Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Be strong.
Do what’s right.
Steam quickly fills the small bathroom as hot water pounds against the colorful tiles. When I turn back, Allison is watching me.
Hunger.
And need.
Something deeper than sexual fulfillment.
She unzips the jacket, the hospital gown beneath has slipped off one shoulder, revealing a tempting expanse of skin.
Her hair is wild, her lips slightly parted.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.
"I’ll be just outside."
Fuck all. Walking away from her is the hardest thing I’ve done.
I return a moment later to set the clean clothes on the counter, my fingers brushing across the broken-in cotton of the T-shirt.
It's stupid, but I feel a rush of satisfaction at the thought of Allison wearing my clothes again.
My flannel shirts on a winter night. My dress shirt at the breakfast table. My T-shirt on lazy Sunday mornings.
"Thanks," she calls from beneath the water, behind the shower curtain. A shadowy, curvy version of herself. "I won't be long."
"Take your time," I choke out.
I run from the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I stare at the floor.
Oh, fuck. I’m in so deep.
Swim, Truck, swim. You’re a damned SEAL. That pretty-eyed little woman might scare the life out of you, but she also breathes it into you with every look. Every touch.
You walk away now, you’re signing your own life-sentence.
The sound of the shower continues, a steady rhythm both soothing and agonizing.
My heart rate speeds and speeds until the organ is galloping. Images of Allison under the spray are too damned vivid to ignore.
She does not need me manhandling her right now.
Shower. Food. Sleep.
Restless, I pace the cabin, alternating between clenching my hair, putting my cap back on, and scrubbing my face. All while counting the seconds until she emerges.
Before I can stop myself, I tug my shirt off, tossing it onto the floor.
With tingling hands, I find a change of clothes for myself.
She’s not going to be subjected to one more moment of my river-water, mud-caked, stress-sweat body.
Bandages be damned. I’m taking a shower.
Just as the sound of water shutting off reaches me, I kick my boots off, suddenly impatient to be in and out of the shower too.
Hell, I’m just impatient, period.
I snatch up the phone that Beast gave me, typing a quick text. Tamales?
His reply is instant. A middle finger emoji.
I send a smirk back.
Beast: ETA 17:42
Ten minutes from now. Perfect.
Me: Good. I’m ready for bed.
Beast: Bet you are. One of us will have eyes on your place tonight so you two can rest.
I stare at his text.
God. I’m a lucky bastard.
It’s time for me to get my shit straight so I can be the teammate he and the others deserve. Especially after what happened with his girl when she was under my watch.
Me: I owe you.
Beast: You’re right. Now take care of your girl.
My girl. His words echo around inside the chambers of my heart.
Mine.
Something big is happening.
I never thought I’d fall in love again. Never thought I’d let myself. But I can’t make myself walk away.
“Hey,” Allison’s soft voice snaps me back. “You okay?”
The sweetest vision in the world: she’s draped in my T-shirt, her damp hair over one shoulder, a warm smile on her face.
When I don’t reply, she steps toward me. The brush of her fingers against my cheek is achingly soft. “You worried about your brother?”
“No. I’m trying to get my emotions in check. Too close to the surface tonight.”
“Why are you trying to hold them back?” she asks softly.
“Because—”
She cuts me off when I hesitate. “That’s how you try to operate?”
“Yeah,” my voice roughens, “But I’ve failed at that for a long time. I haven’t been good to anyone else because of that.”
She drags her fingers through the wet ringlets hanging on the T-shirt. A little sigh parts her lips. “Will you talk to me?”
“Not tonight.”
“We’re waiting for food, right? Might as well make use of the time. You seem like the weight is heavy on your shoulders tonight. Let me carry some of the load.”
Jesus. No. This is not her load to bear.
“I want a shower.”
Yes, I’m diverting.
“But your bandages?”
I shrug and steeple my fingers as I rest my elbows on my knees. “They’ll stay, or they won’t.”
But I don’t get up.
My skin tingles when she rubs a slow circle over my back. The skin delighting in the feel of her bare fingers.
She’s only touched my arms and my cock before. Maybe my thigh when she was pleasuring me. But this touch is everything.
Comfort. Compassion. An intimate connection that never comes from a one-night thing.
“You know, I didn’t think about this part of your tattoo being a name. I just thought it meant hope .”
Acid slices across my tongue and down my throat. “No, it was my fiancée's name.”
God, that hurts to say.
“You want to tell me about her?”
That stinging spreads. A band tightens around my chest as terrible memories claw their way around the inside of my hollowed-out soul.
I exhale. Try to think of where to start. But nothing feels right. So, I just drop the bomb and pray for survival.
“Hope died because of me.”
Allison doesn’t stiffen. She doesn’t inhale swiftly. She just leans against me, her hand continuing to make gentle circles across my spine. “How did it happen?”
This part is much harder. Bracing for the worst reaction possible, I close my eyes.
“It was a climbing accident. She fell. Because of me. I made a mistake that cost her life.”
She kisses my shoulder.
Silence swings in on an ominous cloud, chilling the space around us.
We just think for a long minute.
Then she breaks the tension. “Like you said, it was a mistake. That has to be hard, but I know you didn’t do anything to harm her on purpose.”
I shake my head, staring at the floor as all of the moments before the fall that killed Hope play out in my head. “I was negligent. Fucking cocky.”
“And it was an accident. And a mistake.”
“It still shouldn’t have happened.”
When I don’t go on, she gently takes my hat off my head and tosses it on the bed.
I sit up when she comes to stand in front of me.
Gathering me against her, she tugs me forward, settling my cheek against her stomach. Both hands smooth over my back.
Voice soft, even melodic, she says, “You can forgive yourself. But it’s up to you. I can’t force you to do it, but I know this with all my heart. You deserve to live knowing you’re a good person. You’ve proven it to me, and I’m going to make it my job to prove it to you.”
Swallow.
Jaw hinged open, I close my eyes under the assault of feelings.
God.
I can’t even breathe.
Stroking her hands over my back, she murmurs, “I’m right here.”