“So that stain I was so pissed about probably saved her life,” Tom said.
This was a brutal reminder that everything could be gone in the blink of an eye. Shiori had to be okay. Had to. He had this miracle, this chance to tell her how he felt about her.
“I’ve been discharged even though I’ve got a screaming headache. My boyfriend is on his way from Colorado Springs to take me home,” Tom said.
Knox glanced up and frowned at the other man. Tom was gay? Not that it mattered. But that disclosure did indicate that Shiori had been right about how quickly Knox overreacted to any man’s attention to her. “Headache? Did they diagnose you with a concussion?”
“No. The EMTs were concerned about my dislocated shoulder and whether the impact with the steering wheel broke any ribs. They gave me some painkillers, but I haven’t taken any yet.”
“Then you should go home. Be on the lookout for late-appearing concussion symptoms. They’re nothing to mess around with.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He slowly stood.
Knox snorted. “I’ve spent my adult life in martial arts, and head injuries are our number-one concern. Get yourself checked out again next week, just to be safe.”
“My number is on here”—he passed Shiori’s phone over—“so if you’d leave a message letting me know how she’s doing, I’d appreciate it.”
“Will do.”
Tom shuffled away.
Deacon hadn’t returned. Knox saw him standing by the windows. More tension vibrated off him than he usually saw before Deacon stepped into the ring. He moved to stand beside him, wishing the man would ramble about some random shit to take Knox’s mind off this gut-wrenching waiting.
After several long moments Deacon said, “I fucking hate hospitals.” Then he released a sharp bark of laughter. “Stupid statement. I highly doubt anyone loves them.”
The doctors and nurses here saved lives. Knox was damn glad someone was saving Shiori.
More silence followed. Then Deacon said, “I really fucking hate car accidents. One second everything is fine and the next . . .”
Knox couldn’t let that one go, especially since he’d had that same flash of fear about the fragility of life. “Someone close to you die in a car accident?”
“My brother.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment. “Older brother? Younger?”
“My twin brother.”
“Fuck, Deacon. That’s awful. How long ago?”
“We were fifteen.”
Now Deacon’s deflection when anyone asked him about his family made sense.
“So being in the hospital is a special kind of torture for me. And I don’t mind telling you, man, I’m about to run the fuck outta here now before I run the fuck outta here screaming.”
“Then go,” Knox urged. “I’m grateful you drove me here. You can’t go back to the medical rooms with me, and after hearing that, I won’t make you sit out here in misery and wait.”
“Thanks. I just . . .” He laced his fingers together and set them on his head. “Fuck.” Then he dropped his arms by his sides again.
“Go. I’ll text you or call you when I’ve got news.”
Deacon nodded.
Before Knox returned to his seat, he said, “I’ve known you for what? Four years? What made you tell me this today?”
Deacon finally looked at him. “You trusted me with your secret; I’m trusting you with mine.” Then he walked out.
Twenty thousand fucking years passed after Deacon left, in which Knox stared at the floor.
Every time the door opened he’d turn and look, hoping they’d call for him. At last when the door opened he turned and heard what he’d been waiting for.
“Hirano family?”
Knox nearly leaped to his feet. “Yes, I’m here.”
The nurse said, “Come with me.”
He followed her through the maze of curtained-off areas and down a hallway. The nurse stopped in front of a door. “Sorry for the delay. When the EMTs first brought her in, she was speaking Japanese and we didn’t have anyone to translate. Then she became agitated, so we sedated her. We couldn’t examine her until she calmed down.”
“She’s all right?”
“She sustained a concussion, as well as contusions and cuts on her face. No broken bones. Nothing sprained or dislocated. There is some concern about her tongue. She bit it during impact, and it’s swollen.”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course. Be warned; we’re suggesting she doesn’t talk.”
Knox opened the door to the most beautiful sight. Shiori, conscious, although with a slightly vacant look in her eyes, her mouth set in a stubborn line. He barely noticed the marks on her face because his gaze caught on her white pants splattered with blood.
Jesus. What hadn’t the nurse told him about her injuries? Because from where he stood, she had to have major damage somewhere.
“Sir?”
He looked up to see Shiori trying to talk and the nurse shushing her. Shiori grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and wrote something. She turned it around and underlined it twice.
