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In the bathroom, he lowers me to my feet, and I watch as he steps into the foamy water.
“Where did you find bubbles?” I look around and see an old bottle of spa gel. “I’m pretty sure that’s three years old.”
“Still smells good.” He sits with his back to the wall.
I step into the tub, between his legs. “How are we doing this?”
The fixture is just wide enough for him. I’m about to laugh, but he guides me down to sitting, facing him. A fresh cloth is in his hands, and he swirls a bar of soap in it, creating lather before smoothing it along the tops of my shoulders, down my arms, softly over my breasts.
His eyes are so serious as he follows the path of his hands. He looks at me as if I’m something so precious. I reach out and touch his cheek, tracing my fingers over his lips, which pucker out to kiss them.
“What happened tonight?” I ask in a soft voice.
His eyes wince ever so slightly, like I pressed a tender spot. I’m afraid he won’t tell me, but he does.
“This body is so precious to me.” His voice is quiet, thick. “I couldn’t stop seeing it broken, bleeding. I couldn’t stop seeing you hurt.”
The pain in his voice aches in my chest. I reach out to hold his neck, putting my forehead against his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run away from you.”
His hands stop washing me, and go to my waist. Palms against skin, we hold each other, and for a moment, we’re quiet, breathing each other’s breath, knowing we’re here together.
Until he clears his throat and straightens. His blue eyes are stormy again, pulling away. “I guess I overreacted.”
My brow furrows. I want to stop him from saying these things. I want to tell him if he’s suffering from PTSD, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I can help him, or help him find help. He doesn’t give me the chance.
Scooping water in his hands, he washes the foam away. Next he takes both my palms and helps us stand, catching a thick towel off the lavatory.
“Are you hungry?” He quickly dries his body before passing it to me. “I’m starving.”
“Did you sit at the bar the whole time just watching us?”
“I kept wanting to leave, but shit kept happening.”
I think back over the evening as I slip into a pair of lacy boy shorts. “Nothing happened. We talked about almonds.”
His loud laugh makes me smile and look up. The towel is tied around his waist, and he’s just so delicious. I walk over and put my hand on his stomach.
“I missed your laugh.”
He covers my hand with his, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “Let’s eat before I get other ideas.”
“I don’t mind other ideas.” My voice is a little pouty, although, to be honest, I have worked up an appetite.
Gray is out of the bathroom and across the hall. “Any chance I left any clothes here from before?”
I’m in my bedroom, pulling out an oversized long-sleeved button-up shirt. The closer I look, I’m sure it probably once belonged to either Gray or Danny.
“You’re bigger now than when you left.” I walk out to the hallway, trying to think. All of our clothes are in the dryer. “My dad might have something that would fit you.”
“It’d be pretty old.” He follows me to the other side of the second floor, to a room that hasn’t been used in ages.
I open the drawer, and the scent of ancient cologne meets my nose. It’s something from another time. I shuffle through, only finding a few pair of old socks and a cummerbund.
“What in the world?” My voice trails off, but Gray interrupts me.
“Check this out.” He pulls out a shirt that has a big Fayz logo on the front. “I think this will fit.”
He pulls it on, and I dig out a pair of gray sweatpants. “Try these.”
