7. Hazel

Chapter Seven

HAZEL

I have never in my life been happier to see anyone as much as I am right now.

Even while I’m naked and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

I’ll deal with the embarrassment later, but for now, I just want to hug the shit out of Knox Riley and thank my lucky stars that this bear of a man has worse anxiety than I do.

“Hazel.” I watch him turn off the shower that’s shooting icicles at me, my eyes glued to him as he gets on the floor next to me. “Sweetheart?—”

“I can’t get up.” My belly dips and rolls, but I’m not sure if it’s from the term of endearment or the loss of blood oozing from the bump on the back of my head.

He nods, those dark chocolate eyes scanning every inch of my freezing flesh. “What happened? What hurts? Did you break anything?”

“No, nothing’s broken.” Except maybe the stability bar, possibly part of my skull, and my pride. “My leg locked up while I was taking a shower and I went down.”

“Hit your head when you landed?”

“Yes. I got myself into a recovery position, but I can’t get up. I’m kind of dizzy, I have no strength…”

Knox very carefully slips an arm under my throbbing head, the other under my knees, and before I can protest because of his shoulder, he has me wrapped in his warm embrace.

So warm.

He is so super warm I just want to burrow into his chest, I want to climb inside him and stay there forever.

Knox looks around. “Towels?”

“Under the sink.”

Without letting go of me, he grabs the whole stack, manages to spread one out on the counter, then sits me on it before draping one over my lap, and another around my shoulders.

“Blanket?” he grunts, his eyes lingering on my scar.

“The couch.”

Knox looks me in the eye, gives me a soft yet very worried smile, then walks out of the bathroom quickly.

Ugh .

This was not at all how I planned on spending my day.

And it’s not how I wanted my dream guy to see me naked for the first time if he ever decided he wanted to.

Knox Riley, the asshole that lit into me over the possibility of scamming my clients, is my dream guy?

Why yes, yes, he is.

But he was a jerkface jackass.

Yep, and not only was that not the real Knox the day we met, but it’s also not the Knox I’ve slowly been falling in love with for almost five years.

Gasp, shock.

Again, yes.

I know with almost 100% certainty that Knox Riley is none other than Fight4It82, my online bestie who has been my biggest support and even bigger crush since my nona died.

But Hazel, how do you know? How can you be sure since you’ve never asked him?

I’m just that good.

Okay, so I’m really not, but I can do basic math and when I put two and two together, it was more than obvious.

Knox talks the way my online BFF does. Grunty, one word answers a lot of the time, partial sentences, vague stuff that gives me just enough information to want more. He’s a little abrasive, a lot blunt but also very thoughtful and more interested in what I have to say than saying anything himself.

It could just be a coincidence.

Maybe, but it’s not.

Too many other things line up.

Like when Knox and Fight4It82 lost their fathers, both about five years ago. Or the fact that 82 is part of my friend’s handle and that happens to be Knox’s favorite number. And Fight4It? I mean, come on, Knox is a fighter, and my internet friend is an athlete. When I really started to piece things together, I was able to see that the chunks of time I went without talking to him lined up with various fights or CFA related things in Knox’s life. Sleuth work I was able to do while reviewing hours of footage on the heavyweight.

Then there are the more subtle things, the things I haven’t really been told but pick up on from both men.

Knox always wears green shoes. Nikes, Vans, Pumas. Even the one time he almost drove me to a foot fetish when he wore green flip flops and showed off his super sexy man feet. But they are always green and that’s my online bestie's favorite color.

Also, it should be illegal for a man to have feet as nice as Knox, especially when they’re basically a lethal weapon.

Out of six sessions, Knox has worn a different Pearl Jam shirt to four of them, and his playlist for those sessions includes them as well as several other bands from the same genre, one I know for a fact Fight4It82 likes as well.

Then there’s other stuff, like the anxiety they both have. It’s obvious to me, I can feel it from both of them without words to confirm it, words I’ll never get because neither of them ever lets on exactly how bad things really are.

