Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
OLLIE
The ride back to Ethan’s cabin is long enough for my heartbeat to finally slow down as the adrenaline drains out of my system.
But it’s not just because of how long it takes us to get there.
It’s because Ethan won’t stop reaching out to my seat to squeeze my hand every time he can. Or the way his scent feels somehow stronger, the pine almost intoxicating, as if his worry has intensified it.
Or maybe it’s just the mere thought that I won’t have to see anyone else but him for the next few days. And that’s what I want, nothing but his presence around me.
A chill runs through me, a residual of my earlier fear coming back to haunt this fragile peace and quiet.
My teeth worry my bottom lip to the point of pain, but I relish in the faint throb it gives me because it means that I made it, that I’m fine, that I’m safe.
He came for me.
Ethan came for me and protected me.
I turn my head to look at his serious profile, plunged in shadows in the darkness of the late evening and my chest hurts from an emotion I can’t describe.
As if sensing my gaze, his palm reaches for me once more and without taking his eyes off the road, his fingers thread through my hair and run through my curls.
He only does it once, before his hand retreats, but it’s all I need to melt back in my seat, the gentle touch lingering long after it’s gone.
I can feel the way exhaustion threatens to pull me under. My mind is so tired and my body aches so much from hitting that wall and from trying to break free.
My head lolls to the side and I watch the trees we pass, now simply a dark green mass only illuminated by the truck’s headlights.
I must close my eyes for a while because the next thing I know, the truck is stopping.
And my heart skips a beat at the sight of my favorite place in the whole world.
How can a place I’ve spent less than two weeks in feel like home to me?
I’m already exiting and walking towards the front door while Ethan grabs my backpack from the back.
He offers me the softest smile I’ve ever seen on his face when our eyes meet as he opens the door, and I’ve never felt more grateful for the fact that even though tonight threatened to take this away from us, it didn’t.
Stepping inside, emotions sit heavy on my chest, the memory of my last day here—the day I left and thought I’d never come back—assaulting my already ravaged mind. But beneath it all, my heart soars with tentative happiness.
Because everything is exactly as I remember it; the coat rack with Ethan’s flannels in many different colors, the earthy, cozy living room with the giant couch and the fireplace that used to burn orange and hot.
And him. Ethan. By my side, oozing strength, and kindness, and safety. So much safety.
Taking a step closer to him, he lets go of my backpack and cups my nape, his gaze never straying from mine.
“Thank you,” I tell him and for a moment, I’m not even sure about what I’m thanking him for. For looking for me tonight when he saw I wasn’t there waiting for him. For keeping me safe once again. For caring enough to make sure I’m okay.
For being the only person in my life who’s made me hope for something good.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers hoarsely while his thumb brushes against my cheek. “Didn’t I tell you that you never have to thank me for something like this the last time we were here?”
I can feel the corners of my lips lifting in a small smile, the movement pulling at my skin where my tears have dried and my scrapes ache, but I don’t care.
“You’re right. But let me do it anyway,” I mutter, my forehead hanging forward in the crook of his neck.
“Whatever you want, Ollie,” he rasps out, placing a barely-there kiss on the top of my head. “How about I clean your cuts so you can rest, hm?”
“You certainly have your hands full with me, huh?” I say, avoiding to look at him for fear he’ll see how much I hate it that I don’t make things easy for him. For fear he’ll realize that I’m too much to handle, too broken to waste his time with me.
My breath hitches when I feel him leaning down, nuzzling behind my ear, and every somber thought flies out of my head when he whispers, “Well, let me make them fuller,” and lifts me by the back of my thighs while I yelp and scramble to hook my legs and arms around him.
A hint of mischief breaks through the worry that has darkened his expression during our whole drive here.
“I want my hands, and my head, and my heart full of you every minute of every day. Do you understand that, Ollie?”
An exhale stutters out of me at the intensity of his words and gaze, his eyes burning into me, urging me to believe him.
I can only nod, tightening my limbs around him, wishing I could embed myself in his skin.
The smile he gives me is full of relief and warmth.
“Good. Now, let’s take care of you, sweetheart.”
