“Here,” he murmured softly as I sank down into warm water and bubbles. “There is pillow behind you.”
I reached back and felt the shape—a sort of velvety texture, inflated and missing the rough edges of those cheap ones I usually bought online. Sinking back, I groaned as the heat immediately began to work its way under my skin and into my muscles, and I stretched out just as Vanya put his own feet in.
“Uh…”
“I won’t touch. Promise,” he said as he settled beside me.
That was a lie, of course. His calf pressed againstmy thigh, foot tapping my hip as he settled opposite me. It wasn’t actually where I wanted him, but I wasn’t brave enough to say that.
Not right then.
“Is temperature okay?”
“Perfect,” I said as I sank down a little lower. The water lapped at my shoulders, and the aches from the game began to fade into something a little less unpleasant. “How bruised do I look?”
He snorted. “Not as bad as me. I take stick right between the pads near my ribs. Alexio punch that guy for me.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Shit. Who was it?”
“Some rookie. Don’t know him yet. Good player though. Very fast. He might not like me a lot after today though.”
“Because of the punching?”
Vanya laughed. “No. I was on mic. Media team say they release audio next week for some promo. If he hears it, I was…not very nice.”
“He’ll get over it. It’s fuckin’ hockey.”
Vanya laughed again and gently nudged me with his foot. “Yes. Is fucking hockey.”
Unthinking, I grabbed his ankle and pulled until his foot was hovering over my stomach, and then I began to rub my thumbs along his arch. He moaned loudly, obscene in the echoing bathroom as he shifted lower.
“What is for? The…massage,” he said like he was losing his words.
I rubbed him harder, enjoying the way he wasmelting under me. I hadn’t gotten to do this before. It was always him making me go lax and boneless. Always him making me feel safe and held.
I liked it that way. But I wanted to give a little too.
“It’s a thank-you. For tonight. I’m sorry I fell apart. I didn’t think I?—”
“Micah. No.” His tone was firm enough it startled me. “No. I know you’re Canadian, sorry for everything. But not this, okay? Not for bad guy hurting you, not for him breaking into your home and moving things. He was wrong. Very, very wrong.” Vanya sounded shattered. He went silent and still, then pulled his foot out of my grasp and slid up alongside me.
His hand took my cheek, softened by the water, making his calluses stand out even more. His thumb ran over my jaw, and the exhale I let go of trembled.
“Micah,” he said again. “He must know how badly what he did would hurt you.”
He knew. It was obvious Hunter knew how much that kind of thing would ruin me. How it would take me out at the knees. How cruel and indefensible something like that was.
Just moving my furniture even an inch was unforgivable. But moving it all, changing my fridge and cupboards—he knew what that would do to me.
“I want to kill him,” Vanya murmured.
“Once again, you’re not going to become a murderer because of me,” I fired back.
He sighed and leaned in, forehead touching mine. “How can I help tonight?”
“This is good.” That wasn’t a lie. This was very, very good. Not just the bath or the Epsom salts that were helping the ache in my muscles, but his presence, which was soothing the frayed parts of me deep under my skin.
And the fact that he did it all without thinking I was weak or pathetic.
