Chapter 10
Several minutes later,we pull into an underground parking garage, the door is opened as soon as we stop by a very large, very scary looking man. He has dark hair and even darker eyes. He has a scar on one side of his face. I cringe at the realization that it’s a knife wound. My inner thigh itches and I have to clench my fists to prevent myself from touching the spot over the scar there that’s a perfect match to this man.
I recoil back from him as he reaches into the car to grab ahold of my arm. His grip is firm but gentle. The dark, deadly look in his eyes has my mouth growing dry. This man could break me with one hand tied behind his back and not even blink. I force my brain to calm. Matthew isn’t freaking out, so this guy has to be safe. Just because he looks scary doesn’t mean he’s a danger to me. Despite his size and his hard look, he helps me carefully from the SUV.
“Slade, this is Rose,” Matthew introduces us as he slides out of the SUV behind me. “Slade will be your security detail if you should need to leave the residence. He’ll drive you wherever you need to go.”
Slade nods down at me and attempts a smile. I assume he’s trying to put me at ease, but he shouldn’t have bothered. Nothing he does is going to minimalize the level of lethal energy he puts out just standing here. “Rose,” he says in acknowledgment.
I shiver at the tone of his voice. It’s gravely and just as menacing as the rest of him. I can imagine him chewing on broken glass in his spare time to keep that level of menace in his tone. My anxiety rises with every breath I take, and the need to flee is so strong I have to force myself to stay standing still. Thankfully, Matthew is more than willing to allow me to cling to his arm. I manage to position myself in a way that Matthew is between Slade and me. I wearily stare at the hulk of a man. Lord have mercy, where did Matthew find this guy? My voice has completely escaped me, and the only thing I can concentrate on is breathing. Even that is a chore.
Slade notices my distress—it is pretty obvious—and a little of the hardness retreats from his eyes. “I know I’m one scary-looking motherfucker, but that’s why I’m on your detail ma’am. Have to be a damn big fool to come up against me.” He tries the whole smiling thing again, and this time it’s not quite so scary. In fact, since his smile is a bit wider, more genuine, there is a hint of a dimple on his left cheek and a slight twinkle in his dark eyes. “You are safe with me, little bit,” he promises.
Matthew is silent through this exchange, which is strange since at every sign of my discomfort, he’s come to my rescue. I glance up at him from the corner of my eye and notice he is looking down on me, my discomfort hasn’t escaped his notice he’s just allowing me the chance to handle things. I am not as subtle in my glance as I think and can see the smirk on his lips when he sees me looking at him.
I look back towards Slade, well, mostly at his knees. Baby steps. “O-okay,” I stutter. “Thanks.” My voice cracks and I can’t hide the hint of fear in it, but at least I answered.
Daniels walks past us and claps Slade on the shoulder then heads to a bank of elevators entering a code in the keypad next to the smallest of the three elevators. Matthew starts to move forward, stopping in his tracks when I don’t move from the spot I’m rooted to. Still holding onto his arm with a death grip. He turns to face me head-on and pulls my fingers from his arm one at a time then links his fingers through mine.
“Love,” he admonishes. “I think by now you know that I am not going to let anything happen to you. You are perfectly safe here with me and in my home. My men will never let anything happen to you either. While both Slade and Daniels look like bad motherfuckers, I am the baddest motherfucker around so they will not disappoint me. Got it?”
Feeling a bit annoyed at myself for being such a shrinking violet, I straighten my spine and nod in acceptance. I’m not sure why, but I trust Matthew. Maybe because he saved me from Damon, or because after he saved me, he spent days by my bedside taking care of me. No matter the reason, I trust him more than I can ever remember trusting anyone… except…
No, I won’t think of him. Not now. Not ever.
I shove that thought down. Marcia Grant—my once foster mother and tormentor—told me he was a figment of my imagination. The stupid dream of a child. In my life, there isn’t any room for childish thoughts, and certainly no room for dreams. Unless you consider nightmares as dreams. There are plenty of those. The dreams didn’t stop coming, though. Dreams of the blue-eyed boy who promised to take me away. To save me from the Grants. Night after night, he promised me the world in my dreams. Of course, I would always wake up, and there was no rescue on the horizon.
