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“What if I don’t want you to touch anything at all?”
“Understandable. I’ll do my best to only touch your clothes.”
I held out my hand. He gingerly held my wrist and lowered it until my fingertips brushed the material of his briefs.
Being as quick and careful as I could, I worked the tight briefs down his legs. I had to kneel to get them over his calves, which were just as well muscled as his thighs.
When they were around his ankles, I helped him step out of them. “Hold the robe closed.”
“Why?” He did as I said, his question sounding more like a reflex than a protest.
“Because we need to move you against something solid so I can get your braces off.”
He stayed silent as I guided him back to the counter. When he was steady, I got to work undoing and pulling off the braces on his wrist and knee.
He didn’t move or look at me. I understood how hard this was for him. Being a young, able-bodied person and suddenly needing help for something as simple as a shower or standing up was a huge blow to someone’s independence and their sense of self. Not only was Graham dealing with that, but he was also exhausted, sore, and had to give up control and trust me to help him.
If the tables were turned, I would’ve been just as ornery. And truth be told, his attitude was a breeze compared to some of the crap I dealt with at work.
With the braces off, I turned on the shower. “Do you like hot or warm?”
“Hot.”
I adjusted the dial until the water was nice and hot. “Ready?”
He nodded.
Something about seeing him in my robe and looking like he wanted to be anywhere else made him seem young and defenseless, which was so strange. How could someone so big look so small?
Shaking those thoughts off, I tugged off my shirt.
“What are you doing?” Wide-eyed, he raked his gaze over my chest.
“Taking off my scrubs.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to wear them in the shower. Chill out. I’m not getting naked. I’ll leave my underwear on.”
He looked away. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and tossed them on top of his.
Getting him into the tub was a slow and awkward process. I let him clean as much of himself as he could, then took over when he asked for help.
“Ready to get out?” I asked when he’d rinsed the last of the shampoo out of his hair.
“Yeah,” He shifted on his feet. The motion destabilized him, and he fell forward.
Grabbing him around the waist, I hauled him back up. “You okay?”
“I hate this.” He stiffened in my grasp and I let go.
I’d noticed he didn’t react well to unexpected touch. Was that a normal thing for him? Or was it because I was the one touching him?
“I know. But it’s almost over.”
He let me get him out of the tub. I wrapped a towel around his waist, then another around his shoulders.
By the time it was over, he was deathly pale and his eyes were barely open. He was fading.
