The second I grasp it, he pushes me back into my room and closes the door behind him.
I suck in a sharp breath and stumble away.
All he does is flick my light on.
“Look at it,” he says, lifting his chin toward my hand.
It’s… a folded knife.
When I glance back up, he’s right in front of me. His hand covers mine, showing me how to flip it open with one hand.
“It’s a pocketknife,” he says. “Usually for work, but… handy for self-defense if you need something small and light.”
I shake my head. “A knife? What do you want me to do, stab someone with it?”
He grins. “If you have to. But most women prefer slicing.”
My eyes are the size of dinner plates, I’m sure.
“I know how it feels to be helpless,” he says. “All too often, some asshole thinks I’m one of the rich ones. But I’m usually walking home because my car broke down and my parents work late. Defending myself became a priority.”
“You got mugged?”
“A few times.” He shrugs. “Anyway. Someone comes at you from the front?” He steps in front of me, jostling me back.
This is so not what I expected… a middle-of-the-night self-defense lesson.
“Fight back, Margo,” he says. He taps vulnerable spots on his body. “When in doubt, go for the eyes.”
I rear back. “Stab them in the eyes? Are you insane?”
“Knife or thumbs.” He winks. “Arteries. The inside of the elbow or thigh, the neck. Soft points like just under the chin or the eyes… And if someone grabs you from behind, slash the fuck out of their arms. Scratch them. Don’t hold back.”
“I have just been in a car accident.”
He steps back, his face softening for a moment. “I know.”
“My head—”
“I know.”
“Was it Matt?” I ask, blinking back tears. “Did you bring Matt here for Caleb?”
“You know as well as I do that you don’t want to know.”
I straighten. How dare he tell me what I do and don’t want to know.
And you know what? I’m kind of sick of everyone dictating—and limiting—the information I get told.
“You should leave.” It’s either that or swear at him, and that wouldn’t be very nice after the lesson he just gave me.
He nods.
I try to give him back the knife, but he raises his hands in surrender.
“It’s yours, Wolfe. Keep it and do great things.” He goes to leave, turning off the light before opening my door. “Great and terrible things.”
I’m immobile in the center of my room long after he goes, contemplating his words. Tomorrow is a big day. I’m meeting with Angela, who is going to take me to see Robert. And I have my first appointment with the new therapist. After that, someone will bring me homework, and I’ll attempt to concentrate without getting a headache.