I look up at Matthew’s dark-blue eyes and wonder if my subconscious has connected the dream-boy who made such pretty promises with this man in front of me. Did my brain trick me into trusting him because of my dreams? Do I care if that’s why I’m so comfortable with Matthew?
No, I decide, I don’t care the why of how I feel when he’s around. I’ve never felt more cared for, more protected, more like a human being that’s worthy of kindness in my entire life. I’m going to latch onto the way he makes me feel and not let go.
“Use your words.”
My eyes widen at Matthew’s tone. It’s a little harder. More demanding. This is the dominant peeking out. It’s not the first time he’s gotten that firmness to his voice with me, but it is the first time it feels like there is true weight to the implied threat.
Part of me wonders what he’ll do if I refuse to answer him. Will he threaten me? Is this where I find out that he’s not at all what he seems? Because I’m an idiot, I don’t respond. Instead, I stand stock-still, chewing my cheek until the sharp metallic taste of blood coats my tongue.
“Perhaps it is time we had a quick chat about expectations. If I ask you a direct question, I expect a verbal response. Communication is important in a—” Matthew hesitates and seems to change his mind about whatever it is that he was going to say. “—Communication is important. Understand?”
He’s so stern and has an air of confidence that it makes me instantly want to give him what he wants, but I’ve chosen my path. Now that the idea to test him is in my head, I can’t seem to ignore it. Some sick part of me needs to know how far I can push him before he raises his hand in anger. Where is the line to cross? There is always a line. If I find it now, I can avoid it later.
I swallow thickly, then nod my head again, averting my eyes so I can’t see the man whose been so good to me change into just another monster. I don’t have to wait long. Before I can even so much as blink, Matthew has my hair wrapped tightly around his hand. He uses his grip to tilt my head back, giving me nowhere else to look besides directly at him.
I wait for the pain of a slap or maybe a vicious tug to my hair that’ll bring me to my knees in front of him, but that doesn’t happen. I fight my instinct to close my eyes as he slowly leans in close. So close his face is barely a hairsbreadth away from mine. I can almost taste the sweet peppermint on his breath.
“You’re playing with fire, sweetheart,” he says in a throaty voice, his lips lightly brushing against mine as he speaks because he’s so close.
He warns me about playing with fire, but with the way he’s holding me and how close he is, I swear, I’m already burning. My insides feel like they are on fire. A warmth bubbles up from deep inside me, and it takes me long seconds to realize what I’m feeling is attraction. The thought is like a shock to my system. I’ve never been in a position to explore the natural attraction between a woman and a man, and now that I am, it’s overwhelming.
The spark of fear has calmed to anticipation. Matthew’s grip on my hair no longer feels like a threat but a promise. I’m going to claim temporary insanity for what I do next because that’s literally the only possible reason for it. Without thinking, I close the minuscule distance between our lips and tentatively press my lips to his. The whole time my brain is screaming at me to stop being an idiot. That he’s going to think I’m offering my body as payment for all the things he’s done for me.
He lingers with his lips against mine, then with a groan pulls away. There is a pained look on his face that I can’t decipher. It definitely doesn’t say, “kiss me, Rose!” In fact, it says the exact opposite. Matthew looks horrified.
Embarrassment floods my cheeks and suffices every single cell in my body. I quickly step away from him. His fingers slip through the strands of my hair with no resistance. With another growl, Matthew grabs ahold of my hand and pulls me against his chest. Gently hugging me to his big body.
“Don’t think I’m ending this because I don’t want you. I am merely taking care to remember that you are injured and in no condition to finish what we start.” He speaks quietly, yet fiercely.
I can’t help wondering what exactly a simple kiss would start. Suddenly, I’m feeling very thankful of Matthew’s level of self-control because whatever it is that could happen next, I am not ready for it. I don’t know if I will ever be ready for it.
“Yo, boss man, we going up or what?” Kisten calls across the parking garage.
