Now fully naked himself, he helps me step out of my boxers. His gaze drifts slowly over me, full of a mixture of heat and quiet awe that makes warmth creep across my skin.
He squeezes my hip gently. “Alright, blondie. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Under the hot spray, Troy takes his time washing me.
He runs a soapy washcloth along my skin, scrubbing carefully despite me arguing I can handle that part myself. Even when he cleans my dick, there’s nothing inherently sexual or teasing about it—just a strange tenderness, like he’s memorizing me, his eyes lingering on every inch of my body.
I lean back against his chest as he washes my hair. It’s awkward with the height difference, but I bend my knees while he rises onto his tiptoes. His fingers work gently through my hair, scraping against my scalp in slow circles while the citrus scent of the shampoo fills the steam between us.
It feels heavenly.
He helps me rinse it out, carding his hands through the strands until the last of the suds disappears down the drain.
Then he turns me around.
His gaze moves slowly over me again, but this time his expression softens. His lip wobbles slightly before he leans in and kisses me.
“I was so fucking scared,” he admits quietly over the rush of the water. “Seeing you like that… covered in blood…” His voice tightens. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”
“Me too,” I croak. “Thank you for finding me. If you and Luke hadn’t gone searching for me, I don’t know—” I stop myself, swallowing hard.
I don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t want to think about the possibility of Troy grieving me in painful secrecy—about dying without ever telling him how much I love him. Without telling others how much he means to me.
He nods in understanding, a shaky breath leaving him as he brushes wet strands of hair out of my eyes.
“I’ll always find you, Ash,” he promises softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of my nose. “Always.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ashton
Iwaketothescratch of a beard brushing against my bare shoulder blades. My eyes flutter open, and I realize I’m practically buried under Troy. At some point in the night, he must’ve curled himself around me, his face tucked into my back.
It’s ridiculous—I’m at least half a foot taller than him, and somehowI’mthe little spoon.
Not that I mind. It feels nice to be held.
With his strong arms wrapped around me, I inhale slowly, catching the faint scent of my soap still clinging to his tattooed skin from last night’s shower.
My casted arm is heavy in the sling, awkwardly pinned between me and the mattress. Troy stirs, then untangles himself, steady and careful so he doesn’t jostle me too much. He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head before slipping out of bed and disappearing down the hallway.
I hear the quiet patter of his footsteps, the soft gurgle of the coffee maker starting up.
A few minutes later, he returns with two steaming mugs and the pharmacy bag tucked under his arm. He sets one mug on my nightstand before climbing back into bed beside me.
Morning light spills through the windows, pale and golden, filling the room with that quiet, early-day stillness. Through the glass, the orchard stretches across the hills, rows of bare cherry trees cresting along the horizon like skeletal fingers. It’s quiet this time of year, like the trees are finally resting.
Troy sits propped against the headboard, sheets pooled at his waist, his inked chest bare. His mullet is a complete disaster, cowlicks sticking up in every direction.
Which, unfortunately for my sanity, is very hot.
“Managed to find the coffee supplies,” he says.
I rub my shoulder and squint against the light. “Mmrrph.”
He glances down at me, amused. “Was that ‘thank you’?”
I grumble something that might be a yes as he leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek.
