Alex leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, blood still smeared across his knuckles. His eyes burn with absolute certainty. “That’ll never bloody happen.”

Ty holds his gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he turns back to me. “Until we meet again, Mags.”

Chapter 27

Magnolia Steel

The door clicks shut with a finality that echoes through the apartment. I press my forehead against the cool wood for half a second before turning back to the man still sitting bloodied on my floor.

Alex leans back against the couch, his broad chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths. He keeps his hands braced on his thighs, fists still clenched. His knuckles are raw, his lip split, and there’s a deep, angry cut just above his eye.

I go to him, lowering myself to the floor. Neither of us speaks for a long moment, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on us. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we haven’t said.

“I was afraid you were going to kill him.”

Alex drops his head back against the couch. “Can’t say I wasn’t afraid of that myself. I’m still thinking about it.”

Who could blame him?

I lift his hand, running my thumb along his knuckles. He watches me, saying nothing, but his body tenses at my touch. His hands look rough—split skin, smeared blood, swelling already forming.

“You need to be cleaned up.” I push to my feet. “I’ll be right back.”

And for the first time since he walked back through my door tonight, I feel like I can take care of him. Make him feel better.

I return with antiseptic and cotton balls, kneeling before him without a word. Antiseptic seeps into the raw cuts across his knuckles, turning the deep scrapes an angry red. Not a flinch. Not a single sound. Just the steady weight of his gaze locked onto my face.

The silence stretches as I clean the wounds and wrap his knuckles. He lets me. No protests, no stubborn remarks.

The cut above his brow is bad. Blood trickles from the deep gash, trailing toward his temple. I reach for another cotton ball, dabbing at it with a softer touch.

“This one’s deep. I think it needs stitches.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“With all due respect, you’re not the one looking at it right now.” I press the gauze and hold pressure to stop the bloody ooze. “It’ll scar if you don’t get it stitched.”

The corner of his mouth twitches—almost amused. “I like scars.”

A quiet sigh slips from my lips, but I don’t argue. “At least let me cover it with something that’ll keep the cut pulled together. It’s bleeding everywhere.”

He nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”