Matthew pulls away and rolls his eyes. “You do know I’m the one that signs those very generous paychecks of yours, right?”
Kisten smiles broadly. “Yep. Just like you know who saves your ass.”
I can’t help my snort of laughter, and I do my best to hide my smile behind my hand. Slade pipes up, “Better get used to Bevis and Butthead here, they’re a laugh riot.”
Another snort escapes as I laugh, causing the three manly men to smile at me like they were just given their deepest desire and maybe chocolate cake too.
“Now that is too fuckin’ adorable,” Kisten says.
I can feel the pink heat of a blush spreading across my cheeks. I try to remember the last time I laughed hard enough to snort—an obnoxious quirk I can’t help. I hate it.
Matthew leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. Kisten turns away, focusing on the elevator. “It is pretty damn cute, sweetheart, been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh.” Idly I wonder what he means by that since I haven’t laughed since long before we met. Not much reason to laugh for more years than I care to think about. “Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.
Just the thought of food has my stomach growling and him smirking, “Maybe a little.” The beast that my stomach has apparently become growls again. Matthew’s smirk turns into a grin, distracting me as the elevator doors slide shut, closing us inside. The little jolt of it moving brings me back to my current situation. I’m enclosed in a small elevator—smaller than usual—which feels even smaller because of the three big men filling it up.
I’m not a fan of small spaces and anxiety, my old friend, is rearing her ugly head. I close my eyes, and focus on my breathing, willing the panic away. I imagine the world around me disappearing until it’s just me. Nothing can frighten me here in the safety of my own mind. No matter what happens to my body, here in this place, nothing can touch me. Slowly, I use an imaginary paintbrush to paint a safe hideaway. This one takes shape into a place I haven’t seen in so long, I forgot it existed. The musty smell of earth fills my nose. The cool, damp air makes my curls turn to frizz. Above me, boards creak as someone crosses the big porch.
I hold my breath waiting for them to pass, though no one knows about this place but me. It’s an oasis for me when I can’t take another minute of my newest foster family. This was my favorite hidey-hole. Though, it’s not quite right… I concentrate for a moment, and a backpack appears beside me and a book pops into existence in my lap.
Why is this the safe place my subconscious decided on? This is one of my forbidden memories. This is from before. When there was still hope in my heart that life will get better. This isn’t a place I want to go back to. It hurts too much. I try to wipe the slate clean, focus on something else, but it refuses to disappear. I take a deep breath, letting the memories wash over me…
“Rose,” his voice washes over me, tugging on the threads of my memory. “Rose…” I reach for that oh so familiar voice. So familiar, and yet, it doesn’t fit. “Rose,” the voice snaps, and my eyes pop open, landing directly on a very concerned looking Matthew. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just hungry.”
“Great, I’m starved.” Kisten claps his hands together loudly. The abruptness of the clap and his booming voice has me jumping out of my skin. The sudden movement pulls at my healing wounds and draws a whimper from my lips. The pain is instant and sharp. I suck in a breath through my teeth, trying to breathe through the pain, knowing it’ll pass quicker if I relax my muscles. Which would be way easier if my heart would stop racing, and I could find my lungs. Loud noises are a trigger for my panic attacks. It causes an instant and visceral response to do one of two things: run and hide or freeze in horror of what’s coming for me.
I close my eyes and concentrate on slowing my heart. Easier said than done when you’re hyperventilating. At least my panic has numbed the pain in my back. Sometimes adrenaline is great. Though I have zero doubt, I’m going to be sore when this little episode is over.
Distantly I hear my name, but I can’t respond. All I can do is shake my head and hope that whoever it is understands that I’m trying to keep my shit together. If you’ve never had a panic attack and haven’t had the pleasure of trying to keep yourself together… imagine what it feels like to be burned. We’ve all done that… either touched a hot pan, had grease splatter on us, or burned ourselves with our flat iron. Now imagine feeling that burn and not jerking away from it. Imagine standing still while you burn until the fire turns itself off. That’s what it feels like. Well, at least, one of the ways it can feel.