But she’d written it in Japanese.
The accident had scrambled her brain.
Knox took a step closer to her. “I don’t read Japanese. English, please.”
She spun the pad around, frowned, and wrote something else and turned it.
IT’S RED PAINT. THE CANS I BOUGHT AT THE ART STORE EXPLODED UPON IMPACT.
“Thank god.” Then Knox was by her side, cupping her precious, precious face in his hands, pressing soft kisses everywhere he could reach. On her forehead, her hairline, the corners of her eyes, her cheeks, the tip of her nose and chin, along every inch of her jaw. And then finally, with infinite tenderness, he kissed her mouth. When she parted her lips to speak, he shook his head. “For the first time since I’ve known you, I can say keep your mouth shut and pass it off as a doctor’s order.”
Those beautiful golden eyes filled with tears.
“Nushi,” he whispered, “don’t. I died a thousand deaths today, not knowing if you were all right.”
She reached up, her hands mirroring his as she held his face.
They stayed like that for several long moments.
Then Knox remembered the nurse. When he turned around, he realized she’d snuck out. He looked at Shiori again. “I need to find out what they’re doing with you. I’ll be right back.”
Luckily, the nurse hadn’t gone far.
He smiled sheepishly at her. “Thanks for giving us a moment.”
“No problem.”
“What happens now? Can I take her home?”
“I don’t see why she’d need to stay here, but I’m not the doctor. I’ll see if I can get a doc to sign off on her. It might take me a bit, so be patient.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Shiori had slumped back into the pillow.
He scooted the lone chair closer and took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his mouth for a kiss. “I’m hoping to get you out of here soon.”
She nodded, then winced.
“Rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Knox watched her until her breathing slowed. Keeping hold of her hand, he rested his forehead on the edge of her bed. Relief like he’d never known finally swept through him. She was all right. Banged up and battered but here, right here, with him where she belonged.
Knox fished out both phones and started sending text messages. First to Deacon, then a brief explanation to the Black Arts crew. He used Shiori’s phone to text Tom, Fee, Katie and Molly. It was a damn good thing she used pictures to identify who was who, because all her contact names were in Japanese. His finger hovered over her mother’s picture. She had a right to know her daughter had been in an accident, but was it his place to tell her?
No.
He had the same hesitation over Ronin’s number. Sensei Black had been gone three months. In that time they’d heard f
rom him once, when he’d sent an e-mail indicating he and Amery were spending time in Hawaii before they returned home. So yeah, he’d skip contacting Ronin too.
Half an hour later a hacking cough woke him. He’d dozed off with his head on Shiori’s bed. He handed her a glass of water. “Here.”
Shiori drank it down, and Knox could tell she had trouble swallowing.
“Do you need a straw?”
She shook her head.
“Can I see your tongue?”
She shook her head vehemently.
“Come on, She-Cat. You always want to stick your tongue out at me. Here’s your chance.”
She turned her head away from him and a tear rolled down her cheek.
That hurt him worse than the time she’d accidentally stomped on his kidney. He leaned over her and swiped it away with his thumb. “It’s not morbid curiosity making me ask, kitten. I’ll be taking care of you while you recover, and I want to see the injury at its worst so I know when it’s healing.”
Shiori faced him and closed her eyes before she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue.
His gut clenched. Her tongue had swelled so much he wondered how she kept it in her mouth. Not only had she bitten it a few inches down from the tip with enough force that she had left deeply indented bloody teeth marks, but she’d also bitten the sides of her tongue with her back teeth, so that was swollen and bruised. When he noticed the blood underneath her chin and streaks on her neck, he imagined it’d bled like a son of a bitch.
She made a noise, and he looked up at her. Such mortification on her face.
Keeping his eyes connected to hers, he bent down and kissed her poor abused tongue. When he pulled back, he shrugged and said, “I expected worse.”
The door opened and a harried-looking woman in blue scrubs walked in with a clipboard. “I’m Dr. Ballard. I see you’ve requested to be discharged.”
Shiori nodded.
The doctor looked at Knox. “You’ll be taking care of her?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You know what signs to look for if she has complications from the concussion?”
Knox rattled them off with ease.
