22. Lana #2
Toren sighed. “Fine. Probably the masking tape. It’s the most flexible, isn’t it? Other than the painter’s tape, but I don’t think that’ll stick when it’s wet.”
I set all but the masking tape on the counter next to the clean black boxer briefs he’d set out. “I agree.”
“Well, hang on. Let me get some layers off before you take away my fingers on that hand.” Balancing on one foot, he leaned his crutches against the wall, then deftly removed his long-sleeved thermal shirt.
He’d long ago lost the flannel he had on before we left the floodplain.
The nurses helped him out of that when they bandaged his hand.
All the moisture fled my mouth. My eyes tracked over the wide, hair-roughened expanse of Toren’s chest.
My original impression of him still stood. He looked like some sort of devilish Greek god.
When his hands dropped to his waistband, I turned away, busying myself with getting a towel and washcloth out for him.
I chanced a glance over my shoulder a few moments later. He’d left his pants on but had unfastened them.
Oh, thank goodness. I didn’t think I could stop myself from becoming a blithering idiot if he took his pants off. The man’s physique was magnificent.
“Do you need help with the ankle wrap?” I asked.
“No. I’ll take my pants off after you leave, then unwrap it. It’s got Velcro on the ends, so I should be able to take it off with one hand.”
I nodded. “Let’s get your hand wrapped.” And me out of this bathroom before I insisted on helping with his pants.
Separating the edges of the bag, I gave it a quick flick, opening it. Toren stuck his hand inside. I smushed the air out, then secured it with the masking tape.
“There.” I cocked my head, studying the tape. It looked okay. “That should hold you well enough.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I gathered up the rolls of tape. “I’ll be close by, just in case you need me.”
One side of his mouth slanted up. “I’m going to try not to. That’d be awkward for both of us.”
My cheeks heated. Once more, my eyes fell to the wide, bronzed, well-muscled chest on display. “Probably.” I backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door.
Holy shitballs. I was going to dream about that chest tonight. One hundred percent.
True to my word, after I put the tape away, I stayed close, keeping an ear out until I heard the shower turn off. Once I heard the curtain rattle as he opened it, then the sounds of him getting out of the tub enclosure, I told him through the door that I was going to take my own shower now.
Down the hall, I shut my bedroom door, locking it, and stripped. Everything stayed on the floor where it dropped. I’d pick it all up when I was done and put it straight into the washer.
Undoing the braids in my hair, I grimaced at the stiffness in the locks. I’d be shampooing it multiple times.
I turned the water on and worked my fingers through the strands of my hair while I waited for the water to warm. I sighed as the pressure on my scalp eased. The braids had been great to contain my hair, but my scalp was happy they were coming out.
With the water warm and my hair loose, I stepped into the tub. The hot water hit me, and I groaned, then just stood there for a solid five minutes, letting it pound against my skin.
Tears pressed against the backs of my eyes. I grabbed my shampoo, fighting them, but when my fingers snagged in a tangle and tugged on my scalp, the quick burst of pain was enough to pierce the gates.
The last few days, I’d been locking up everything I was feeling, knowing I needed to keep it together to survive.
But now, safe, and locked away in my shower all alone, I couldn’t stop them from pouring out.
Tears cascaded down my face. I let it happen, crying through shampooing and conditioning my hair as well as scouring my body with a poof and strawberry-scented body wash.
As the last of the suds swirled down the drain, my tears stopped. I shut off the water and realized I felt more like myself than I had in days. I’d needed that.
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and dried off, then wandered into my bedroom closet, finding undergarments and the softest pair of leggings I owned. After pulling a t-shirt and a maroon hoodie over my head with the inn’s new logo on it, I gathered my clothes and left the bedroom.
Toren was out of the bathroom when I entered the hallway. I poked my head in, looking to see if he’d left his clothes or not.
By the counter, they were in a heap. I added them to what was in my arms and turned around.
Entering the living area, I saw the back of his dark head on the couch. “Do you have more stuff in your bag that needs washed?”
He turned his head. “Yes.”
“If you dig it all out, I’ll come grab it in a second.” I continued past him to the kitchen and the laundry room beyond.
But as I stuffed clothing into the washing machine, I heard the distinctive click-thud of his crutches.
“I told you I would—” Any words I was about to say left my brain, as did virtually every other thought, when I turned around and saw him.