The beauty and the curse of panic attacks and anxiety is that there are no typical responses. Sometimes you burn, and sometimes you run. Sometimes you suffer in silence while the world goes on around you, clueless. Other times you make a spectacle and fight like a hellcat.
This time I’m burning. Rooted to the spot, unable to jerk away from the fire because the fire is inside me. The fire is me.
The world shifts and I worry that the spots in my vision are the first hint that I’m about to pass out. It won’t be the first time my brain did what I consider a hard reset. There are times when passing out is a blessing. Losing consciousness, a mercy. I fight back the dizziness because I don’t want to faint here.
Matthew won’t let anyone hurt me. I’m safe. I repeat that mantra over and over until my breaths come steadier, and I’m able to open my eyes without fearing I’ll faint. When I open my eyes, I’m confused for a moment. I’m no longer standing beside Matthew. In fact, I’m on the opposite side of the elevator and backed into a corner. In front of me, Slade’s hulking body blocks my vision from the rest of the space.
It takes a moment for me to realize I’ve got a death grip on his arm. It’s troublesome that in my panicked state, I reached out to a virtual stranger. Just like with Matthew, I feel an instinctual sense of safety when it comes to Slade. It’s a little disarming. I want to second guess myself. To not trust my instincts, but I push that aside. I’m choosing to trust Matthew and that he wouldn’t lie about me being safe with Slade and Kisten.
I release my death grip from Slade’s arm, and he turns to look at me over his shoulder, a resigned look in his eyes. I hear a scuffle and an all too familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh. I try looking past Slade, but it’s impossible. He’s an impassable mountain. When I attempt to move past him, he blocks me with his arm, and ever so gently holds me back.
“I don’t fucking care that you are my best friend if you ever scare her again, so help me, it will be your last fucking move,” Matthew bellows. Well, it sounds like what I imagine Matthew possessed by a demon would sound like. Terrifying, fierce, and deadly. There’re some shuffling noises, a bang, and more grunting followed by a menacing ‘got it?’ from Matthew.
I try again to see around Slade’s back, but he’s an immovable force of nature. His words come back to me from the parking garage a few minutes ago—was it only a few minutes ago? It feels like we’ve been in this elevator for years. Time means nothing when you’re suffering from a panic attack. One second is an hour. One minute a day.
The scuffling noises cease, and it’s silent except for heavy breathing. After several heartbeats, Kisten speaks. “Fuck, dude. You know I’d never scare her on purpose. I didn’t realize how skittish she is.” There’s a sniffing sound, and it makes me wonder if Matthew hit him in the nose. The fact that I recognize the sound is disheartening. “Rose, sweetheart, you know I didn’t scare you on purpose, don’t you?”
“Not your fault.” I try my best to sound confident and sure, but I have a feeling I don’t do that great of a job.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. It’s a crazy reminder that a hundred years can pass by in the space of a few short minutes. I’m slightly stunned by the violent reaction Matthew had toward Kisten over something so trivial. There’s this small part of me that’s secretly thrilled that he’s willing to go up against even his best friend to protect me. But if he’s going to fight everyone who makes me jump, he’s never going to stop.
I’m skittish, always have been. Well, maybe not always, but I can’t remember a time I wasn’t afraid. Slade turns and looks at me instead of following Matthew and Kisten off the elevator. “Told you, I’ve got you, little bit. I’ll protect you from the boss himself, if necessary.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back. “Thank you, Slade.”
“No thanks needed. I want you to remember that you can count on me.”
I have to swallow around the thick emotion that’s growing in my throat before I can find my voice. “I won’t forget.”
Slade gives me a firm nod, then leads me off the elevator and into the biggest condo I have ever seen. Even to my untrained eye, I can tell you this place is top-of-the-line everything. I thought the penthouse above the club was fancy, it has nothing on this place.
Exquisite art covers the walls and the dark hardwood floors shine. There is a plush rug between two cream-colored sofas that looks so thick and luxurious, I want to take my shoes off and bury my toes in the soft pile.
