CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX MOLLY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MOLLY
He was cleaning my face.
We were in a bathroom. I was on the counter, and Ashton stood between my legs. A first aid kit was next to us. He was dabbing a cotton ball at my forehead.
I felt the sting and hissed.
He pulled back. “Can you hear me?”
His voice droned through an invisible barrier, but I nodded. I could.
“Can you talk?”
I closed my eyes and started to lower my head, but he touched under my chin. “I need to clean some scrapes you got. They can’t get infected.”
Another nod. Fine. But I kept my eyes closed.
It felt better this way, somehow. And I reached back for what I’d been holding on to, my fingers touching bare skin.
I looked, seeing that I was holding on to Ashton’s side.
I took all of him in.
He was in his black pants that he’d worn earlier, but his shirt was unbuttoned. It hung open. The ends tucked over my hands as I was gripping onto him, as if I couldn’t let go, but it felt right to put my hand there again, so I did.
Ashton moved even closer, his head angling over so he could get a better look at me, and after a bit, it felt nice.
He kept cleaning me, a gentle swab here and there. He never pushed hard. He never rubbed. He was doing a methodical and delicate cleaning of whatever cuts I had on my face.
I didn’t leave my body again because in a way, I felt safer this way.
He cleaned me up, all of me. The cuts got washed, antibiotic cream was put on. Bandages were set over those. After that, he took another fresh and warm washcloth and dabbed it all over me. My neck. The rest of my face. My throat. He moved my shirt aside until I finally lifted it up.
He moved back, his eyes meeting mine for a second, and then he took it and handed it off into the bathroom. I was in my bra. He began cleaning my shoulder. My arms. My back. My front. My chest.
My stomach.
He cleaned all over me until I was shivering from the air wherever we were.
That’s when he held out a hand into the other room and brought back a blanket. Either he had the magic of countertops on the other side, or someone was there, handing things to him. The clothes-and-blanket fairy. I liked that idea the best.
The blanket was settled over my back and pulled over my shoulders to drape in front of me.
When he began to step back, my hands moved of their own accord, sliding back to his waist. Not even there. They went lower on his hips. I felt I had a better hold there, and he stopped before he nodded.
“Okay.” It was such a soft murmur, I didn’t know if he said that or me.
He moved in, helping line up my legs to wrap around his waist, and I moved my hands to his shoulders. I wrapped around him, all of me. Arms. Legs. He pulled me flush against him, his hands lifting me up, and carried me from the bathroom into a bedroom.
The blanket fairy was Jess.
She stood just inside the room, my shirt in her hand, and smiled at me. Her eyes were shining, unshed tears.
“Jess.” I couldn’t totally hear my voice, but I felt it vibrate out of my chest. I reached for her, and she stepped in. I wouldn’t let go of Ashton, though. I didn’t know why, I just couldn’t do it, so she wrapped an arm around my back, and her head came onto my shoulder.
“Hey, sweetie.” I could hear her voice like a whisper and feel it graze over my face. She looked up, still blinking back those tears. Her throat was bobbing as well. “How are you feeling?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t even want to.
She nodded, as if understanding, and ran a hand down the side of my face, framing me before a shudder went through her body. “I know. It’s—it’s scary, having a gun against your head. I’m so sorry you went through that.” She choked off, stepping back.
Someone else was there, and they—he—came up, touching her shoulders, drawing her back against him. Trace.
I tried to smile and wave a hand to him, but everything in me was feeling wonky and tired. I couldn’t lift my hand, so I just smiled, or I was trying, and I rested my head against Ashton’s shoulder.
“Hi, Molly. We’re glad you’re safe.” He gave me a smile back, but his was sad.
I was sure mine was loopy.
Ashton was moving again, going to the side of the bed. “I’ll be down in a minute—”
“No.” Jess said it just as I tightened my hold on him. “Stay with her. She shouldn’t be alone.”
Ashton pulled back to see me. I knew that’s what he was doing, but I didn’t lift my head to look at him. It felt right and nice against his shoulder.
“Here.” Jess pulled away from Trace and went to the other side of Ashton’s bed, then pulled back the blankets.
“Thank you.”
She came back and reached for my hand. “I’m here. Okay? I’m right here.” She was blinking back tears once again, and I knew she was thinking of Kelly, so I squeezed her hand. She choked out a sob but squeezed mine back, just as hard.
“We’ll be in the other room.” Trace touched her shoulder, drawing her with him. “Take your time, Ash.”
There was no response.
Ashton was setting me down on the bed as they left, closing the door behind them.
“I need to change clothes myself.”
I tried protesting but stopped because that was ridiculous.
They were acting like I was some fragile kid.
I might’ve been in shock or not in my body earlier, but I was now.
I could think. Reason. I knew he needed to change clothes, but I wasn’t going back to that gas station, and I wouldn’t return to our old roles of how Ashton couldn’t stand me.
Not now, anyways, but I was still rational.
I moved back in bed, climbing in.
He seemed surprised, standing, waiting until I was settled in.
I gave him a thumbs-up but still didn’t talk.
Everything was just hurting so bad. Aching. I felt like I’d been hit with a semi, and at some point, I might’ve dozed off because the next thing I remembered was the sound of the shower.
The door was open. Light spread out from the room. A couple other lamps were on in this room, but I was starting to feel warm. Slightly.
Finally.
I was only shaking a tiny bit.
Then the water cut off. Ashton came out of the bathroom a moment later, a towel around his waist as he was running a hand through his hair.
He paused, surveying me, but we didn’t talk.
He went into his closet and came back in sweats.
Nothing else, but the tattoo on his hand stood out.
A dove, wings stretched out, rays of sun shining from behind it.
He went over, turned off one lamp, and went to his side of the bed.
He watched me. “You want Jess to come in instead?”
He meant if I wanted her to sleep with me. I shook my head.
I wasn’t questioning any of my decisions right now. I didn’t have the strength.
He nodded, reaching out, and turned off the second lamp. The bed depressed as he crawled in, and then I felt him against me. I felt his heat, and I made a sound. I felt it in my chest as his heat engulfed me. It was so abrupt but needed.
“You okay?” His hand touched my arm. The one with the tattoo.
I grabbed it, holding it up so I could feel it. I couldn’t see it anymore in the dark, but I knew it was there. I traced my fingers over it, feeling his skin. “Why do you have a tattoo that usually means peace?”
He tensed. “What?”
“The dove. The rays of sun. Your life is not about peace.”
He didn’t answer right away. “Because there was a time in my life when I needed some. So I got it.”
“Did it work?”
Another pause. “No.”
“After our mothers died?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
I crawled to him, wrapped my legs around him, and burrowed into his chest.
God.
Warmth.
I wouldn’t shake so much now.
He was still tense, and then slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxed until he was lying on his side, his arms around me too. He moved again, rolling to his back, and I moved with him, settling into his side. My head to his chest.
He lifted an arm, and softly, gently, he began smoothing it down the side of my face, my shoulder, my arm, and he’d repeat the motion.
Over and over again. One. Two.
Ten.
Twenty.
Thirty-nine.
Forty-eight.
I wished for a flying dove right before I fell asleep.
Then I stopped counting.