They both have OCD, a mild form most likely brought on by the anxiety, and it pisses them off in the same way. Knox washes his hands no less than twice, has to make sure his shoes are lined up perfectly parallel and perpendicular to the wall, laces tucked inside the opening and he’ll even go as far as to stop what we’re doing to fix them or certain other things around the clinic before we can move on.

When I do cupping therapy—something Knox was resistant to at first—I have to use an even number of glass cups or else he won’t let me do it, and I have to do everything to both sides of his body so he feels balanced or else he becomes an anxious mess.

My online BFF is much the same. He’s almost constantly complaining about how hard it is for him to even get out the door some days because his rituals keep him from doing so, then make him so mad he just says fuck it and stays home. Light switches, locks, doors, windows, things out of place or cluttered. All that makes it hard for Fight4It82 to leave his house most days and since Linda said Knox rarely does, I’ve basically confirmed the two men are the same person.

While I’m elated to the point of giddy over finally putting a face—a super sexy, gorgeous face—to my online only friend, I have no intention of revealing myself to him, not as SunshineInMySoul.

For starters, I think it’ll be counterproductive.

Knox obviously needs what I offer him in both worlds—the support, the unconditional and secret love online, as well as the physical healing and human contact in real life. If he knew I was Sunshine, I doubt Knox would continue talking to either of us, and he needs both for a million reasons.

Secondly, Fight4It82 has alluded to feeling things for Sunshine, things that go beyond friendship. He hasn’t said so directly, but he’s been very complimentary and more thoughtful than normal, and he quit referring to what we have as a friendship in favor of a relationship . Learning that I’m that girl, his sunshine , would probably be the biggest disappointment Knox has had since he lost his retirement fight.

I still haven’t snooped, but while I was researching his career, I found several clips after his victories where Knox was shown hugging and occasionally kissing a very attractive redhead with gigantic tits and the body of a supermodel. I refuse to look up who she is, what their story was, or why she disappeared around the same time Knox’s father passed, but I’m not stupid. She obviously meant something to him to be there for the better part of two years, and my jealousy and negative self-image aside, I am definitely not Knox Riley’s type.

I’m five-three, maybe 115 pounds on a good day, built like my dad’s family, which means I’m pale and more athletic than anything, and my boobs are basically mosquito bites masquerading as B cups.

I’m not tan or curvy, not tall or elegant. If I didn’t wear makeup and decided to cut all my hair off, there’s a pretty good chance most people would think I was a little boy.

That redhead oozed sex appeal, and I’m a thirty-five-year-old virgin.

Yep. I’m sex deprived because I’ve never had any, and I’m sure Knox would shit a brick, then run for the hills if he ever found that out.

It isn’t for lack of trying, though, not even because I’m doing something noble, like saving myself for marriage. Nope. I’ve even joined all the hookup apps pretending to be dating services just to get my v-card out of the way. Turns out, you need to be less awkward and weird, preferably not have a nasty scar that runs the entire length of your left leg, and be sexier and more confident in order to get people to sleep with you.

Who woulda thought?

So yeah, I have no intention of telling Knox who I am to him outside my clinic because I can’t handle the rejection, and his needs are more important, anyway. I want him to get healthy and back in the octagon way more than I want to give him my heart or ride him like a pony.

“I unplugged your heating blanket.” The man himself grunts as he walks back into the bathroom with probably every blanket I own, including the electric one. “You’re almost blue.”

I look down at my hands and frown. I’m not really blue, just more of a pastier white tinged with a dark fuchsia. I’m fine.

Without asking, Knox uses the towel around my shoulders to dry off my upper body, his touch so gentle I could cry. He even squeezes the excess water from my hair before he drops the towel on the floor, then wraps me in my fleece donut blanket first before the electric one.

“Mmhmm.” I sigh once the heat hits my body. “So good.”

Knox’s eyes flick to mine briefly. He clears his throat but moves to my legs and starts drying those too.

Yep.

Totally not his type.

I’m naked as the day I was born and Knox is taking care of me without even a hint of interest in anything other than my well-being. Sure, I’m bleeding and pruny, a little discolored and a lot loopy, but any red-blooded man who isn’t a doctor typically responds to a naked woman in some way, and since Knox is acting even more clinical than my OB, obviously I don’t do it for him at all.

