Chapter 28
The hot water is steaming up the stall as it swirls around us.
Blake stands beneath the spray, her bare skin turned slightly pink from the heat, and her long hair hanging limp down her back, darkened and heavy.
It traces the line of her spine and sticks to her skin.
Her arms are still wrapped tightly around me as I pepper kisses against the top of her head.
Every bit of tension and turmoil from her body has washed down the drain with the blood from mine.
Finally letting her guard down, she keeps her eyes closed with her face pressed into my chest. “I’ve got you,” I whisper softly, my lips lingering against her wet hair.
She nods, a tiny, almost unrecognizable movement. “I know.”
I reach for the soap and fill my palm before rubbing my hands together to form suds.
I smooth the bubbles over her shoulders and drag my palms down her arms until my fingers are laced with hers, working the soap into her hands and between her fingers.
Retracing my steps, I move to her shoulders and dig my fingers lightly into her muscles, working at the knots created from far too many hours of long surgeries.
She lets out a contented sigh and tips her head slightly, exposing the side of her neck.
Following her silent cue, I press my lips into the crook of her neck as my hands slide up and down the slippery, sudsy skin of her back.
She lets me care for her. She gives herself a much-needed break, letting me be strong for her.
I turn her into the water, letting it cascade over her skin until the suds have rinsed from her body.
When I’m done, I turn off the water and reach for the towels outside the stall, realizing just how loud the sudden silence feels.
I wrap a thick, fluffy towel around her first, tucking it securely against her chest before she can think to do it herself. Then I fasten one around my waist.
Steam curls around us as I guide her out of the stall and onto the cold tile, holding onto her tightly to ensure she doesn’t slip.
I dry her, treating her like she’s fragile and might break if I’m too rough.
Hair first, blotting the water from it. Then her shoulders, arms, and back.
I kneel to dry her legs, pausing only to press a soft kiss to each of her thighs, as she watches me with a quiet, unreadable expression.
After helping her to her locker, I pull out a fresh pair of scrubs.
I guide her arms into the sleeves before lifting the fabric over her head and lowering it to her waist. She steps into her pants, and I drag them up her legs, tying the strings to secure them over her tiny hips.
With her sneakers ruined, I slip her feet into the flip-flops at the foot of her locker, likely used for the communal shower.
I quickly dress myself in the clean clothes the guys brought for me.
By the time I finish, Blake is brushing her hair and struggling with a knot she can’t easily reach.
“Let me,” I urge gently. Now standing behind her, I work the brush in slow strokes from crown to ends, carefully untangling knots when I reach them.
“I… I need,” she stammers suddenly, growing anxious, or maybe uncomfortable. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.” I finish my stroke and still my hand.
She swallows hard. “Not here.”
I nod and fight the urge to press her further. “I’ll take you home.”
“No.” Her spine stiffens. “They know where I live.”
“I know,” I share. “I meant my home.”
She turns, and her chocolate eyes are sharp despite her exhaustion. “What do you mean you know?”
I meet her gaze. There’s no point dancing around it now. “You’ve been under my surveillance since we met.” Her mouth falls open, and from the look in her eyes, I know what she’s thinking before she says a word. “It’s not like that.”
“Really?” she huffs. “You aren’t sleeping with me to get me to tell you where Maryam is.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I broke my entire team’s trust because I couldn’t stay away from you. I’ve violated more orders than I can count to be with you.”
She studies me trying to decide whether I deceived her and if she can still trust me. “You were watching me… at the market?”
“I said I was at work,” I reply flatly.
She stares at me, clearly unamused. Her brows knit together, anger flaring. “I’m work?”
“No Doc,” I exhale. “You were work. You haven’t been a job to me since I disobeyed Gunnar and interfered in that alleyway.”
“Oh, well, that makes it better.” She lets out a sarcastic, disbelieving laugh. “You’ve been following me. You spied on me.”
“I protected you. I kept you alive.” We stare at each other for a long moment. “I took care of you, Doc. Before you were mine. So you could be mine.”
She shakes her head and scrubs her hand over her face. “This is insane,” she grouses. “You’re crazy.”
“Accurate,” I agree. “Completely fucking crazy for you.”
She snickers a scoff despite her best effort to hold it in. “You should have told me.”
“You wouldn’t have trusted me. And I needed you to,” I share. “I needed to be able to keep you close so that I could keep you safe.”
We talk for a long time, a quiet conversation where the pauses stretch and the air between us feels heavy with everything that could shatter if I say the wrong thing.
Her arms fold and unfold, like she can’t decide whether to protect herself from me or reach for me.
I expect her to bolt as I explain that I cared long before she ever let me.
When I finish, and she looks at me, there’s still anger there.
Hurt, too. But it’s threaded with understanding. Maybe.
Together, we leave the locker room and head back through the hospital.
Gunnar is still in the lobby, posture relaxed and eyes anything but.
He looks up immediately as we approach. “You guys showered?” he asks, his voice ticking up with disbelief.
He grimaces slightly before I can answer.
“Nope. Never mind. I don’t want to know what the two of you were doing. ”
Blake huffs a tired laugh and veers toward the post-surgical room to check on Zahra. I wait with Gunnar, watching after her from the hallway. When Blake returns, her expression is steady.
“I’ll stay,” Gunnar offers without being asked. “Make sure no one comes to finish the job.”
Blake exhales a soft sigh. “Thank you.”
I nod my gratitude. “I’ll text you when we reach the safe house. And call me if anything comes up.”
Gunnar gives a sharp bob of his head. “Be careful.”
The drive is quiet. My fingers are wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, my senses stretched thin from the day.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, I notice a luxury SUV two cars behind us.
It’s nice. Far too nice for this side of the city.
I take a left, taking obscure roads that aren’t routes.
Turns that don’t make sense unless you’re watching to see if you’re being followed. And we are.
Stretching over Blake’s lap, I grab her seatbelt and yank it a little tighter. She looks up. “What—”
The Jeep jolts as we’re rammed from behind, Blake’s scream filling the confined space.
“Glove box,” I bark. Hands trembling, she fumbles it open. Her eyes blow wide, and she freezes when she sees the gun. Her breath stutters, but she reaches in and hands it to me with shaking fingers. They crash into us again, and we are tossed around in our seats. “Take the wheel.”
She does without question, her fingers wrapping around it so tightly her knuckles blanch.
I don’t let off the accelerator, and she struggles to maintain control as we barrel down the narrow street.
Before they can encroach on us again, I lower the window and reach out.
As I aim, they fire. I return with two shots, controlled and precise, through the driver’s chest. The pursuing vehicle veers violently as he slumps against the wheel, slamming into a building with a loud bang and sparks.
My heart is hammering as I grab the wheel with my left hand and feel over Blake’s torso and chest with my right. “Are you okay? Are you hit?” She doesn’t answer, and I shout, “Blake!”
She startles before answering, her voice thin and shaky. “I’m okay.”
I don’t slow down. The city blurs past as I drive like hell toward the safe house.