I whispered, “Okay.” Even to my ears my voice sounded higher.
From a small, cooler on the nightstand, he lifted a sleek, pen-like device with the pride of someone showing off a new gadget. “Doc showed me how these work,” he explained, removing the cap. “They’re pre-loaded, and the needle’s smaller—should hurt a lot less.”I turned my face away as I lifted my shirt, tensing for the sting. He rested his free hand on my hip, steadying me. “Take a deep breath,” he murmured. I inhaled shakily. In one smooth motion, he pressed the pen to my skin. The pinch was so faint I almost missed it. “All done,” he announced, clicking the pen into a nearby sharps container.
“That’s it?” I blinked.
He grinned. “See? Better than wrestling with a syringe.”
"Much," I admitted, tugging the shirt back down. I’d always hated it and gotten myself so worked up I’d probably stabbed myself harder than I needed to.
He studied me for a moment, his expression softening. "How about a shower? I think it might help you feel more like yourself."
The idea of hot water sounded heavenly, but I hesitated. "I don't have any clean clothes."
"I ordered a few things for you last night after you fell asleep. Nothing fancy, just some basics, and they'll be here soon."
I should have felt uncomfortable about him buying me clothes, but all I felt was gratitude. "Thank you," I whispered. I was going to owe him so much money.
Walker helped me sit up slowly. My body felt weak, wrung out from the blood sugar roller coaster of the past few days, but I wasn't dizzy.
"Easy," he murmured, his arm strong around my waist. "Let's take it slow."
The bathroom attached to his bedroom was spacious and clean, with a large walk-in shower. Walker turned on the water, adjusting the temperature before turning back to me.
"Do you need...?" He hesitated, clearly trying to balance concern with respect for my privacy.
I wanted to say I could manage, but the way my legs trembled told a different story. "Maybe just...help me get started?" I suggested, my cheeks burning.
Walker nodded, all business now. He helped me to a small stool, then knelt to remove my socks. His touch was impersonal yet gentle as he supported my elbow while I stepped into the shower, still wearing his oversized t-shirt and my underwear.
"I'll leave a towel and clothes right here," he said, gesturing to the counter. "Call if you need anything. I'll be right outside."
The door closed with a soft click, and I let out a shaky breath. The warm water felt incredible against my skin, washing away days of sweat and fear. I peeled off the wet t-shirt and underwear, letting them fall to the shower floor as I tilted my face into the spray.
For a few moments, I just stood there, letting the water sluice over me. My mind wandered to Walker—his unexpected gentleness, the careful way he'd checked my blood sugar, how he hadn't pushed when I'd resisted his help before. He was nothing like the intimidating dungeon monitor I'd first met at Salvation. Or rather, he was that person, but so much more.
I used his shampoo, breathing in the cedar scent that I now associated with him, and his soap, which left my skin smelling faintly of sandalwood. It felt strangely intimate, using his things, washing away my scent and replacing it with his.
When I finally turned off the water, I felt more human than I had in days. I wrapped myself in the fluffy towel he'd left out and peered at the clothes on the counter. A soft gray t-shirt similar to the one I'd borrowed before, and a pair of sweatpants with a drawstring waist. Simple, practical clothes that would be comfortable.
I dressed slowly, my limbs still feeling like they were made of lead. The sweatpants were obviously too big, but the drawstring cinched tight enough to keep them on my hips. The t-shirt hung to mid-thigh, making me look even smaller than I was.
After drying my hair as best I could with the towel, I opened the bathroom door, releasing a cloud of steam. Walker was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me. His eyes softened when he saw me.
"Feel better?" he asked.
I nodded, suddenly shy. "Much. Thank you."
He stood, and I was struck again by how tall he was, how his presence seemed to fill the room without being threatening. "I’m hungry and you must be as well."
My stomach growled in response, and I blushed. "I guess that's a yes."
Walker smiled—a real smile that transformed his usually serious face—and gestured for me to follow him. I padded after him on bare feet, holding the banister carefully as we descended the stairs. The house felt different in daylight, warmer somehow, less intimidating.
The kitchen was modern and spotless, with granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Walker moved around the space with easy familiarity, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator while I settled onto a stool at the island.
"Doc left instructions about what would be good for your blood sugar," he explained, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Protein, complex carbs, limited sugar. How do omelets sound?"
"Perfect," I said, watching him whisk the eggs with the same focused precision he seemed to bring to everything. "You cook a lot?"
