Chapter 111: Quiet Morning

NORA’S POV

Soft morning sunlight peeked through the horizontal slats of the bedroom blinds.

I woke up slowly, feeling the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Knox’s chest beneath my cheek.

His good right arm was still draped securely over my waist, anchoring me against his side. His left shoulder was carefully propped up on a spare pillow, keeping the pressure off the swollen bruise.

I lifted my head slightly, studying his face in the quiet morning light.

His dark hair was completely rumpled, falling across his forehead. He looked younger like this, peaceful and relaxed, though the faint shadow of a bruise along his jaw was a vivid reminder of last night’s collision.

Knox stirred, his eyelashes fluttering before his eyes slowly opened.

He blinked against the light, his gaze finding mine. A low, raspy rumble vibrated in his chest. "Morning, Bookworm," he murmured in a deep and rough morning voice.

"Morning," I whispered, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes. "How’s your head? On a scale of one to ten?"

Knox paused, testing his symptoms. "A four. Better than last night. Still feels like a bass drum beating behind my eyes, though."

"And the shoulder?"

"Feels like a bag of wet cement," he grunted, shifting slightly and wincing.

I smiled softly, keeping my hand flat against his warm chest. "The doctor said you need at least forty-eight hours of rest. So don’t try to be a hero today."

Knox’s arm tightened around my waist, tugging me an inch closer. "I don’t need to be a hero," he said, a quiet smirk touching his mouth. "I have a personal nurse."

"Don’t get used to it, Sheridan."

"Too late," he murmured, leaning in to press a gentle, warm kiss against my lips.

Before I could kiss him back, his phone on the wooden nightstand buzzed loudly, vibrating against the tabletop.

BZZZ. BZZZ. BZZZ.

Knox winced, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his head into his pillow.

"Turn that damn thing off," he groaned.

I reached across his chest, grabbed the phone from the nightstand, and flipped it face-down on my side.

"Doc Campbell said strict concussion protocol," I told him firmly. "No screens, no bright lights. Which means I am your official gatekeeper today."

"Fine by me," Knox muttered, keeping his eyes closed against the daylight. "Who’s blowing it up?"

I tapped the screen to check the lock notifications.

"You have six texts from Coach Brennan," I said, scrolling through the previews.

Knox opened one eye. "What does Brennan say?"

"He says the league office already opened a formal hearing on Colin Oliver for intent to injure. Oliver is looking at a minimum three-game suspension."

"Good," Knox grunted. "Bastard deserves five."

"And," I continued, reading the next line, "Brennan says the scouts from Chicago and Montreal called him after the game."

Knox went completely still. He slowly opened both eyes, looking straight at me. "What did they say?" his voice sounded suddenly sharp despite the headache.

"Brennan’s exact words: ’They loved your composure under fire. Said your defensive reads were NHL-ready and the breakout pass before the hit showed elite spatial IQ. Get some rest, Captain. You did your job.’"

A slow, proud smirk spread across Knox’s face. He let out a long breath, resting his head back against the pillow.

"Told you the hit was worth it," he murmured.

"Don’t start," I scolded, setting the phone down. "A concussion is never ’worth it,’ Sheridan. You’re still benched."

Before he could answer, two soft, unusually quiet knocks sounded against the bedroom door.

Knox frowned slightly. "Who is that?"

Usually, the guys in the SinBin kicked doors open or yelled down the hall. I slid out from under the duvet, slipped into my sweater, and walked over to the door.

I pulled it open a few inches.

Standing in the hallway was Bear, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and sweatpants. He was holding a fresh ziplock bag of crushed ice wrapped in a dish towel, along with a steaming ceramic mug of black coffee.

Behind him stood Jake, holding Knox’s composite hockey stick, which he had clearly brought back from the rink last night.

Both of them froze when they saw me.

There was no laughing, no teasing, and no stupid locker-room smirks. Bear looked genuinely stressed, his rough features drawn with concern.

"Hey, Nora," Bear whispered, keeping his voice carefully low. "Is the cap awake? How’s his head?"

"He’s awake," I said softly, stepping back to open the door wider. "He has a headache, but he’s doing okay."

Jake leaned his head into the room, setting Knox’s stick carefully against the wall by the dresser. "Hey, Knox... Brought your stick back from the equipment room."

Knox propped himself up slightly with his good arm, nodding toward the younger forward. "Appreciate it, Jake. Great shot on that game-winner."

"Couldn’t have done it without you, Cap," Jake said earnestly. "Oliver is a piece of trash. Bear caught him with two good rights before the linesman tackled him."

"Three rights," Bear corrected quietly, stepping into the room.

Bear walked over to the nightstand and handed me the fresh ice pack, setting the coffee mug down next to Knox’s water glass.

Then Bear turned to me. The giant defenseman looked me dead in the eye, his expression completely sincere.

"Thanks for staying with him, Nora," his voice was surprisingly gentle for a guy who spent his weekends breaking collarbones. "When he didn’t move on the ice last night... we all thought he broke his damn neck. Seriously. Thanks for taking care of our boy."

My chest warmed with an unexpected wave of emotion.

These guys weren’t just loud, chaotic hockey players living in a messy house. They were a family, and they looked out for Knox just as fiercely as he looked out for them.

"Of course," I said softly. "He’s in good hands."

Bear nodded, looking back at Knox. "We’re making a massive stack of pancakes, eggs, and bacon downstairs. You want me to bring a plate up for you two?"

"Yeah," Knox said. "Bring two plates. And don’t burn the bacon, Kowalski." ℴℴ𝘮

"I never burn the bacon," Bear grunted, turning toward the doorway.

Before Bear walked out, he paused in the threshold, looking between Knox and me standing beside the bed. A small, genuine grin tugged at the corner of Bear’s mouth.

"So... does this mean we’re gonna be seeing you around the house more often, Nora?" Bear asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Knox beat me to it.

"Get used to it, Bear," Knox said with a calm voice full of quiet authority. "She’s my girlfriend."

Jake’s face lit up with a massive grin. "Of course."

Bear chuckled, giving Knox a two-finger salute. "Heard you loud and clear, Cap. Breakfast in ten."

Bear pulled the door shut behind them, leaving the bedroom in peaceful silence once again.

I turned back toward the bed, my face warm and my heart doing that familiar, frantic flutter.

Knox was watching me with a crooked, satisfied smirk, holding out his good right arm. "What?" he asked innocently. "Did I say something wrong, girlfriend?"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the wide smile taking over my face as I walked back over and slipped under the blankets beside him.

"Not a single thing, Sheridan," I whispered, resting my head against his chest. "Not a single thing."