Page 21

CHAPTER 21

LARK

I’ve never felt more coddled in my life.

And considering how overprotective my dad was growing up, that’s really saying something.

Since we got back from the hospital a few hours ago, my house has been filled with visitors, all intent on taking care of me.

First, Knox and Ronan brought me home—Ronan driving while Knox sat in the back of the cab with me on his lap. I told him I’d be okay sitting by myself; I have a concussion, not a major head injury, after all, but he insisted. A slightly desperate look on his face, he said, “I was terrified I’d lose you, Lark. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

I wasn’t about to argue. And honestly, it felt better to be held. To feel Knox’s arms around me, a constant reassurance that I was safe, that Ed couldn’t hurt me again.

Ronan was wonderfully sweet, driving at least ten miles below the speed limit and taking curves like a snail because, as he explained, “I don’t want to jostle your head, Lark. It’s like that old fable. Slow and steady wins the race.”

It was kind of a weird metaphor for just driving back to my house, but okay.

Once we got home, Knox went into full nurse-mode, getting me set up on the couch with my favorite pillows and blankets and a veritable buffet of snacks on the coffee table in case I got hungry. Which I haven’t been; I’m actually a little nauseous from the concussion, but I’m choosing not to tell Knox that so he doesn’t panic.

Then Ronan jumped on board with his medic training, instructing me on how many painkillers to take, how often to ice the bruise on my head, and even how much TV I should watch. “Probably not more than a half hour at a time to start,” he explained, trailing off at my horrified expression. Confused, he looked at Knox. “Is that bad?”

Pausing mid-buffet setup, Knox chuckled. “It is when it’s five days before Christmas and Lark wants to watch her Hallmark movies.” Then he kissed my cheek and added, “Don’t worry, songbird. We’ll still watch your movies. As many as you want. We’ll just take some nap breaks as we go, okay?”

Since Ronan didn’t have his car, he stayed until Enzo and Winter came by, so he could get a ride back to Enzo’s house with them. Winter came loaded with bags full of goodies; things she said made her feel better when she had a concussion, like a lavender infused sleep mask and herbal tea and aromatherapy candles for stress relief .

Enzo spent half an hour checking the security system, just to be absolutely sure it’s safe , as he claimed, even though it was just installed by Alec’s company a few weeks ago. But I got the distinct feeling he was feeling guilty, like somehow it was his fault they didn’t realize Ed was behind everything until now.

I saw the same guilty look in Knox’s eyes, even though it shouldn’t be.

Knox told me how Alec discovered the mismatch with the handwriting, and then hacked into Vinnetti’s laptop to connect him to Ed. And as soon as Knox and his team found out, they immediately jumped into action.

If not for Green Mountain Guardians, I’d probably be dead.

I’m not saying that to Knox either, though. Honestly, I’d prefer not thinking about that part myself. It was bad enough to have a gun pointed at me a third time, get knocked out, wake up in a trunk with my wrists and ankles bound, feeling sick and scared and trying not to completely freak out.

But I knew Knox would come for me. There was never any doubt.

Once my head stops hurting quite as much, I’ll have a talk with him about his misplaced guilt. About how it wasn’t his fault that Ed abducted me, like I heard Knox telling Gage in the hospital. Poor Knox sounded gutted as he said, “If I hadn’t mentioned Ed’s name, this wouldn’t have happened. He wouldn’t have been tipped off. Lark would never have been hurt.”

How was Knox supposed to know Ed would be in my office right when he texted? I wouldn’t have expected it. And if it’s anyone’s fault that Ed caught on, it’s mine, for being so terrible at keeping secrets.

After Enzo, Winter, and Ronan all left, I thought it would just be me and Knox for a while. But then Gage came over with flowers, which was sweet and completely unexpected.

“Aren’t you supposed to bring flowers when someone’s hurt?” he asked, clearly worried he’d somehow messed up when he saw my surprised expression. “If you don’t like them…”

“They’re wonderful,” I assured him with a smile. “And they’re making me feel better already.”