He takes us to the bathroom and I cling to him, soaking in the body heat that emanates from him, his shirt so very warm to the touch. It’s the only reason why I’m not shivering despite the fact that I never got to put on a jacket since he carried me away from that alleyway.
The bathroom is dark when we enter it, but Ethan flips on the light as soon as he leaves me seated on the counter, and for a bathroom that is definitely not small, it sure feels tiny with the way he sucks all the air out of the room.
Or maybe that’s just the effect he has on me as I follow everything he does, just like I did all those weeks ago.
“I’m having deja-vu,” I tell him as he reaches for his supplies from an upper cabinet.
The corner of his lips twitches.
“Maybe there will come a day when you enter my cabin with no injuries at all.”
“Yes, that would be nice.” The light catches on his hand and I suck in a breath. “Wait, Ethan. You’re injured, too. Let me see your hand.”
“It’s nothing, Ollie. Don’t worry about it,” he says, continuing to search through the cabinet.
My fingers grip his shirt, tugging firmly until his eyes meet mine.
“Show me your hand, Ethan.”
He extends his right hand towards me and my chest pinches hard as I take it in both of mine.
His knuckles are split open, the wound angry, the skin reddened.
There is no way this doesn’t hurt and yet he carried me twice since he got this and never said anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain?” I whisper in the quiet of the bathroom.
“Because I’m not, baby,” he says in a gentle voice that makes it impossible not to look at him. “I would have gladly scraped my skin raw if it meant saving you from having to go through what you did tonight.”
A lump lodges in my throat at the sincerity of his words.
“You hurt him for me.”
“I would have killed him for you.”
He says it easily. Calmly. Like he’s simply stating a fact and I can see how much he means it in his intense gaze.
He really would have killed him for me, for the pain he has caused me, for the fear he has brought me. Ethan would have done it. For me.
I nod slowly, letting the thought sink in and spread inside me, something I never imagined I’d feel at the sound of such a violent act running through me.
Satisfaction.
Releasing his hand tenderly but never releasing his gaze, I move forward until I’m on my feet and we’re almost brushing against each other.
“Start the shower, Ethan.” His eyes stray to the cuts on my face and even that brief hesitation that shows me how worried he still is, stirs something deep and heavy in my gut. “Later,” I whisper, drawing his eyes back to mine. “We’ll fix them later.”
I need something else and I need it now.
Ethan swallows as he reaches for the shower handle with one hand, without even looking.
The sound of the water hitting the tiles hard fills the bathroom.
“I don’t want to feel this day on me anymore,” I tell him as my hands find my shirt and Ethan’s eyes track every movement until I remove everything off me. “Help me wash it off.”
He makes room for me to walk around him but even as I step under the shower and the hot water runs over every inch of me, I don’t miss the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, or the way he’s watching me as if I’m too good to be true.
“Are you coming?” I ask him and smile when he rips his shirt clean off in one smooth move. I let my head tip back under the hot spray, my eyes sliding shut in bliss.
I feel his presence immediately, the moment he steps in as well and closes the glass door of the shower behind him, shutting us inside the warm steam.
I open my eyes and there he is, in all his large, strong, naked glory. The steam and hot water are already making me feel so relaxed that when he tilts my chin up so the water soaks my curls and his fingers start massaging my scalp, I know I’m completely gone.
“That feels so good, Ethan,” I mumble, my words almost slurred.
He angles my face so the warm rivulets run down the cuts on my temple and cheek and he smiles when I sigh.
“Let me make it feel a bit better, sweetheart,” he rumbles and walks me a couple of steps backwards so my back can rest on the tiled wall.
And reaching for the shower gel, he then proceeds to wash and rub and rinse every part of me. He touches me everywhere, light as a feather in some places like my hair and sensitive neck, heavy and possessive in others like my waist, my hips, my thighs.
It’s not a touch that’s meant to turn me on. It’s a touch that’s grounding, as if he’s reminding both of us that we’re here, that I’m here with him, that I’m okay and safe and here.
It’s what I imagine a touch you save for someone you care about to be.
Of course, that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s touching me everywhere, and when he kneels in front of me to rub the gel on my legs, it’s impossible not to react to the sight of him like this; strong shoulders, thick arms, rough hands, dark eyes tracing every inch of skin he brands.
He’s breathtaking.