Page 101 of Paper Horses

With my cheeks heating from his teasing, I shoved him, but he didn’t move. It was like pushing against a brick wall. All muscle and no give.

“Your morning breath isn’t any better.”

He let out a loud laugh. “You’re cute.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

He lathered up his hands with shampoo and motioned for me to turn. “I wouldn’t think of it. And don’t think I’m going to spoil you like this all the time. You’re already spoiled, and I’m working on breaking you in. Kind of like an unruly horse.”

I tried to turn to scold him, but he tugged my hair.

“I am not an unruly horse.”

His fingers sank into the strands of my hair, massaging my scalp.

“I know,” he said, giving my shoulder a kiss. “How’s your stomach?”

My stomach. I’d forgotten all about how explosive it had been not twenty minutes earlier. As if in answer, it churned.

“It’s been better.”

He rinsed my hair, and I closed my eyes at the gentle touches, letting myself relax into them. Sending the worries cascading into the recesses of my mind until I had no choice but to deal with them. Let me love you. His last statement swirled in its place. That I was worth loving. I had never thought I wasn’t, but maybe I’d never had to give voice to it to have my actions give it credence. Had I pushed everyone away because I thought I was less than Hudson saw me? Less than how others did?

I swiped water from the tip of my nose as he ran conditioner through my hair. The only sound between us was the tapping of the water on the tub floor.

No, I never had an issue with confidence. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t pushed people away. Barricaded my heart, especially after Hudson. I’d never gotten over the pain, and to open myself to more of it seemed impossible. People weren’t dependable. They left, they used you for your money, they pretended to care, they died.

A shudder shook my body. There had only been four people I’d ever loved in my life: my father, my mother, my brother, Hudson. My father had turned my love away, putting toxicity and abuse in its place. My mother had died, leaving me when I needed to hear her tell me that love was more important than money, needed her arms to hold me and tell me to do what my heart told me to do. And I’d left Hudson, giving up his love for the only remaining person who still loved me, my brother.

Hudson’s arms encased me, pulling me into his chest as tears streamed down my face.

“That’s it,” he said, thinking it was my stomach that had caused my reaction. “You’re on the couch for the rest of the day. When I’m done with the horses, I’ll run into town and get you some soup. Maybe some of those damn cat socks you have a fetish for.”

I laughed, the sound strange when paired with the tears that still leaked from my eyes. He laid a kiss on my head and stopped the water. Within seconds, he had me bundled up in a fluffy towel, rubbing it over my hair like I was a child.

“I can do that myself,” I said, keeping my eyes from his. Not wanting him to see that I’d been crying again. I swore I was going to tape my tear ducts shut if they didn’t stop overworking.

Calloused fingers turned my face so that I couldn’t avoid his gaze. His brow crinkled, those worried creases forming around his eyes again.

“I take it back,” he said, and I scrunched my eyes, not understanding. “I am going to spoil you because you’re not spoiled. I was wrong.”

“I’m a billionaire. I’m definitely spoiled,” I argued, forcing a smile.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Not in the ways that matter.”

My mouth parted with my inhale.

“So I’m going to spoil you.” His finger slid over the outside of my eye, and I knew he could see that I’d been crying. I was certain my cheeks were splotchy and my eyes bloodshot. Maybe he would think it was from throwing up. As the lines on his forehead deepened, I suspected he knew it was more. He kissed the space where his finger had been and the other side before he adjusted my towel. “Brush your teeth while I get dressed, and I’ll take you downstairs. Unless you’d rather curl back in bed?”

I shook my head.

“Downstairs it is.”

He grabbed a towel and dried himself as he walked from the bathroom, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You going to be okay?”

No.

“Yes, I’m just worn out.”