Alec came by last, looking the guiltiest of any of them. As he hovered by the couch, his features tight with regret, he said, “I’m so sorry, Lark. I should have figured it out sooner. This is all my fault.”

Even though it made me a little dizzy, I stood up and hugged him hard. “It’s not your fault, Alec. You figured it out. If not for you, Ed would still be out there, plotting to—” I cut myself off when I saw Knox’s tortured face. “Anyway. There’s nothing to apologize for. I mean it.”

By the time Alec left, I was dragging, and Knox could tell. So he called my dad and asked him to wait a couple of hours to come over so I could get some rest. I’m glad Knox called, because I would have felt too guilty myself, knowing how worried my dad was when he heard everything that happened.

“You need some rest, songbird,” he told me gently. “Your dad understands. He knows you’re okay, and that’s the most important thing.”

Then he put a pillow on his lap so I could lie there, and he stroked my hair and hummed Christmas songs until I fell asleep. Which was just about the sweetest thing I could ever imagine, and almost made getting kidnapped and ending up with a concussion worth it.

Almost. Or maybe I could just skip the crazed murderer part and go straight to the nap. That would work, too.

I’ve been awake for a few minutes, my eyes still closed while I absorb the comforting sensations that tell me I’m home. My favorite blanket tucked around me, smelling faintly of fabric softener. The soft rumble of Knox’s voice in the kitchen. My old stuffed bear from when I was a kid tucked under one arm—he’s usually stored on a shelf in my bedroom, but when Knox suggested that hugging Grover might help, I agreed.

And he does. Although hugging Knox feels even better.

I open my eyes hesitantly at first, not sure if I’ll still be bothered by the light like I was earlier. But the room is dim, only lit by the Christmas tree and the flames in the fireplace, and the sky outside is dark.

“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice pitched low, Knox approaches the couch. In one hand is a glass of water, the other an ice pack. He perches at the end of the couch and sets the glass on the coffee table and places the ice pack beside it. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay.” Pausing for a moment, I take stock. “My head feels better. And my eyes don’t bother me anymore.”

Knox leans forward and brushes a strand of hair off my face, letting his fingers linger for a second. “How about your stomach? Do you think you could eat something?”

Pushing up to a seated position, I breathe a sigh of relief to find I’m not dizzy, just a bit light-headed. “Maybe.” Glancing at the window, I ask, “How long was I asleep?”

“About two hours.” His eyes move across my face, silently assessing. Then he touches my chin and gently tips my head to the side, his gaze moving to the lump above my ear. Forehead creasing, he says, “You should probably ice your head again. I’ll get you a fresh ice pack, then make you something to eat.”

“Okay.” I turn my cheek into his palm and close my eyes for a second as my emotions surge—gratitude and relief and love for this man who’s done everything in his power to take care of me.

“Songbird?” Worry strains his tone. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” Meeting his gaze, I reply, “I’m just so happy to be here. With you.”

“Lark.”

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

Knox blinks. “What?”

“What happened.” Slowly scooting forward, I snuggle against his side. As his arm comes around me, I add, “I know you’re blaming yourself. I heard you talking to Gage at the hospital. But it’s not your fault.”

Pain darkens his gaze. “If I hadn’t told you it was Ed?—”

“There was no way to know. What are the chances, really? Ed never came to my office. It was just a fluke, Knox. And I’m the one who gave it away, with my stupid blushing and getting all flustered. I should have kept it together better.”

“Songbird, no.” It’s quick. Adamant. “It wasn’t your fault. With the news I gave you… Of course you would be shocked. I should have come up with something different.”

“You shouldn’t have. If you hadn’t said it was Ed, he could have asked me to go somewhere with him and I would never have suspected. Please don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, just like it’s not Alec’s or Enzo’s. Sometimes crap just happens.”

“Well, it shouldn’t happen to you.”

“Knox.” My voice softens. “I’m luckier than most. I have an incredible boyfriend who came after me. Rescued me. Not just once, but over and over. That’s what I care about.”

