60. Chapter 60

Alex stopped noticing years ago when her knuckles were sore, when her knuckles were bruised, when her knuckles had broken skin and tender bones from their impact on someone else’s jaw.

Alex stopped noticing because she had to, because if she noticed, she wouldn’t quite be made of the iron that she was.

But Maggie? Maggie noticed.

Even – maybe especially – on the nights when Alex would come home, grab a beer, and just sit, just flick on the television and toss a blanket over her and Maggie and just be, Maggie would glance sideways at her hands, at her jaw, watch her carefully when she took off her shirt.

Monitoring for fresh bruises, fresh scrapes, fresh pains that Alex wouldn’t talk about, that Alex wouldn’t acknowledge.

But Maggie? Maggie would.

“Oh babe, you hurt your hand beating down that Cadmus agent, didn’t you?”

“What? No, it’s fine, just a little swollen I guess – “

“Come here, let me kiss it better.”

“You don’t have t – oh. Oh. Okay.”

Every knuckle. Every scrape. Every fingertip and every bruise, Maggie would press her lips to, gently, tenderly, carefully.

Every knuckle, every scrape, every fingertip and every bruise, Alex would inhale slowly, exhale slowly, eyes not leaving Maggie’s face, as tension that she didn’t even know she was keeping in her body would leave her like a cloud of dissipating fog.

“That feel better, babygirl?” Maggie would ask, every time, and every time Alex would melt. Every time, Alex’s eyes would sting. Every time, Alex would shift, would come closer, would offer more of her body to Maggie’s attentive eyes, gentle hands, soft lips.

Every time, Alex would heal.