“What happened, Haze?”

Gah . Another nickname.

No one gives me nicknames.

Only Knox.

I’m sure Haze is just the female equivalent of champ or bud, though, so I’ll just swoon in total blissful ignorance.

“Hazel?” He wraps my fleece cookie blanket around my legs, tucks it under my thighs then adds my fleece cupcake blanket—yes, most of my linens are baked goods—but wraps it higher so it’s around my natural waist.

And his fingers are like magic against my skin, the simplest caress like raw electricity. If he keeps touching me, I probably won’t even need all the blankets for warmth.

“Shit,” Knox grunts as he pulls the blankets tighter, then cups my cheeks and searches my eyes. “Hazel, baby, talk to me.”

“Hmm?” I blink up at him slowly and I can feel the stupid grin on my face when I do. “Talk about what?”

“What happened to you. Tell me why you were on the floor.”

Oh . “Didn’t I do that?”

“No sweetheart, you didn’t.” Now he’s checking me for a concussion, but he doesn’t need to. I have one, I can tell. Not the first time since I’m clumsy as shit, and it won’t be the last for the same reason. “Did you slip?”

“No, Knoxy. I did not slip.” Then I frown. “Not at first.”

“Why were you in the shower? I thought you had an appointment with Willis?”

“He canceled. Had a day date. Coming on Monday instead.”

Knox pulls my head to his chest, plants my forehead right over his thundering heart, and then his fingers are in my hair. “Then what happened?”

“I...” Wow he smells good . Knox always smells good, so good. Like the ocean and fabric softener and spicy honey, which is not a thing, but that’s how Knox Riley smells. “Your middle name is Liam, right?”

“Focus, Hazel.”

I’m pretty sure it is, but either way, it will be now because I need his middle name to emphasize how amazing he smells. Knox Liam Riley smells like home .

“Sweetheart, what happened after Willis canceled?”

“I went for a quick run.”

“Then what?”

“My leg started to hurt. It’s supposed to rain. I decided to do acupuncture to help.”

“Shit,” Knox grunts into my hair. “You’re gonna need stitches, baby.”

I roll my eyes against his ginormous pecs. “It’s fine.”

“It’s really not.”

“You wanna know what happened or not?”

He sighs as he stops digging through my hair. “Tell me.”

“So, I poked my leg a bunch and thought it was better, but I smelled like I went for a run and I didn’t want to be stinky for our session. That’s when I got in the shower.” I take another huge whiff of Knox. “I definitely don’t smell like you.”

“Hazel.”

“Right.” I rub my nose against him, push my face into his chest and talk to his fabulous pectorals. “As you saw, I have a big ass scar on my leg and it’s from many surgeries to repair it after the accident. My limp is almost imper-noticeable because it’s my job to fix things like that, but sometimes it gets bad and locks up on me.”

One hand starts rubbing my back while the other disappears. “And that’s what happened in the shower? Your leg locked up and you fell? Did you lose consciousness?”

“No! Where’d your hand go?!” I basically yell as I melt further into his solid chest. “Is it gone? Oh my god we need a doctor.”

“I’m calling 9-1-1, baby. You’re clearly concussed, and you need stitches.”

“No!” I shriek, jolt upright and try to meet his eyes, but there’s three of Knox and I don’t know which one to glare at. “You cannot call 9-1-1. Having an ambulance roll up to my clinic will be even worse for my failing business, and how dare you not tell me you’re a triplet.”

Three Knoxs frown before they blur into one sexy man. “Then I’ll take you to the emergency room.”

I try to shake my head, but it makes everything tilt. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Right.”

“Right?”

“Right. Wrong.”

“Jesus.”

“He can’t help us right now.”

Knox blows out a frustrated breath. “Hazel. Your head is bleeding from a golf ball sized lump, you’ve lost a lot of blood, and you have a concussion. You need medical attention right now.”

“I’m a doctor.” I straighten my spine. “I can fix me.”