He stares at me for a moment, emotion working in his eyes. Then he lets out a heavy breath. “Okay. I’ll work on it.” A beat, and then, “How about if I make you some soup? And are you feeling up to seeing your dad? He’s been texting.”

“Oh, yes.” My poor dad. He must be desperate to see me by now. “I’m good to see him.”

“Alright.” Knox stands. “I’ll let him know to come by. While we’re waiting, that should be enough time to have some soup.”

“And maybe wash up a little,” I add. “Even though I changed my clothes, I still feel kind of yucky.”

“Not a shower,” he warns. “With the heat, and your head… Later, if you want, I can help you take a bath, though.”

“Oh?” My mind is suddenly filled with the image of Knox naked, sitting behind me in the bathtub while he strokes a washcloth over my skin, kissing my neck, his arousal nudging?—

“Songbird.” There’s a hint of laughter in his tone.

“Yes?”

“Are you thinking about us in the bathtub?”

I touch my cheek. Definitely hot. “Maybe.”

His lips quirk. “While I love the idea, I think tonight might be a bit soon for that.”

“I guess.” Widening my eyes at him, I ask, “But maybe in a few days?”

Knox bends down and gives me a soft kiss. “We’ll see. Now. I’m going to call your dad and get the soup started.”

“Okay.” We smile at each other, and everything else slips away—the lingering pain from my concussion, the terror from earlier today—until it’s just us, showing how much we love each other without saying the words.

And then my stomach chooses to rumble loudly, breaking our silent connection. Knox chuckles. “Well, I think that’s a pretty clear message. Soup. And maybe some buttered saltines to go with it?”

“That sounds good.” I slowly rise from the couch, testing my balance, while Knox watches me eagle-eyed, his hand outstretched to catch me. “I’m fine,” I assume him. “No dizziness.”

“Okay. But be careful. And if you need my help, or you get light-headed…”

“I’ll let you know. I promise.”

But I manage my brief trip to the bathroom without issue .

And after brushing my teeth, washing my face, and a quick wipe-down with a washcloth, plus brushing the dried bit of blood from my hair, I feel much closer to normal again. Before I head back into the living room, I change into Knox’s oversized Buchanan Builders sweatshirt and my comfiest leggings, adding a pair of the fuzzy socks Winter brought, explaining, “I don’t think they actually help with a concussion. But they’re just so soft and cozy, I thought it would feel good wearing them.”

She was right. As I settle back on the couch and tuck the blanket over my lap, I lean back against the cushions with a relieved sigh. Knox is humming in the kitchen—”Silver Bells” this time—and the aroma of savory chicken soup wafts into the living room. The tree looks beautiful all lit up, and as I glance out the window, a few fluffy flakes of white drift by.

My heart swells with happiness.

I’m home. With Knox. Bruised, but definitely not broken. While it’ll take a while to fully accept that my dad’s employee wanted me dead, there’s a silver lining in it.

It wasn’t my fault Vinnetti died. Even though I know it was self-defense and I did nothing wrong, it’s still a massive weight off my shoulders.

“Are you ready to eat?” Knox walks into the living room with a tray in his hands. He comes over to the couch and sets the tray on the coffee table. On it is a bowl of steaming soup, a plate loaded with buttered saltines and sliced cheese, a glass of water, and two pills set beside it .

“Yeah, I think so.” I pat the couch beside me. “Come sit. Help me eat this mountain of saltines.”

He grins. “Too much?”

“It’s fine. Thank you for putting all this together for me.”

“Lark. This is nothing. I would do anything for you.”

Oh.

My heart.

Knox glances at his watch. “Your dad should be getting here pretty soon. Maybe ten minutes or so?—”

Both our phones buzz, signaling the security system’s been triggered. And although my brain says, it’s your dad, it’s fine, nothing to worry about , my heart flies into my throat.

“It’s just your dad,” Knox soothes as he looks at the video feed on his phone. “He just pulled up.” He rubs the back of my neck. “It’s okay. Stay here while I let him in.”

