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Knox turns on the tap and grabs some paper towels from the holder on the wall so he can wet them. He’s almost gentle when he starts to clean me up, running the damp paper over my ass and then between my legs.
“Made a mess of you,” he mutters, half to himself probably, but I can hear the grin in his voice. He fucking loves it.
He nudges my arm, prompting me to turn around so he can get more of the mess, and as I do, I see what he carved into my back with his knife. It wasn’t just random slices for the hell of it.
There’s a word written there, the raised, swollen cuts stark against the rest of my skin.
Ours.
My heart beats a little faster at the sight of it, at the reminder. I remember snatches of what Gage was saying to me before when I was so out of it and wrecked, about how they need me and can never let me go.
Knox seems to want that sentiment to be marked permanently on my skin so I can’t forget it.
Gage moves forward and catches my chin again with his fingers, lifting my face up to his. His eyes are bright green like spring grass, sharp and intense as he scans my face and looks into my eyes like he’s trying to read everything there. Trying to make sure I’m not slipping away again.
I don’t know what he saw before, but now that I’m a little more clear-headed, I can see how strung out both of them are. They both look a bit haunted by how fucked up I was, and there’s something almost desperate in the way Gage looks at me now, like he doesn’t want to see any traces of that numbness again.
I hold his gaze, letting him see it all—the pain that’s there, stabbing at the heart of me, and the ragged edges that might not ever get smoothed out. But it’s better than being hollow, better than just being a ghost in life, watching everything through a layer of glass and fog.
Whatever Gage sees now, it must be enough. He nods, dragging his fingertips down the line of my jaw.
“I told you, baby girl. We can’t let you go.”
