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It’s mostly dark, but he turns on the little lantern that was in his go-bag. It runs on a battery that’s supposed to last forever, and it illuminates the room enough for me to see him standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me.
“Hey,” I say. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Don’t know. Couldn’t sleep. Why are you just standing there like that?”
He shakes his head. “No reason.”
“Then come to bed.”
He hesitates a few moments longer. I wonder if he’s actually going to refuse. Then he shakes off whatever he was thinking and steps over to pump enough water into the basin for him to wash up.
He takes off his shirt. Splashes water on his face. Then he uses our soap and works up enough lather to wash his arms, neck, and armpits before he rinses off.
It’s not a shower, but it’s better than nothing. He dries his skin with a thin towel and then toes off his shoes and unhooks his belt with the holsters for his gun and knife. He takes off his jeans before he climbs into bed with me.
He still smells like he had a long day, although it’s not as strong now, and it’s mingled with the scent of the soap. It’s not unpleasant. It smells like Grant. Safe and familiar.
There’s very little room on this bed, so I’m always trapped between the wall and his big body. I don’t actually mind. There’s a security to it. In bed like this, anyone who wants to get to me will have to get through Grant first.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask softly when he lies on his back and doesn’t pull me toward him for sex like normal.
“Nothing.”
“Something is. Did I do something?”
“Of course not!” He rolls onto his side so he’s facing me. “Why would you even think that?”
“I don’t know. Just that something feels off, and I don’t know what it is. Are you worried about something?”
“Am I worried?” He sounds vaguely astonished.
“Yes. Are you worried?”
“Of course I’m worried.” His voice is soft, slightly rough. “Our people are trapped in that bunker by those fucking assholes, and I’ve got to get them out.”
“We,” I whisper. “We need to get them out.”
He doesn’t argue, but it also doesn’t feel like he agrees.
“You can’t take all this on yourself, Grant. All these people are here to help us. We’re not going to have to do this alone.”
“I know that. And it’s even more to worry about. They’re strangers—here to do the job that’s supposed to be mine. What if something happens to them? What if some of them get killed? That will be my responsibility too.”
“No, it won’t!” My voice is cracking. He’s never talked like this with me before. It’s what I’ve always wanted, but it’s also so, so much. It terrifies me. Holding the weight of all the feelings he’s never put into words before. “Everyone makes their own decisions. So unless you kill them or purposefully turn your back when they need help, what happens to them isn’t your fault.”
He’s breathing heavily. Meeting my eyes in the mostly dark room. But he doesn’t say anything.
“It’s not. It can’t be. There’s no way in the world it’s your fault. Or do you also think it’s my fault?”
He scowls. “No, it’s not your fault!”
“Why not? I’m part of the bunker too. I went on that drive with you. I was fucking you in the Jeep when the camp got attacked, so why isn’t it my fault too?”
“It wasn’t your job to keep them safe. It’s my job.”
“And you’ve done everything anyone could do for all these years, and you’re doing everything anyone could do right now. You’re not some sort of superhero. You’re a man like everyone else. You can’t do everything.” I reach out to palm the side of his jaw, feeling his bristles scratch my skin.
