Chapter Nine #2
I headed down the hallway.
I was just checking on Bob, and that was all.
He’d looked exhausted when he came out of Church, and I wanted to make sure he’d actually gone to sleep instead of sitting in his room doing something stupid.
That was completely reasonable.
I reached his door and stopped. It was cracked open, and I pushed it wider to peek inside.
The room was dim. Bob had pulled the curtains closed, leaving only a thin line of afternoon light coming through the middle. His wheelchair was parked beside the bed, and Bob was asleep.
He was lying on his back with one arm stretched across the mattress and the blanket pulled up to his waist. His T-shirt was still on, but he’d kicked off his boots. His face looked different when he slept. The hard edges weren’t completely gone, but they weren’t as noticeable.
I stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind me.
Just checking on him.
He was breathing. He was sleeping.
I could leave. Instead, I walked closer.
There was still some color in his face, which made me feel better. The first time I’d seen him in that hospital bed, he’d been so pale that I’d had trouble looking at him without thinking about how close I’d come to showing up too late.
I didn’t like thinking about that.
I looked at the scar across his throat that was healing too. His whole body was healing, but it was slow going.
Bob made a quiet sound and shifted slightly.
I froze, but his eyes stayed closed.
Thank God.
I turned toward the door and then looked back at the bed. Damn it.
Maybe I was tired too. It had been a long few days, and there was a perfectly good empty half of a bed right there.
I’d already slept in it three times. Taking a nap wasn’t any different.
I kicked off my shoes like I couldn’t stop myself. “This is stupid,” I whispered.
Bob didn’t answer.
I walked around the bed and carefully pulled the blanket back.
The mattress dipped when I climbed onto it, but Bob didn’t move.
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling.
There. I was taking a nap. Nothing weird about it. Two adults could share a bed in the middle of the afternoon without it meaning anything.
I turned my head to see Bob was still asleep.
I watched him for a few seconds. Then a few more.
This was probably exactly why two adults couldn’t share a bed without it meaning something.
I rolled onto my side, facing away from him. Much better.
I closed my eyes.
The clubhouse was quieter back here. I could barely hear the movie playing from the common room, and every once in a while, someone’s voice carried down the hallway.
I started relaxing. Truth was, I really had been tired.
The mattress moved behind me, and I opened my eyes. Before I could turn around, Bob rolled onto his side, and his arm came around my waist.
I sucked in a breath. Then he pulled me backward, right against him. My whole body went stiff. Bob’s chest pressed against my back. His arm was wrapped around my middle, his hand resting against my stomach, and one of his legs slid against mine as he settled behind me.
Holy shit. I stared at the wall. “Bob?”
Nothing.
“Bob,” I whispered again.
His breathing stayed slow and even.
He was asleep. Completely fucking asleep.
I carefully turned my head enough to see him.
His eyes were closed. The man had grabbed me and pulled me into his arms without even waking up.
I should move. That was the obvious thing to do. He didn’t know what he was doing.
If he woke up and found me plastered against him, there was a very good chance he wouldn’t even remember being the one who put me there.
I put my hand over his where it rested against my stomach.
I was going to move it. That was the plan. Except I didn’t.
His hand was warm beneath mine, and I slowly relaxed back against him.
This was different from waking up touching him this morning. That had been a leg against mine, my hand on his arm.
This was Bob wrapped around me.
I could feel every breath he took. His chest rose against my back and fell again. His beard brushed lightly against the top of my head when he shifted.
I closed my eyes.
I hadn’t come to Skull Island expecting any of this. When things in Iowa got bad enough that I finally admitted I needed help, I’d thought of Ashland Moore.
Except the man holding me wasn’t the eighteen-year-old guy I remembered. He was Bob, and I liked him a hell of a lot more than I’d expected to.
I liked making him laugh. I liked the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. I liked that he’d told me he’d help without needing to know exactly what I’d gotten myself into first.
And God, I really liked being held by him.
Bob’s arm tightened slightly around me in his sleep.
I smiled.
I could get up. I could go back out and finish the movie. I could pretend I’d only come in here to check on him, which technically wasn’t even a lie. Instead, I pulled the blanket a little higher over us and settled deeper into his arms.
A few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything.
My eyes closed.
The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was Bob’s hand beneath mine and the steady rise and fall of his chest against my back.