He nodded once, then reached for the hem of her scrub top. “Lift your arms.”
She did, wincing as the movement pulled at her ribs. Ghost eased the top over her head, his gaze never lingering, never making her feel exposed. He helped her step out of the scrub pants next, then turned away while she removed her underwear and stepped into the shower.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.”
The water hit her skin, hot enough to sting, and Naomi closed her eyes. She braced one hand against the shower wall, the trembling in her limbs making it hard to stay upright. Every drop that ran down her back felt like a reminder of the rain during their escape. She tried to focus on the warmth instead, on the steam rising around her, on the clean cedar scent of Ghost’s soap as she scrubbed away the mud.
But the memories kept flashing behind her eyelids. The barn. The girls. The man’s voice.
Little Rabbit.
A sob caught in her throat, surprising her. She hadn’t cried since they found Mary Rose’s body all those years ago, and she’d sworn she never would again. Tears were useless. They didn’t change anything.
But now they came anyway, hot and silent, mixing with the shower spray. Her body shook with quiet sobs that sent pain lancing through her ribs, but she couldn’t stop.
“Fury.” Ghost’s voice sounded choked. “Jesus, you’re killing me.”
She stared up at him through the fog of steam, trying to make sense of his expression. He was blurry through her tears, a dark shape against the bathroom light, but she could feel the tension radiating from him. His fists were clenched at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.
“I’m—” She couldn’t finish. Another sob wrenched through her, and her knees finally gave out. She slid down the shower wall, the ceramic tile cold against her back.
Ghost moved instantly. He stepped into the shower fully clothed, boots and all. Water soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice or care as he gathered her to him.
“Tell me what you need,” he said against the top of her head, voice tight with something that might have been fear. “What can I do?”
He was already doing it.
She tightened her arms around him even though it hurt. “Just… don’t let go.”
“I won’t.” The words vibrated through his chest against her cheek. “I’ve got you.”
She leaned into him, letting his strength hold her up when her own had failed. The shower beat down on them both, the steam rising in clouds around their bodies. His shirt clung to the hard planes of his chest, and his jeans were sodden, but he didn’t move. Didn’t complain. Just held her while she shook apart.
Time stretched, elastic and strange. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—her naked and trembling, him fully clothed and steady as stone. Eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving her hollow and spent.
“Let’s get you dried off and into bed,” he murmured, reaching out to shut off the water.
Ghost wrapped a towel around her, the fabric soft and warm against her skin. His movements were gentle but efficient, like he was handling something valuable and breakable. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t fragile, that she wouldn’t shatter, but the lie stuck in her throat. Right now, she felt like one wrong move might crack her into a thousand pieces.
He guided her back to the bedroom, one arm around her waist supporting her weight. Her body ached with every step, but his presence anchored her. The trembling had subsided, but exhaustion dragged her down like concrete shoes.
“Can you sit for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.
She nodded and sank onto the edge of the bed. Ghost disappeared into the hallway, returning moments later with a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that would swallow her whole.
“These will be too big,” he said, “but they’re clean and the pants have a drawstring.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was raw from crying. From screaming at her captors. From the fear that had clawed its way up her throat and stayed there.
He hesitated, then turned his back while she dressed, giving her privacy she hadn’t expected but appreciated. The shirt smelled like him, like safety. She pulled it over her head, wincing as pain flared through her ribs.
“Done,” she managed.
Ghost turned back, his clothes still soaked and dripping onto the hardwood floor as he pulled back the covers on the bed. “In.”
She crawled in, her body so heavy with exhaustion she could barely lift her legs onto the mattress. The sheets were cool against her skin, and she shivered again, her teeth chattering audibly now.
“I’ll get another blanket,” Ghost said, already turning away.
