“No…can, can you help,please?” he groans as heleans forward.
I nibble my lip, spinning my thumb and pointer finger around in an endless loop. “Yeah, of course. Can you sit up a little so I can pull them to your knees? You can brace your hand on my shoulder if you need.” He does as I say, hissing through the pain, but he gets up enough so I can yank his jeans past his hips before lowering him back down.
“T-thanks,” he stutters, pushing them down the rest of the way before stepping out of them. He’s left only in his black boxer briefs that hug his thick thighs. They are stained with blood, but it’s nothing that can’t be washed out in the shower.
I leave him sitting on the toilet while I turn the shower on, putting my hand under the running water until it’s the right temperature. It’s a large walk-in shower with double heads on opposite walls.
“Okay, I’ll be right outside this door if you need anything.” I walk by him, and he snatches my hand before I can leave.
His bloodshot eyes find mine, and I wait for whatever’s about to come out of his mouth. “Thank you, Maisie. I don’t deserve you, but I’m too selfish not to accept it.”
I smile down at him, squeezing his hand back. “I’m not going anywhere,” I promise before exiting the door.
My anxiety has me leaning back against the door, listening to make sure he’s okay. For a minute, I hear nothing, but then, the soft trickle of water splashing on skin rings through. I relax, letting my head rest against the door while going over tonight.
Grayson can’t hide from me anymore, not after tonight. He’s hiding something terrible, and I won’t let him hide it from me anymore. My stomach turns at how bad it could be. He could have been killed tonight with the number of injuries he’s collected. I still have half a mind to take his ass to the hospital, but he just finally calmed down, and I don’t want to trigger him again.
I’ve never seen a man so lost. Sobroken. It doesn’t match the picture I’ve come to know as Grayson Miles. The strong, cocky,independent cowboy who takes no shit and runs the show. The one I’ve come to like…a lot.
This Grayson was a shell of that man. He turned to alcohol instead of asking for help, and it stings all over again. The fact he felt he couldn’t trust anyone to help him breaks my heart for the little boy who was raised to do things all on his own.
That ends today. I’m not letting him talk his way out of it this time. I need to know what’s going on so we can face it together. There’s nothing he could get into that would scare me off. I can handle it. He just has to let me in.
Crash. “Fuck!” Grayson moans.
I’m up and running into the bathroom without a second thought. Grayson is leaning against the shower wall, unable to hold himself up. The shampoo dispenser is on the floor, likely knocked down in his attempt to stay standing.
“One, two, three, four…” he whispers to himself on repeat.
“Grayson?” His head whips up, startled by my entrance. The shower is pouring down his face, but he doesn’t even blink the water away. “Are you okay?”
“I…I get panic attacks sometimes. Counting to ten is supposed to help. It–it’s not helping, though. Everything hurts. I can’t take it anymore.” He looks around, and I’m scared he’s not coherent—not in a concussed manner, but rather lost in an old memory haunting him.
I approach the shower slowly. “I’m here. You’re safe now. Can I join you in the shower?”
He nods frantically, thumping the side of his head. My hands find his, and I pull them away so he doesn’t injure himself more.
“How about we wash this hair?” I lower him so he’s sitting in the center of the shower, grabbing the detachable showerhead to wash him off. He leans back into my touch, and I decide to straddle him from behind, so his back is against my chest.
“Yeah, that’s nice,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.
I’m careful not to get the spray too close to his face so blood doesn’t get in his eyes. The water washes down the drain, a deepred color, and I try to ignore it. I’m still in my clothes, completely drenched, but I don’t care.
I slide the fallen shampoo bottle over, pumping a generous amount into my palm to massage into his knotted hair. He moans as my nails dig into his scalp. I begin soaping up his body, avoiding the bandages. His palm gauze is soaked, and I know I’ll have to replace it when we're finished.
Grayson relaxes against me, and my nerves settle a little. “Are you feeling better?” I ask, rinsing off his leg.
“Mhm, it helped.”
“The counting?”
“You, Maisie. You are my remedy. You keep me sane.”
My heart swells.You are my remedy. I know he’s fighting demons, but he doesn’t have to fight them alone anymore. I see him like he sees me.
“Let’s get you dried up and in bed, Gray.”
His head turns against my shoulder, a dopey drunk smile on his face. “Say that again,” he breathes.