He smiles, the pretty one he rarely uses. “While I believe you are a very talented and capable doctor, I somehow think even you can’t stitch up the back of your own head.”

“Then prepare to be dazzled.”

Knox chuckles and shakes his head. “If you won’t let me call for help or take you to hospital, at least let me have a friend of mine check you out. He’s a paramedic and does a lot of off shift work for me and my team.”

“I don’t like blind dates.”

“Oh my god... Hazel, I’m not setting you up with anyone.”

“Then why do you want him to check me out?”

Knox grips the side of my neck and smooths his thumb over my once again goosebump covered skin. “Not. Like. That. Lance is a paramedic and can assess your injury; he’ll get you fixed up. He won’t make a scene, he can bring his kit and wear street clothes, and he’ll make sure I don’t need to have you admitted.”

“Committed.”

“That too.” Knox smirks and I giggle because he’s sneaky funny. “Now just relax and let me take care of you for a change.”

And because I’m getting dizzier by the second, I do.

Lance, Knox’s very attractive and also very not-into-women paramedic friend arrives ten minutes after he calls, stitches me up and gives my big old bear of a nurse instructions we are both very familiar with. He also places a hard emphasis on making sure someone is always watching me for the next couple of days, but says I don’t need to go to the hospital.

“Where are your pajamas?” Knox holds out a glass of water and the Advil Lance said I could take—my blood still all over his arms and chest.

I swallow down the pills and arch a brow. “I don’t think I have anything in your size.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not for me, Haze. I’ll change after my shower. You, on the other hand, can’t exactly spend the rest of the day wrapped in nothing but food blankets after freezing your ass off on the floor for almost an hour.”

Convinced the sight of my naked self makes him sick and that’s the actual reason he wants me to get dressed, I stare at my knees through the cupcake. “There are drawers under my bed. Right side has my pajamas and underwear. Probably should grab heavy ones. Maybe a thick pair of socks, too.” Or he could run out and pick up a nun’s habit for me, so the only things showing are my hands and face. Which probably also disgust him.

I sigh as Knox disappears, a sadness creeping in through my physical pain and discomfort.

I kind of wish I hadn’t figured out Knox and Fight4It82 are the same person.

I knew Knox was off the table from the start and not because he was a jerk. He’s too pretty for me, too successful and wonderful. He needs someone who wouldn’t embarrass him at every turn, who could handle being with a two-time MMA title holder and everything that comes with it. Between watching him get knocked around and bloodied up, and all the women that would throw themselves at him, I could never be with Knox. It’s a joke to think otherwise even if he was interested, which he is not.

As for my online bestie? I always secretly hoped we’d become something more, that the brooding and grunty macho man would want to be more than friends and we’d work our way to meeting in person then figuring out the rest if there was chemistry. I really didn’t even care how he looked because I fell for him without that, without his name or face, I just wanted him and now that won’t happen either.

All it took was one week to crush both of my fantasies like a tin can in a trash compactor.

“You think you can stand?” Knox says as he comes back holding my University of Florida sweatshirt, green flannel pants and gray knit socks.

I nod as I brace my hands on the counter. “Yeah. I can lean for support if I have to, but I’ll be fine.”

“Slow down, sweetheart,” Knox says, stopping me before I hop off the counter. “You heard Lance, no strenuous activity for at least a couple days.”

“Getting down and dressing myself is hardly strenuous, Mr. Riley.” He probably just doesn’t want to risk seeing me naked again. He most likely wants to get the hell out of here.

Knox grins and shakes his head. “I thought I finally broke you of that.”

“What?”

“Calling me Mr. Riley.”

I open my mouth to argue, to tell him despite our current situation things should be professional, but end up inhaling so hard you can actually hear it because of what he does.

With a gentleness I won’t ever get used to from a bear like him, Knox slides both blankets from my shoulders and drops them on the floor with the rest of my blood covered linens. His eyes dip briefly, barely glancing at my breasts, but I saw it, felt it , and that’s a big part of the reason my nipples are puckered so tight they almost hurt. That and I’m still cold, but whatever, Knox looked at my boobs and I’m okay with it. Even if it was only to make sure I actually have them.

