Chapter Twenty Nine
Wanting
I ’m never leaving this bathtub.
It’s so big, and the water’s so deep and hot, it covers all of me, soothing me down to the bones.
Not to mention, the lavender and honey salts Kade poured in must have some kind of magical healing powers.
After just thirty minutes, I’m half asleep and my stomach is settled way faster than it should be.
When I finally felt well enough to climb in, I opened the window, letting the cold early morning air counteract the steam coating the panes. The combination between that and the hot water is a kind of Heaven I’ve never felt before.
I flick my gaze to the slightly open bathroom door, and my stomach swoops for a whole new reason.
True to his word, Kade left me everything I needed and disappeared, including a new toothbrush I happily used. I took my pills, sipped on water, but after I climbed in, I hesitated to text him, needing a few minutes to wrap my brain around everything that’s transpired.
It’s a lot, and yet, something in me feels settled in a way that surprises me. While the desire to run that always thrums through my system is still very much here, gnawing at me, whispering that this is a mistake…
So is something else.
Something warm and addicting, exciting and… new.
And maybe it’s time I grab onto it—consequences be damned.
That thought in mind, I send him a text, letting him know he can come back whenever he’s ready.
I rush through washing my body with the cedar-scented soap I find on the ledge, a hum of pleasure slipping free. It smells so good—mostly because it’s Kade in a bottle: addicting and comforting.
A grin splits my face when I find the frizz-free curl shampoo I shoved into his chest all those weeks ago at the store.
By the time I’m done with my hair, he still hasn’t returned, so I reluctantly pull the plug and get out, wrapping my body in the towel. I freeze at the bathroom door, unsure what I’m supposed to do.
I slept in this man's bed. Got sick in his bathroom. Used his tub—probably all before he did.
And now, I’m pretty sure I’m alone in his perfect house, naked and without any of my things. The only clothes I have are what I wore to the bar, but… I don’t want to wear them.
To be honest, I don’t want to wear anything .
What I want is to lie naked in Kade’s bed, and wait for him to find me. To show him how thankful I am for everything he’s done for me. I want to thank him with my mouth and body, again and again, until he understands the feelings I’m too scared to say out loud.
But I’m not brave enough to lay myself out like an all you can eat buffet, especially after the whiplash I’ve put him through.
No matter how badly I want to.
Sighing, I search the room for my clothes, but come up empty. My eyes slide to the large oak dresser across from the massive bed, and I hesitate for less than a minute before saying fuck it .
I find a soft white T-shirt that smells like Kade and slip it on. It falls off my shoulder and lands mid-thigh. And as a small act of bravery, I forego panties.
After towel drying and finger-combing my hair, I quietly open the door and slip out into the hall. A bang followed by a quiet, masculine curse has my heart racing and stomach flipping.
Biting my lip, my feet pad across the cold, wooden floor toward the living room, eyes adjusting to the warm sunlight pouring in through the wall of windows across the back of the house. There are new, navy curtains pulled over the ones in the front, but it’s still bright.
The scent of something light and earthy fills the air, layered with warmth from the fireplace and the sharp bite of a spring morning breeze drifting in through the cracked sliding glass door.
I freeze when Kade comes into view and just... watch him.
He’s still in his gray sweats and a soft black t-shirt, dark, wavy hair falling into his face and catching in the scruff of his beard as he crouches in front of the coffee table, setting up what appears to be an entire salon in the middle of his living room.
A diffuser dangles from the end of a blow-dryer, clumsy in his hand as he scowls down at it like it just insulted his beard.
“What the fuck is this thing?” he mutters, face scrunched adorably.
A giggle slips free before I can stop it, and his head whips up, zeroing in on me with unnerving accuracy.
His eyes heat instantly, sliding down my body, lingering on my bare thighs and the long, white T-shirt barely grazing the tops of them. The same shirt I stole from his dresser, the same one I’m not wearing anything under.
The air thickens between us, charged and heavy, and my entire body goes up in flames under the weight of his stare. I shift on my feet, fingers tangling in the hem of the shirt, rolling it between my hands for something to do.
"How are you, darlin’? Feelin’ better?” His voice is gruff and low as he crosses the room in three long strides. When he stops, there's barely an inch between us, and the warmth radiating off his body has me swaying, drawn into his gravitational pull.
