Page 151 of Jonesing for a Spy

He does the same with the conditioner before using quick, efficient hands to clean me everywhere, but where I most love his touch. He passes me the washcloth even as I feel heat at my lower back. “Sorry.”

“I’m not. It bodes well for me that you want me even in this state.” I turn to face him.

And gasp.

“What— Strider?” My eyes start at his shoulder that’s mottled in bruises, to his waist that’s blooming with purple where my knees were when he carried me, to his forearm, and finally to his wrist — the wrist I grabbed when he put his ring on my finger. There are four little bruises lined up on his wrist. As if to see for myself, I flip it over and see a lone one—my thumb—underneath. “When?” I lift my chin, getting the shards of the spray in my eyes, but needing to see the truth in his eyes.

“Apparently by the time we got to Austin.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…”

His chin lifts too. “To what? Burden you when you were coming out of surgery? To have you worry as we came home? To harm your recovery?”

“I could help!”

He looks at my knee and lasers me with his eyes. “It’s my job to make sure you’re okay. To take care of you. Not to have you worrying about something that’s under control.”

“Is it? Under control, I mean?”

“Mostly.” His voice is soft and small, and I know from all he’s told me that this kills him to discuss.

“Because,” I prompt.

“Because I’m on ridiculous amounts of pred. Because I’ve had a blood transfusion and another for platelets. Because I’m not going to die from being hard-headed. I’m watching it.”

My nose warms. There’s no chance of stopping the tears that top my lashes. “Every one of those is because of me.”

He doesn’t refute it. He can’t. He doesn’t lie.

He flips the shower off, and we stand there, him holding me at my waist since I’m so tired I could collapse.

“Aren’t they?”

“They’re all proof I’m taking care of you, Freckles. And that’s all I care about.”

“But—” My protest is cut off with a hard kiss.

“I don’t want you to have to nurse me back to health.”

My eyes go hard. “But you’re okay doing it for me? That’s not what this is. We’re in this together.”

“Yeah, baby, we are. We’re in you need me more right now even if you don’t like it. We’re in get you back on your feet mode. Timing sucks, but I’m okay. And I’m watching it. You watch it too. If something concerns you, we’ll act on it. It sucks, but it is what it is.”

Strider

Jamie told me not telling Mirren straight away would go over like a fart in church. What he couldn’t have anticipated—because I don’t think they see a side of her that I do—is her hurt. And that’s what breaks me.

She wants to go. She wants to get out of this shower as much as I do and can’t. And that powerlessness is her kryptonite. She’s strong, independent, always on her own timing with her own agency, and she’s stuck.

“Baby?”

Her shoulders heave, and I can’t take another moment. I grab her and take her to our bed, both of us soaking wet. Pulling her atop me, I make sure her knee is protected.

“Talk to me.” I smooth the hair from her face.

Her words come in clumps, between sobs. “I’m scared. And I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”