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8
River
Ash feelssolid and warm against me while I cling to him. Some of it is the heat from the shower, but some of it is just him. He’s warm and alive, and I can feel the steady rhythm of his heart beating under my cheek where it’s pressed against his chest.
It feels good to hold him and have his arms around me, but eventually we finally break apart.
He grins at me and pushes wet hair out of his face before reaching for my shampoo. He lathers his hands and then does a little motion with his finger, urging me to turn around so my back is to him.
I do, and he starts washing my hair, using his dexterous fingers to massage my scalp while he works the floral scented lather into my hair.
For once, he’s not talking, not making jokes, not flirting. He doesn’t grope me or try to coax me into anything other than this. It seems like he just wants to take care of me, and I’m too tired at this point to put up a fuss about it.
I was doing just fine before he came in, so I could do this myself, but I can’t even find it in me to point that out. Some of it is the numbness that I’ve been trying to outrun creeping back in, but mostly it’s just the exhaustion.
I slept a little before I went wandering, but it wasn’t anything even close to being restful. More like just being unconscious for a little bit with no actual sleep involved. I can feel the heaviness of the day before pulling at me, and I’m just worn out.
Ash seems to know that, or at least he can tell that the last of my energy seems to be fading. He’s careful with me, rinsing the shampoo from my hair, but tipping my head back so it doesn’t run into my eyes.
He’s thorough, and when he runs his hands over my body, it’s mostly to check and make sure I’m clean and washed off than to try to cop a feel.
Once he’s satisfied, we get out of the shower and stand in the steamy bathroom. Ash grabs a towel and starts drying me off, urging me to lift my arms and taking care of my front before he steps behind me.
I’d almost forgotten about the message Knox carved into my back, but I hear Ash snort with amusement as he looks at it.
“Let me guess,” he asks. “Knox wanted to make an impression?”
I shrug a little. “He’s like that.”
It doesn’t really bother me, and it doesn’t seem like it bothers Ash either. After all, he’s included in what it means for me to be theirs.
“The man has a future in body art, clearly,” he teases, and he’s more careful as he dries me off around the cuts.
I chuckle softly, and Ash digs through my medicine cabinet for a moment before coming back with an ointment to put on the fresh cuts so they’ll heal well.
“He’s not wrong, anyway,” he adds quietly, his fingers tracing the letters Knox left behind. “You are ours.”
The words hit me all over again, wrapping around me just like they did when I realized what Knox carved into me. That feeling of belonging, of being a part of something.
Of knowing I’m not alone.
I’m hurting and a little lost, and I know I’ll never be the same person I was before I watched my sister die for what felt like the second time, just as helpless to protect her and bring her back as I was before. But I’m not alone. There are four men who will listen to me and hold me. Who’ll fight by my side and never try to change who I am.
“I know,” I tell Ash softly, and it feels good to just say that.
We leave the bathroom, and Ash grabs the clothes he was wearing before and starts getting dressed. I ignore the piles of dirty clothes on the floor and pull on fresh ones, wanting to keep feeling clean.
My bedroom door is still half cracked open, and I head toward it, intending to go back downstairs.
“River,” Ash says, stopping me. “You need to get some rest. You’ve barely slept at all.”
“I know,” I repeat. “But I don’t want to sleep yet.”
Maybe it’s stupid, because I can feel the exhaustion and grief tugging at me, weighing me down, making me want to collapse where I stand and give in to it.
But I won’t. I can’t.
Not yet.