Plus, there’s no reason to hide at this point. When someone walks in to find you naked and bleeding on the floor, modesty and shyness kind of fly out the window.

“I... you can go if you need to... I can...”

Knox pulls my sweatshirt over my head, making sure he doesn’t snag my hair or touch my stitched bump. “I told you to relax and let me take care of you, Hazel. Just let me do that.”

I force a smile and fight my tears.

This is too much.

Between the fall and the pain, my leg, the stitches and now dealing with sweet, sensitive, caring Knox while knowing he’s my online bestie? It’s just too fucking much.

Oh, but then, then he crouches down in front of me, pushes the blankets up to my knees and slides a pair of my favorite panties, the lacy blue boy shorts with tiny silk cats on them, up my legs, does the same with my pajama pants then carefully covers my icy feet with the knit socks.

He removes the blankets from my lap and adds them to the pile. “Hang onto your bottoms while I stand you up.”

“I can?—”

“No use arguing with me, Haze. I’m helping whether you like it or not.”

So, I do what he says, grab the top of my panties and pjs, then hold on as Knox wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me against him and slides me off the counter. He holds on while I get my bottoms up, something I’m super grateful for because my leg is still very weak, and when he notices, Knox just picks me up and carries me out of the bathroom.

“Your shoulder,” I hiss as he heads toward my bed. “I can walk, and you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Hardly.” He turns down the bed before he settles me against my pillows. “You’re light as a feather, sweetheart, and I felt how your knee buckled.”

Instead of arguing—something that hasn’t changed even though I know who he is and how he’s toned down since our very first tango—because we still do that, I nod. “Thanks. For everything.”

Knox sets my phone, remote and more OTC pain meds on my nightstand, and refills my water. “You have any more appointments scheduled for today?”

I check the clock, realizing it’s almost three. “Just Linda in an hour and a half.”

“What about this weekend?”

I shake my head, and smile as Boris and Princess Glitter Butt jump up on the bed. “Not this weekend.”

“Good. I’ll handle Ma. You feel like you can eat?”

My stomach churns. “Not now. I’ll make soup or something later.”

“You need anything else?”

“No.” Nothing except for you to stop being so damn sweet to me . Things are bad enough without that. “Thanks again, Mr. Riley. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

He smirks as he pulls out his keys. “Then you can try later over dinner.”

I frown.

What is he talking about?

Maybe he wants me to text him when I try to eat. Yeah, that’s probably it. Knox just wants to be sure I get some food at some point since I’m taking a rotation of pain meds.

“You still a fan of traditional Irish stew?”

It’s my favorite. My dad was half Irish, made it when I was sick as a little kid and my mom continued to make it after he couldn’t, but I don’t remember telling Knox that. “Yes...”

He nods, heading toward my door. “Then that’s dinner.”

“I definitely will not be up to making more than a can of Campbell’s, but thanks, asshole, for?—”

“Hazel.” He grins from the doorway. “I’m ordering the ingredients, having them along with a ton of other things you need delivered while I get my bag from the car. Then, after a quick shower, I’ll make the Irish stew.”

“What? What are you talking about? Don’t you have to go home or something?”

“Nope.”

If I frowned any harder, I’d be able to lick my eyebrows.

“Didn’t you hear Lance? You always need someone with you for the next couple of days and who better to do that than a guy who has had his fair share of concussions and stitches? I’m practically a doctor myself.”

It takes a minute, but I end up giggling really hard over that. “Knox, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. I’m an actual doctor. I know how I should be feeling and what to do if I don’t feel that way. I don’t want to put you out.”

Another of his rare and beautiful smiles pulls at his perfect lips. “You’re not, Sunny. I’m gonna take care of you, make sure you’re taking it easy and doing what you’re supposed to do, and there’s no use in arguing. You’ve said it and so has Ma, I’m as stubborn as an ox and a jackass to boot. I’m not going anywhere until I’m convinced you don’t need me.”

He disappears, as usual, without another word, and that’s when what he called me hits.

Shit. Shitty shit.

Knox called me Sunny .

Shit .

He knows.