Chapter 9
nine
. . .
Eden
The house is too quiet when we get back. Not peaceful and quiet like it used to be, but dull…dead. The kind of stillness that makes every sound feel too loud. The furnace kicking on, the refrigerator humming, even the old pipes rattling.
Felix helps me get my outdoor gear off. My entire body throbs from physio, and crying, and existing, and yet he looks…sexy, put together, calm. He lost his younger brother, he has a broken foot, and here I am needing his help.
Pathetic.
“You should sit down,” Felix suggests.
I immediately shake my head.
“I need a shower.”
His expression changes ever so slightly, but the look is gone in a blink.
“You sure?”
“I feel disgusting.”
My skin is coated in antiseptics, disinfectants, and stale grief.
The crash has left me feeling grimy. I’ve watched movies and documentaries where something tragic happens, and the person says something along the lines of, “I scrubbed at my skin until it was raw, trying to erase the images from my mind.” I didn’t understand until now.
When I look at my hands, I see blood. When I turn my head too quickly, I get a whiff of smoke.
I close my eyes and I see the woman burning and my parents far too still bodies.
The images and sounds are just as vivid now, and even though reality tells me I can’t wash away the trauma, something in me wants to try.
Felix watches me carefully, making me fidget. It’s as if he is looking right through to my soul
“Okay, fine,” he says finally. “But I’m helping.”
Heat floods my face instantly.
“No.”
“Eden.”
“No way. I can shower by myself.”
“You almost fell getting off the physio table.”
“That was different.”
“How?” Felix crosses his arms as he cocks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know, it just was.”
The words stammer out in a rush. Just the thought of him being in the bathroom with me, let alone helping me, is mortifying. It might be cliché or old school or whatever, but I’m still a virgin, and the thought of him seeing me naked or even partially naked is…it’s just…unfathomable.
His jaw twitches as he stares me down, silently demanding that I come up with a better argument. It only unnerves me more because it’s like he already knows how this ends.
“Your ribs are cracked, and your broken arm is in a cast,” he says calmly.
“Your balance is shit with your ankle. All it will take is one fall in there, and you can do even worse damage. A broken leg, torn ACL or MCL. Not to mention that a repeat hit to the head while healing from a concussion can lead to ICP or death. Do you want me to go on?”
“No. But thanks for the reminder that I’m useless.”
I look away and can’t even believe that I’m contemplating this.
Felix huffs out a sigh in obvious frustration.
“You know what I mean.”
I do, and that’s the problem.
“Felix, I can do it myself.”
“Okay, fine then.”
The easy agreement throws me off. Felix shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it over the banister railing.
“Go ahead and try. You want to end up in the hospital again or worse with a live-in nurse because you can’t wipe your own ass, then please, be my guest,” he says, obviously annoyed.
“Fine, I will,” I grumble, stubbornness flaring in my chest that has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and my need to feel a semblance of normal.
I look at the staircase, all too aware of his eyes on me as I limp up each step. Arrogant asshole.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing alone in the bathroom, trying not to cry because he’s right. Again. And it is as infuriating as it is embarrassing.
My sweatshirt catches painfully against my arm cast as I try to pull it over my head one-handed.
By the time I finally manage, my ribs are screaming, and I’m breathing hard enough to feel dizzy.
I take the air cast off and promptly put too much weight on my bad ankle. It barks at me like an angry dog.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
Bruises cover my skin in sick shades of yellow and purple. Seatbelt marks cross my collarbone and chest. My hair hangs dull and tangled around my face but does nothing to hide the million little cuts from the glass as if Edward Scissorhands has tried to give me a facial.
I barely recognize myself and force my eyes away from the girl I no longer know. Hanging onto the wall and then the toilet, I reach for the knobs on the shower. The stretch hurts, and so does the awkward lean over the tub. Why don’t we have a walk-in?
Finally, my fingers connect, and the shower turns on with a violent hiss of pipes.
Steam slowly fills the room as I sit on the edge of the tub.
I manage to get my sweatpants halfway down before my foot slips on the linoleum floor and juts out.
The sharp stabbing sensation shoots up my leg, and I fall off, landing unceremoniously in a heap.
Everything hurts.
“Fuck—”
Then there’s pounding on the door.
“Eden?”
“I’m fine, Felix. Go away.”
Lie.
“Unlock the door.”
