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“No,” he says with a steely determination. “You’re not doing this alone.” Then he thinks better of his statement. “Unless you don’t want me in here. I’d understand.”
I almost panic at the thought of being alone. “Don’t go. Please. I don’t want to be alone right now.”
He nods and steps back, scouring the bottles on the built-in shelf until he finds the one he’s looking for. Squirting body wash into his palm, he holds my eyes.
“Tell me if I make you uncomfortable.”
I nod. “Okay.”
He rubs his hands together, building up a lather before rubbing them ever-so-gently over my shoulders and arms. Nothing about this feels sexual. Not for him. Not for me. Still, I can’t deny the way my skin heats under his touch. There’s nothing I can do about it; he just has that effect on me.
I close my eyes as his hands massage my chest before his touch turns into a whisper across my side where I’m bruised. Soon, he’ll be to the dirtiest part of me, and while I was okay with everything up to this point, I don’t know if I want him washing his dad’s cum from between my legs. On instinct, my thighs squeeze together.
When his hands leave me, I open my eyes to see him squirting soap onto a washcloth. My cheeks heat at the realization that he knows what I’m hiding.
His voice is a whisper, rough with emotion. “If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t, but please know that I want to. I want to wash him from your body, make sure all of him is gone, and then I’ll make damn sure you never so much as hear his fuckin’ voice again.”
“Okay,” I say because that was always the most degrading part of this process, and it’s felt so good to pass the shame and guilt over to him, so maybe this will feel good too.
I ease my legs apart as Colin lowers to his knees, one hand on the uninjured hip and the other tenderly cleaning me. Tears fall down my cheeks, mixing with the still-warm water from the shower. They’re not sad this time, they’re grateful.
Once he’s satisfied, he takes his time rubbing my legs. I relax into the massage, disbelieving that I could feel this good after such a horrible night. It doesn’t make sense, but I refuse to think too hard about it. I deserve this reprieve.
When he stands, I move to turn the water off, but he wraps his hand around mine and brings it to my side before washing and conditioning my hair. Thank God for the on-demand hot water system in this place because I’m sure we’ve been here for an hour before Colin finally turns off the water and wraps me in a towel.
I’ve never felt so cared for and pampered as when he brushes out my tangled hair, rubbing my arms and legs with lotion before helping me into a clean pair of underwear and a sleep set. He doesn’t say a word through it all, letting his touch say everything on his mind.
I’ve pictured how the “Ray chapter” of my life would end so many times, and never did it look like this. I imagined throwing him the middle finger as I drove away for good. I even imagined getting that gun out of his car and shooting him before leaving, but having Colin come back into my life has been an unexpected blessing. Maybe that’s why there’s still a niggle of doubt that this is really it.
“Come on. You need rest.” He takes my hand, leading me to a partly made bed. “Lie down.”
He tosses pillows onto the mattress, and I climb in, feeling exhausted down to my bones. A surprised giggle escapes me when he finishes making the bed with me in it, tucking in the sheets and blanket snuggly.
“There. Now you can’t get out.” His stern expression tells me he’s not joking, but it makes me laugh just the same before wincing at the sharp pain that radiates down my side. “Shit. Meds. Tigger was supposed to bring you some prescriptions.”
As though hearing Colin’s words, there’s a knock at the door. Colin only opens it a crack, accepting a paper bag before slamming it shut again without so much as a ‘thank you.’ I find humor in that too, but I’m smart enough to keep my laughter inside this time.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulls out multiple yellow bottles. “What the hell are all these for?”
After all we’ve been through, I shouldn’t find this to be the worst part, but it is. I sit up and take the bottles from him, carefully reading each label before removing the appropriate number of pills.
“Why so many?” he asks again.
“Morning-after pill, preventative STI pills, an antibiotic, and this one”—I hold up an oval-shaped pill—“is for pain. Monroe also got me up to date on all my vaccinations.”
“Shit, Navy.”
I quirk a brow with a smile. “You’ve been calling me Navy. Guess that means I need to call you Rigger.”
“It’s a good way to start over.”
I nod. “It is.”
* * *
I wake with a start, groggy and confused. The only light in the room comes from my frog tank, letting me know I’m safe at the Honey Pot. A sharp pang radiates through me when I attempt to roll to my side, reminding me of the previous day.
At least I think it was the previous day.
