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With a quiet efficiency that belied his status as a badass rockstar, he unpacked and stored her clothes. But not only did he put them away, he did it in the same way she liked it.
His attention to detail had always amazed her, but knowing he was trying to keep everything as normal as possible for her put that damn lump back in her throat. His shoulder and back muscles flexed and flowed under the worn thermal Henley as he hung her cardigans and dumped boots and sneakers into the bottom of the closet.
When he looked up to see her staring at him, he flashed a grin at her. The crooked one that had hooked her that first night. The one he’d given her as they pored over his record collection that first night.
She swallowed and turned away to the other suitcase.
“I got it. Why don’t you take a shower? I’m sure you miss hot water that wasn’t attached to antiseptic.”
Because she wanted one so bad, her hand faltered at her toiletry bag. How did he know so much about her when she felt so very adrift from herself? It was as if she didn’t know anything anymore.
How could he be so sure of every-damn-thing?
She nodded and closed herself into the large bathroom. A deep claw-footed tub was tucked under a wide window. It was powder white with brass handles and feet. A soak would probably help her ribs, especially after the way she’d been banged around in the ICU.
No. Don’t think about that.
Lydia’s stricken eyes. The endless agony that had come off of her in waves. Sorrow and pain—it was a toxic brew that she’d been stewing in. Would she end up like Lydia?
She already felt it happening.
Her words were stuffed behind all that sorrow. And she’d lashed out at Logan already. Again and again, but she couldn’t stop. Every time she looked at him, she saw what they’d had and how arrogant they’d been even after every warning told them to back off.
She shivered and pushed those thoughts away. She was tired of the loop that seemed to play in her head like a horror movie soundtrack. All grinding notes that left her off balance and on edge. She trailed the tips of her fingers over the lip of the tub, but ultimately passed it by. The idea of sitting in water after days of getting sponge baths was a little too close to hospital life. She toed off her clogs and unsnapped her jeans before shucking her sweatshirt and tank top. She couldn’t quite manage to get a regular bra on yet.
She turned the dials on the shower to a notch above tepid. The burns still smarted too much for the hot showers she adored. It would be a few weeks before she could think about one of those.
Just as she was about to step into the stall, she remembered to grab her toiletry bag and she saw the uneven scar in a full-sized mirror for the first time. The bag slipped from her fingers and all the cosmetics and bottles scattered across the floor.
She’d known it was there—felt the itch and the pain daily. She’d even looked down at it a few times, but this mirror wouldn’t allow her to look away like she usually did. It was all there in its Technicolor glory.
The door burst open. “Are you—” Logan broke off, worry melted into wide-eyed fury.
She rushed for the towel off the rack and he stopped her.
“No.” He cupped her face. “I’m just angry that it happened. That she—” His jaw clenched so hard she could actually see the throb in his temple and muscle jump in his cheek. He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Don’t cover it up.” With shaking fingers, he traced the wide bloom of garish yellow and blue skin that shaded her ribs.
There were deep purple bruises along the gash where the glass had torn into her. And the red scar that itched all damn day. There were dissolvable stitches crisscrossing down her side from her bra-line to her hip that would last a few more weeks.
Even with the horror show stamped on her side, her nipples tightened at his gentle caress. How could he keep touching her when she looked like that?
He pressed a butterfly-soft kiss against her hip at the end of the stitches and stood up. His eyes were red with emotion and his lip trembled once before he kissed her forehead.
He scooped up her toiletries from the floor and dumped them in her bag, setting it on the small stand near the shower. He moved to the door and cleared his throat, his voice so deep it practically vibrated. “Shout if you need me—or something.”
She nodded and turned away from her reflection to get into the shower stall. She tipped her head back to get a full-on spray and let a few tears fall before she started the painstaking process of washing around stitches and burns.
When she was finally bundled into a robe, she found the bedroom empty and Logan out on the deck. A bottle of Breckenridge bourbon open on the coffee table with two inches missing.
The glass was empty on the railing and his head was bowed.
Watching his face and the emotions wash over him in the bathroom had dislodged something inside of her. She’d been drowning in her own grief for days, but she hadn’t allowed herself to really see what Logan was going through.
That he’d almost lost her.
That maybe he really wasn’t that sure and steady as he seemed.
She went out to the deck.