“No.”
“Eden.”
Humiliation crawls hot beneath my skin.
“Felix, just leave me alone.”
“Not a chance.” He is quiet, but I know he hasn’t left because I can see his shadow under the door. “You’re crying. I can hear you. Now open the door,” he says softer.
My breath catches.
Sure enough, my fingers are wet when I pull them away from my cheek. The doorknob rattles before he knocks again.
“Please unlock the door, Eden. I don’t want to kick it in, but I will.”
The worry in his voice breaks through the last piece of stubbornness left in me.
“Give me a minute.”
Closing my eyes, I take a breath, then scoot myself across the floor. I lean my back against the wall before reaching up with shaky fingers to turn the lock.
The second the door opens, Felix squats beside me, looking me over and assessing what I’ve done to myself. There’s nothing so humbling as being forced to have someone help you do the most basic of tasks. Even worse when the guy is practically a stranger and hot as hell.
My hormones can’t decide if I want to jump up and down with excitement or crawl into a hole and never come out. That’s all before you add in the reason he’s even here. The guilt and shame come in waves, reminding me that my family is dead.
Felix moves quickly. He picks me up, sits me on the counter, and then pulls my sweatpants off. His expression is hard to read, but his brows are drawn together, eyes focused.
“I almost had it,” I whisper, staring at the water streaming down.
“Having me help you doesn’t make you weak. It’s simply recognizing your limitations while you’re healing,” Felix says.
The reality check makes me feel worse.
“And…you don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”
Easy for him to say.
He isn’t sitting here half naked. I’m dying inside. Steam curls around us while hot water pounds softly against the fiberglass tub.
“Do you have a shower seat?”
“Um, no…but there is a small plastic stool in the kitchen.”
“Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”
He disappears, and I take a deep breath, wincing as my ribs choose that moment to join the rest of my body and remind me that they are cracked.
Felix is back in a blink, and without saying anything, he places the stool carefully beneath the spray.
“You act like you’ve done this before.”
“No, but I did look it up,” he says casually, as if any of this is normal.
“You planned this?”
He stands up straight and crosses his arms, the look in his eyes making me swallow hard.
“Not exactly. But I have been researching how to deal with injuries like yours. Showering is one of the tasks people find difficult. And did you really think I was going to let you get into a slippery tub all by yourself?”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m not even sure what to say about that.
Who does that? Who is this guy? He swooped in and saved me at a car accident, and now he’s like…
a friend…caregiver…angel. The nicest people in the world may take you to the hospital and probably make sure you’re going to live.
But then you expect them to leave and go back to their own lives.
“Okay…fine, but once you help me sit on the stool, you can wait outside,” I mutter.
Felix looks at me for a long second, not giving his thoughts away. Then he reaches down and pulls his shirt over his head. My brain stops functioning. The computer screen has gone blue with a spinning wheel. I am frozen, staring at him like a lunatic.
Tattooed skin. A defined stomach with hard abs that disappears into a vee under the low-hung, black jeans. Snow-white hair falls into his icy blue eyes. Holy. Fucking. Hell.
“Wa…wa…what are you doing?” My voice is shaky, and I’m trembling.
“I’m not leaving you.” His tone leaves no room for argument.
Glancing at the door and then up at him again, I can’t decide if I should order him out and call the cops, or get on my knees and thank God for sending Felix.
“You absolutely do not need to get naked for this,” I finally manage to spit out.
“I’m not.”
As soon as he says that, I can’t help but wonder why not? I’m fucked. Did that concussion do damage they didn’t tell me about?
He unfastens his air cast, then pulls off his socks and sets them aside. I force myself not to lick my lips as I watch the muscles in his arms and back flex.
“Eden….”
It’s only my name, but my pulse spikes like he just said the dirtiest thing ever. I blink, my cheeks heating as I look up at him.
He pulls a plastic bag from his back pocket like a magic trick. I eye it warily, but he puts it over my cast and ties it in place. I completely forgot that I can’t get it wet.
“Helping you is helping me. Thinking of Sam hurts so much unless I’m with you,” he says, and my chest aches. He needs me too.
Felix picks me up and steps into the shower like this is the most normal thing in the world. He sits me down on the stool, then stands up straight. I watch as his jeans soak through and cling to his legs, ass, and…oh lord help me. I cannot breathe properly, and not because of my ribs this time.