Rane
I watch her for probably too long.
She’s sitting in the dirt with Brent. The cloth in her hands and she can’t stop moving.
She’s crying.
She doesn’t even know it.
Brent knows. He can’t take his eyes off her.
I don’t think he’s ever seen her cry before.
The wound is gone.
I see it at the same time he does — I watch his eyes widen — and then he glances up at me and nods once.
I cross the street.
She doesn’t hear me coming. I crouch down beside her and she still doesn’t look up. She just keeps her hands on the cloth. Wiping even though there’s nothing left to clean.
“Hey,” I say.
She looks up. Eyes red.
She’s been holding herself together for so long…
I don’t say anything else. I just pick her up.
She doesn’t fight it. That’s how I know how tired she really is. Both arms come around my neck and she tucks her face against my shoulder.
I stand up with her.
Her legs wrap around me.
I hold her tighter.
Brent watches us go. Doesn’t say a word.
The guys give us the street.
I don’t know how they know. They just do.
I take her home.
Up the steps, through the door, and straight upstairs. She hasn’t said anything. I haven’t either. The house is quiet and warm and the bed is right there but I don’t put her down.
“Tub,” I say.
She doesn’t argue.
The second bathroom is at the end of the hall. I get the water running — warm enough to do something for her muscles — and sit her on the edge of the tub while the room starts to fill with steam.
She’s just looking at the wall.
I kneel in front of her and start with her boots. She lets me. Then her socks. I keep going, slow. Trying my hardest to be gentle with her until there’s nothing left. She doesn’t cover herself. Doesn’t flinch. Just sits there while I do what needs doing.
I get her in the water.
She exhales when she’s in. Long and slow. Her eyes close.
I roll my sleeves up and reach for the cup on the shelf.
She doesn’t talk. I don’t push. Just work through it — the days of whatever they put her in and the battle and the dirt and the blood that isn’t hers. All the shit with Laith and Silas and that fucker Harrick.
I take my time. She lets me.
I reach for the shampoo and she tips her head back without being asked.
“How is it,” I say, working it through her hair, “that you and I keep ending up in water together?”
The corner of her mouth moves. It’s small, almost nothing.
But it’s something.
I work my fingers into her scalp.
“Nova?”
“Sorry.” Her voice is rough. “It just—” She stops. Tries again. “It feels amazing.”
I almost say something but I stop myself.
“Good,” I say instead.
I focus on rinsing the shampoo out carefully around her face. I do the same thing with that conditioner stuff she uses. I know she’d kill me if I didn’t.
I take my time, wash her until she’s clean and relaxed.
I can’t remember the last time she looked this peaceful.
She will again. Soon.
When I’m done I get her out, wrap a towel around her, dry her off. Her eyes are clearer, she’s standing steadier. She watches me the whole time.
I carry her to bed.
She burrows in immediately. Face half in the pillow. Eyes already going heavy.
I pull the blanket up over her.
“You always manage to surprise me, Beautiful,” I say.
She looks up at me. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Are you kidding?” I sit on the edge of the bed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She smiles and settles back into the pillow.
We’re quiet for a minute. The house around us, the sounds of the Hollow outside, everything slower now.
“Hey, Rane?”
“Hmm.”
“Where did this bed come from?” She shifts slightly, pressing her palm flat against the mattress like she’s feeling how solid it is. “I love it.”
I smile.
“Locke made it,” I say. “For you.”
She’s quiet.
Then her eyes close.
I stay until her breathing evens out.