him anything. But he handed me a biscuit and said, “Go on. He has earned it.”

Titan nearly wagged himself off the floor.

Knox told me I didn’t have to work, that I should rest, but I wanted to. I knew some reports were time‑sensitive. So I worked from the couch, wrapped in a blanket, doing what I could.

We learned more about each other during those days, outside the office, outside the roles we usually played. I had known Knox as a serious businessman, disciplined, controlled, intense. But now I saw the quieter parts of him.

The way he made coffee exactly the same way every morning.

The way he folded his shirts with military precision.

The way he listened when I talked, really listened, even when the topic was nothing important.

We talked about our families, but only lightly. I told him I wasn’t close to mine, that I had a half sister and a younger half brother, that my mother was gone. I didn’t go deeper and he didn’t ask.

He told me he had no one. His father left when he was five. His mother died in a car crash during his first year in the NFL. I could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, so we didn’t. Instead, we talked about hobbies, shows, favorite foods. When I made him watch a true crime documentary with me, he muttered that he didn’t understand how women watched those, that they were scarier than horror movies.

By day five, my bruises had turned green and yellow. Some were fading, some still dark. The first morning after the attack, I nearly screamed when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. Both eyes were bruised underneath, my cheek swollen, a bruise on my jaw, more on my arms, my ribs, my hips. My whole body felt stiff and sore.

The nightmares came every night, but less often. At first they hit me over and over, dragging me under again and again. By the last two nights, it was only once.

Knox held me through every one. He never complained. He never hesitated. He woke the second I did, whispering reassurances until the shaking stopped.

The car slowed, turning into a parking lot.

“We are here,” Knox said quietly.

I blinked, pulled out of the memories, and looked up at the police station.

The police station smelled like stale coffee and disinfectant.

Knox walked beside me, close enough that his arm brushed mine with every step, a reminder that I was not alone.