“I feel a bit better,” I manage, voice shaky. “The bath helped a lot. Those salts were amazing. Thank you.”
“They’re my mom’s recipe.”
I nod. “I figured. I bet people love them. They, uh…” My cheeks heat as I duck my head. “Normally it takes me longer to feel human.”
“Don’t think she sells them.”
“Well,” I whisper, feeling awkward and raw and so very alive, “she should.”
His fingers find my chin, tilting it gently until I meet his eyes. His thumb brushes my cheek, and everything inside me lights up.
“Love your eyes,” he says. “But goddamn, baby, these fuckin’ freckles. Had me trapped from day one.”
My throat tightens. “You hated me day one.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, eyes dark with something deeper. “Never hated you. Hated how much I wanted you. Hated why you were there.”
I reach up, wrapping my fingers around his wrist, holding him to me. “Because… I had to tell you Marlee died.”
The thought makes me nauseous, as much as I try to ignore it.
His brows pull tight, his jaw flexing. “No. Yeah. I mean… I’d be lying if I said that didn’t fuck me up. I’d known Marlee since I was five. But hadn’t heard from her in over a decade.”
But did you think of her?
He exhales slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a beat before meeting mine again. “What you brought to my doorstep was hell, but... that day was already hell. It was the anniversary of my dad’s death.”
Everything in me stills. My breath catches.
This man, this strong, silent, gruff man—he’s been carrying grief in silence, walking through the dark with no one beside him for way too long.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, fingers tightening on his wrist. “You’ve been doing all of this alone for so long, haven’t you?”
His lips press into a tight line. “By my own design.”
He built a life for himself filled with punishment—a desolate lifestyle, a tiny, crappy house secluded from everyone he knows and loves, a job where he saves people but forces him to move on before he can build any real connections.
“I’m sorry you felt you had to do that,” I say, meaning it with everything in me. “I know how it feels to think you deserve loneliness.”
“You don’t deserve that,” he murmurs, face tight.
I nod against his soft grip. “Maybe neither of us do.”
Something flickers in his eyes. A crack. But it’s gone just as fast.
He leans in, pressing a kiss to my forehead and threads his fingers through mine. “Come here.”
Hand in hand, he leads me around the deep sectional and toward the coffee table.
I stop short, gaping at the sight of hair products, a handheld mirror, a diffuser-attached blow-dryer, and a lineup of carefully placed snacks. There’s even a steaming cup of tea.
Between the table and the couch is a nest of pillows and the softest-looking blankets I’ve ever seen.
“What…” I bite my lip, eyes burning, heart hammering. “What is this, Kade?”
His cheeks pinken, color bleeding into his beard. He drops my hand and rubs the back of his neck. “Went home, asked my mom if she had any girly shit for your bath. Colby got involved. Apparently, curly girls take work.”
A laugh bursts out, and I slap a hand over my mouth.
“She’s not wrong.” I giggle, noting all the costly products I’ve wanted to try but haven’t had the funds for. Girl has expensive taste. I’m officially jealous of a teenager.
“The snacks and meds are from Mom,” he says, dropping into the corner of the couch, spreading his thick thighs. “She said they’re all safe, bland, easy on the stomach. Start with the tea.”
My body trembles. My system is in overdrive—everything in me raw and aching and wanting. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. No one’s ever thought ahead or scrambled when I have a flare-up or get exposed. No one’s even tried.
Abby does the best she can, but she has her own life, and to be honest, when I got sick and she was near, I usually kept it to myself, not wanting to be a bother. Maybe it’s the way I was raised, or the treatment I’ve received from others in the past, but it taught me to rely on no one but myself.
Having someone—multiple someones—who not only believe me, but care enough to worry, to fuss…
It’s everything.
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say. And it’s nowhere near enough.
He raises his hand between us, palm outstretched and waggles his fingers in invitation. I practically dive into it, wanting physical contact with this man more than air.
He guides me between his thighs and nods to the pillows. Blushing, I give him my back and lower myself carefully.
The shirt rides up a little, and I tug it down fast, cheeks burning.
Should’ve worn panties. Definitely should’ve worn panties.
I curl my knees to my chest, sip the tea—chamomile with a touch of honey and lemon balm—and sigh.
“This is delicious,” I hum. “Another of your mom’s creations?”