“Now, you know I’m going to ask how you’re so familiar with them,” Dr. Ballard said.
“Shiori and I are both jujitsu instructors, and we’ve seen more than our share of concussions over the years. She’s in good hands with me.”
“Sounds like it. As for the tongue injury, it didn’t require stitches, but if it doesn’t show healing even in the next twenty-four hours you’ll need to call an oral surgeon. She needs to keep an ice pack on her tongue at least fifteen minutes every hour. The less she talks, the less trauma to the tongue and the faster it heals. But between that and the concussion, I can prescribe painkillers—”
Shiori shook her head.
The doctor looked at Knox and he shrugged. “It’s a family thing. Her brother, our Sensei, has the same mind-set.”
“Over-the-counter meds?” the doctor asked Shiori.
She nodded.
“Motrin or Tylenol. No OTC with aspirin in it.” She took out a prescription pad and scrawled across it. “A cycle of antibiotics is nonnegotiable.” She handed it to Knox but spoke to Shiori. “You’ll be sore for a few days—nature of the beast with car accidents. Although if you practice martial arts you have a higher pain tolerance than most people. Biggest thing? You need to rest your body because you have been through a trauma.” She pointed at Knox. “Lucky you, having this handsome man at your beck and call. But I wouldn’t get used to it.”
Shiori choked, and Knox immediately handed her a glass of water.
Dr. Ballard smiled. “You’re officially discharged. I’ll send an orderly in with a wheelchair.” She eyed Shiori’s pants. “And something else to wear out of the hospital. I can tell that’s not blood, but the folks in the waiting room can’t.” She swept out of the room.
That’s when he realized he didn’t have a vehicle here to take her home. Classes had started at Black Arts, so none of them were available. He used Shiori’s phone and found the contact he wanted. The person who answered started the conversation by apologizing profusely. “Yes, I’ll relay your apologies and recovery wishes to Ms. Hirano. But right now we’re stranded at Denver Memorial General since she rode here in an ambulance.” He listened. “That would be great. Emergency exit in fifteen minutes. Thank you.” He hung up.
Shiori narrowed her eyes.
“What? They at least owe you a ride from here.”
She grabbed the notepad.
YOU ARE TAKING ME TO MY PLACE?
Knox shook his head. “You’ll stay with me.”
NO.
“Yes.” He got right in her stubborn face. “As your submissive, it is my right, my duty, and my honor to take care of my Mistress. My house is a better option.”
WHY?
“Because your penthouse is a damn fortress. Everyone from Black Arts will want to see if you’re okay. The security checks at your building would be exhausting. There are no grocery stores within five miles of your place.”
She sighed.
FINE.
Knox kissed her forehead. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE first night Shiori spent under Knox’s care had been a bit of a blur. She’d slept a lot. In Knox’s arms on the couch and then in his big bed.
When she woke the morning of the second day, she’d hobbled into his shower, surprised by how sore she felt—every bone in her body ached. Standing under the hot spray did wonders, though, and she felt a million times better. She wrapped a big bath sheet around her body and stopped in front of the sink.
Shiori hadn’t actually looked in a mirror since the accident. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. Her stomach roiled, and she made it to the toilet before she threw up. Twice. Once she was reasonably certain she was done hurling, she flushed and faced the mirror again.
Tentatively, she stuck her tongue out again and studied it with a critical eye. Damn lucky she hadn’t bitten it off, so she should be grateful. But it sucked not to talk. She couldn’t eat anything, and she had to ice it once an hour. She dumped a capful of mouthwash in her mouth and swished it around, squeezing her eyes shut against the zing of pain when the alcohol soaked the injuries. After a minute or so she spit it out, then put a dot of toothpaste on her toothbrush and gently cleaned her teeth.
Without any of her own clothes here, she raided Knox’s T-shirt and sweatpants drawer. She combed out her hair and ventured out of the bedroom to find Knox.
But the kitchen and the living room were eerily empty. She glanced out the front window but didn’t see his pickup.
Daytime TV held no appeal. She really hated being stranded in a strange place with nothing to do.
Sleep. You’re supposed to be resting.
Next she meandered through Knox’s living room, looking at the objects he’d chosen to display. A warm, sweet feeling bloomed in