Before I can finish one saltine, my dad comes rushing into the house, his face creased with worry. As soon as he sees me, he makes a beeline over to the couch and takes the spot Knox just vacated. As he gently hugs me, he says, “Lark, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” As we pull apart, I continue, “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Knox sits on the arm of the couch and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe we could talk while Lark eats? She hasn’t had anything since breakfast.”

“Of course.” My dad sits back and inspects me. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good.” His eyebrows go up. “Better,” I amend. “Just a headache and a little light-headedness. That’s all.”

“Lark, you didn’t say you were feeling light-headed.” Knox’s hand stills on my shoulder. Concern roughens his voice. “I would have helped you in the—” He stops. The tips of his ears go pink. “Well. I would have helped.”

My dad glances between me and Knox, a speculative look in his eyes. Then a tiny smile appears. “I’m not going to ask because you’re both adults and it’s none of my business.”

Turning to Knox, I say, “It’s not bad. I was fine. Really.”

“Eat,” my dad urges, gesturing at the soup. “You need to keep up your energy.” He pauses. “Is that chicken soup?”

Knox nods. “It is. I know it’s supposed to be for colds, but—” He shrugs. “I thought it might apply to concussions, too.”

For the next few minutes, we talk quietly about Christmas and home improvements while I eat my soup. But once I put the bowl aside, my dad’s expression goes somber. “I won’t talk about this long,” he says, “but I just… I can’t believe it. Ed. If I’d had any clue…”

“How could you know?” I ask. “I certainly had no idea.”

“But—” He swallows hard. “God, Lark. I hired him. Spoke to him almost daily. I went to his house for Thanksgiving. I should have seen something .”

“I’m sure he was careful to keep his feelings hidden,” Knox tells him, empathy in his gaze. “Of anyone, Ed would have been most cautious around you.”

“Still. I should have realized. He brought up a promotion a few times over the past year. I didn’t think he was qualified to lead the department, so I put him off. He has the experience, but he’s not good with the management side of things. I thought I could work with him on it. Maybe promote him in another year or two. But—” His voice breaks.

“Dad. It’s not your fault.”

Moisture shines in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. So damn sorry. That he hurt you, and I could have stopped it. It’s all my?—”

“Mr. Weber.” Knox reaches across me and touches my dad’s arm. “It’s not your fault. I think we’re all eager to take the blame. I know I am. But it doesn’t help anyone. And at the end of the day, the person who’s really to blame is Ed.”

After a moment’s silence, my dad nods. “You’re right. I know you are. It’s just… I swore I’d protect Lark.”

“I did too,” Knox replies. “But she’s safe. That’s the most important thing.”

“Thanks to you.” Standing, my dad moves toward Knox and holds out his hand. “Thank you, Knox. I can never say it enough. You protected my daughter when I couldn’t.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” I mutter, but neither of them are listening to me.

Knox takes his hand and gives it a firm shake. “I’ll protect Lark with my life.”

The two men look at each other, a silent communication passing between them. Then my dad drops Knox’s hand and gives him a quick hug. “I’m damn glad Lark met you. And—” he pauses. “Call me Mitch.”

Then my dad’s eyes slide in my direction, and he gives me a knowing smile. “Or maybe,” he continues, “one day you’ll call me something else. More like… family. ”

My heart jumps.

I’m pretty sure I know what he’s talking about.

Heat floods my cheeks. Knox and I have talked about being together long-term, but what my dad just implied…

Knox meets his gaze steadily. “I hope so.”

Oh.

Does that mean what I think it does?

“I have an idea,” Knox announces. “Why don’t we all watch part of one of Lark’s movies?” He turns to me. “Just for a half-hour, like Ronan said. And then you can take another nap. How does that sound?”

I glance up at my dad. “Dad? Do you want to stay for a while?”

He smiles. “I’d love that, baby.”

“Okay, then.” Knox picks me up and moves me over on the couch so he can sit beside me. Tucking me into his side, he presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. In a tone low enough that only I can hear, he says, “I meant it, songbird. I love you. And one day in the not too distant future, I will ask you to marry me.”

Oh.

OH.

“I love you, too,” I whisper. “And when you ask, I’ll say yes.”