Page 12

Eleven

HOPE

T hings seem to have settled down. My father hasn’t called. The guys have kept some distance since they’re focused on actual practice and have no reason to come into my physical therapy room.

Which means I get to work more thoroughly, focusing with a few of the guys who are still recovering and the second-string guys who are facing injuries along with the older players.

One of the guys grunts as he works out his knee. His old ACL injury has been giving him trouble.

“Ben, if it’s sore, we might need to talk to a doctor,” I say softly.

He shakes his head. “No way. I’m finishing this season.”

“No one’s arguing that,” I say with a laugh. “I want to make sure that you’re able to walk without a cane afterward.”

He chuckles, but that’s the end of it. Since he was one of the guys around Knox the other day, looking at his phone, I want to ask what he saw, but every time I nearly build up to it, something else comes up.

I’m sure that he would have told me by now. I’m sure that one of the guys would have made a move on me or hinted in some way. Since no one has and since there’s no tension, nothing from Coach going on, I have to assume that Knox didn’t show them a video of me in a compromising position.

Maybe he doesn’t even have it.

Was it an empty threat? Or did he not realize that I didn’t check the box? To be fair, it hasn’t come up because we just got all the drug and blood tests back. I head over to Jared to check on him.

His shoulder is healing nicely, but at the same time, I’m worried about him. He’s determined to push harder since Dimitri, Jaxon, and Knox have started.

I gently put my hand on his shoulder. “Jared, slow down, please. Working out properly is part of this. If you don’t follow through at the right motion, you’re putting extra pressure on your shoulder. ”

Coach Carpenter drops by and meets my eyes. “Why didn’t you approve Knox?”

“You know why. It’s the only box that’s blank,” I murmur, keeping my eyes down.

“He has to be approved or he can’t play. We have a scrimmage coming up, and if I can’t prove he’s good to go, he’s wasted on the bench.”

As much as I don’t want to own up to the fact that I didn’t check that box and I don’t want to invite Knox to do something, there’s no avoiding it now.

“He can come by in an hour. Jared will be done then,” I whisper.

I force a smile, but Jared stops. “Don’t do that.”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t fake a smile for me. I don’t want that. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Let’s work on some new stretches. No weights,” I decide.

I show him how to work his shoulder and ways he can do it at home. Once we start to wind down, I’m sure he’s clocked every single moment that I’ve looked away during the conversation. Every single time he mentions the ‘new guys’.

Jared takes a breath. “Hope.”

“Jared?” I answer.

“You know you can talk to me about things, right? I consider us friends. So if there’s something going on with the new guys, if you’re secretly dating one of them or have some history with one of them, you can tell me,” he says and winks. “I’m really good at secrets.”

And I have too many secrets .

I shake my head, resisting the urge to gag at the idea of dating one of them. “No, nothing, they were just some players from a team my dad coached.”

Knox finally comes back in to finish his checkup. He watches me, glowering at me, seeming larger and larger with every breath he takes.

He snarls at me. “You couldn’t just check a fucking box, Hope?”

I sigh. “It’s my job,” I whisper.

“Really? Because I remember when you’d just lie back and take it,” he snarls. “When you knew what it meant to be a good girl.”

I flinch at the comment, but he’s too busy playing with his shirt to notice, not that he’d care, anyway. He takes a slow breath and rolls his neck. I see a flash of something like apprehension in his eyes before he covers it with fury.

He grabs the back of my neck and the air leaves my lungs. I struggle, trying to pry myself from his touch. I know he’s pissed, but his fingers don’t hurt so I stop struggling and stare up at him. His hand is so warm, and his gaze is so intense. But it’s not anger, I realize. It’s something else.

“You keep your fucking mouth shut about everything you see and everything we talk about in here. Do you understand?”

I nod as best I can, but Knox taps my lips with his other hand. “Words, sweetheart.”

I gulp. “I promise. I understand. It’s private. I can’t talk about anything with a patient,” I whisper.

He takes a breath and releases me. He rips off his shirt, then kicks of his shorts, revealing tight blue boxers that barely cover his ass.

But it’s not the boxers that grab my attention. It’s the scars. So many. They’re small, circular, but all over his chest, his abs, his thighs. Where there aren’t burns that are obviously from a cigarette, there are scars that are from cuts and areas of discolored skin on his side, then his back.

I shudder as I see a jagged scar over his shoulder blade right by a cluster of cigarette burns. I close my eyes a moment, like I can feel his pain. There’s another patch of discolored skin. It looks red, but it’s not a birthmark. I know the difference.

This was a bad burn, like oil or boiling water.

I almost touch him. “Who did this, Knox?”

He grumbles something, but I can’t make it out. He grits his teeth as I continue my check. I’m afraid to ask for some things, but I go through the questions about past muscular, joint, and bone injuries that are recent.

We continue with the check, then I caress his back, my fingers barely touching him as I stroke over his scars and skin. I slowly circle back to his front and find him staring at the wall behind me instead of at me.

His jaw shakes slightly, but he grits his teeth harder. His jaw tightens and the muscles in his throat move. I touch a curved scar over his pec. It reminds me of the one he gave me.

I slowly pull my hand back and look up at him as his eyes finally drop to mine.

“Is this why you did it to me?” I ask as I rub between my breasts, on the mark he left that night.

He jumps up, pulls his shirt on, and straightens it over his abs. He grabs his pants and jerks them on too, hiding every bit of past pain. “Are we done?”

I open my mouth, wanting answers, wanting this chance to know him even though he’s the last person I should care about. I click my teeth shut and finally nod.

Knox doesn’t even look at me. He just storms out, leaving the door open.

My hand keeps rubbing my chest, thinking of the same mark on him. Was he… trying to do something by marking me like that? I don’t understand. I feel for him, can’t imagine the pain of each scar on his body.

But now I know why he blindfolded me that night. I also know what it’s like to have that to go home to.

Which brings back the anger. He knows what abuse feels like. He knows the kind of pain that can happen at home. He knows what it feels like to be powerless, to be hurt, to be harmed by someone who has access to you in the most intimate way.

And he still did it to me .

He still hurt me and he still ignored what was obvious.

My anger and guilt and empathy all swirl around me.

It all sinks deeper into my skin. I don’t know how to organize my thoughts.

I want to feel bad for him. I want to care, but…

but how can I when he knew the signs, he knew the pain, and he still…

“Why does this just keep getting more complicated?” I hiss into my hands.