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Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, he softly orders me, “Stay here in the warmth of the bathroom, and let me get you some fresh clothes.” He leaves me for a moment, and my curiosity gets the best of me. I turn my back to the full-length mirror and look over my shoulder while dropping my towel down around my waist. I suck in a quick breath, gasping aloud at what I see as my heart stops in its tracks.
Red, welted lashes decorate my back in no particular pattern, with different thicknesses and degrees of severity. Twisting my body to the side, I try and get a better view in the mirror’s reflection, but it proves too difficult. From what I can tell, however, a monster truck went four wheelin’ over my back and left behind multiple sets of angry tire tracks. I feel my stomach roil with turbulent waves of nausea. The very sight leaves me perplexed and horrified, not knowing what to think. I’m literally dumfounded.
In my periphery, I notice Travis is standing in the doorway as he watches me take stock of my injuries. “Travis.” I inhale sharply, and slowly turn toward him in shock. My breath catches. “This...this is not normal. What happened to me?” I ask my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, he just closes his eyes, as if he’s the one in pain. Then he pushes his shoulder off the doorframe and steps into the bathroom, closing the distance between us. He blocks my view from the mirror with his large torso and wraps me in a gentle hug from behind, being careful not to put too much pressure on my back.
“Since I wasn’t there, I can only guess.” He places his lips on top of my head, giving me an endearing kiss. He’s so much taller than me as the top of my head comes to rest just under his chin. “I don’t want you thinking about it, or worrying your pretty little head over it. Dr. Anderson wants you to stay stress-free, and that’s my goal. You’re more than safe here with me.”
I tentatively nod in acknowledgement. He’s right; I do want to get better, but I also want to know what caused those marks. I feel him loosen the towel around my back and my brows pull together, confused over what he’s going to do.
“I have some cream I want to apply to your abrasions. Dr. Anderson gave it to me, and it will help you heal faster, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He gently and carefully begins to rub the cream over my back with barely there touches, which is in total contradiction to the strength I know he’s capable of. Occasionally, I find myself wincing as he applies the lotion. “A day or two more and you should be feeling back to normal.” Once he completes his task, he slips a loose sundress over my head. “Just so you know, I’m not perving here, and you can have one if you want, but I think if you put on a bra right now, it will only chafe your skin. I don’t want you to be more uncomfortable than you already are right now.”
I nod in agreement and watch as he grabs a pair of light blue panties from the counter top and drops to his knees. He holds out the pair of panties for me to step into, and I comply.
He turns me around in the full-length mirror and grabs a brush, and begins gently brushing out my long hair. Wow...when I said I didn’t want to be alone, I truly didn’t expect him to do all of this. I’m mesmerized watching his roped muscles flex in his thick forearms as he carefully untangles my hair, being careful not to pull too hard. The way he’s doting on me makes me feel indescribably cherished.
When he’s done, he kisses the top of my head and asks, “How do you feel now?” I look at him through the reflection of the mirror, and am greeted with a soothing smile spread across his face, and I return the gesture.
“Much better, thank you.” The warm bath having relaxed my tense muscles and the pain medicine having done its magic, I feel a thousand times better.
“C’mon, let’s get you some breakfast and go meet Stryker.” He tugs my hand gently, threading his fingers through mine, and I follow behind.
~Travis~
Heading out into the kitchen, the smell of bacon has fragranced the entire house, and my stomach grumbles in reply. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. Stryker is at the stove, flipping pancakes when we walk in. He cocks his head to the side and gives Jules a panty-dropping smile. I have to scoff at the man; he’s such a damn ladies’ man. He hasn’t really changed at all over the years, still holding his boyish charm and his handsome, surfer physique.