The last place I lived; I didn’t dare step on the floor barefoot. The rooms were all done in a piecemeal of horrible throwback to the 70s carpet—more likely it just hadn’t been changed since the 70s—it was sticky, stained, and smelled horrible. The whole place was awful. I even wore flip flops in the shower because it was so gross that a jackhammer and a pressure washer couldn’t make a dent in the gunk that was permanently fused to the bathtub.
I try to imagine what the bathroom here looks like. I bet it’s spotless. I wonder if there’s a bathtub big enough for me to soak in. I haven’t had a real bath in so long. I’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. For now, I continue taking in this amazing apartment, in awe of the fact that I’m actually going to be staying here.
On the other side of the plush couches—couches that I can see myself curling up on with a cozy blanket and a good book—are floor to ceiling windows. The view… there aren’t enough words in my vocabulary to describe it. The sun is setting in the distance giving the view of Central Park an almost otherworldly appearance. It’s breathtaking.
Though it’s Matthew who takes my breath away when he steps around Slade and gently cups my cheek. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He rubs at the back of his neck, looking nervous for the first time since I met him. “I lost my shit when I saw that look of fear on your face. I never want to see you afraid again.”
Feeling braver than I am, I put my hand on top of his. “I appreciate that you want to keep me safe—from everything apparently—but Kisten is right, I am skittish. I always have been and probably always will be. It’s something I’m used to so you should try to not freak out every time I jump, okay?”
Bravely, I take a step closer to Matthew until I can wrap my arms around him in a hug. Slowly, he wraps his arms around me in return. Taking care to be gentle with my back. I rest my head on his chest over his heart. The steady thumping is soothing. I can’t quite explain it but being in his arms feels like coming home. Honestly, I’m not sure how I even recognize the feeling. I’ve been without the comforts most people associate with a home since my mom died when I was fifteen.
My stomach picks that moment to growl loudly, causing my cheeks to flame from embarrassment. Matthew pushes his lips to my hair, and after a few more seconds of holding me, he pulls away. “Let’s get you fed.”
“Okay.” I try to smile, but it’s lost in a grimace when he moves his arms away, causing my shirt to pull away from the worst of the wounds on my back. He narrows his eyes then spins me around. Whatever he sees leaves him less than happy if the curses falling from his lips are anything to go by.
Without a word, Matthew grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head in one quick movement. I gasp and cover my breasts. Even though both Slade and Kisten just got an eyeful of my nakedness, neither of them comments or acts like anything is off about Matthew just stripping me down in front of them.
Matthew’s breath hisses through his teeth, and he makes a few other grunting noises as he gently examines my back. “I knew it was too early for those stitches to come out. You’ve reopened a couple of the wounds. Damn you, Daniels. This is why I got so fucking mad. Look what you did.”
Kisten gives me an apologetic look before walking around to look at my back. I wince when he makes a pained sound. As if my wounds are a physical blow to him. I don’t know these guys well, but I know enough to know that Kisten is going to beat himself up over this and that Matthew is only one misstep away from beating up his best friend all over again.
“Holy Fuck. Damon did this? In our club? In a public scene?” Kisten’s voice is incredulous.
I don’t know if he wants answers to his questions or if he’s just trying to work out how something like this happened at Matthew’s club. A place that is supposed to be safe for its members. I don’t dare answer. Matthew is treading close to the edge already, and I don’t want to draw any closer attention to the fact that his club isn’t nearly as safe as he thought.
“You should’ve let me beat him to death for this,” Kisten says coldly. “In fact, I still might.”
I look over my shoulder to see Kisten’s eyes glued to my back in a cartoonish look of horror. Matthew’s eyes are burning pits of flame that promise retribution, and he’s looking straight at his best friend. I know he doesn’t want to fight with Kisten. He’s pissed and wants to lash out at someone, but Kisten doesn’t deserve his wrath.
“Matty, it wasn’t his fault.” I’m not sure where the nickname comes from, but I like it. I like thinking of him as my Matty and not Matthew or Master Bennett that everyone else calls him. With downcast eyes, I quietly accept the blame. “This is my fault. No one else.” I can’t look at any of them as I admit, “It’s all my fault.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rose,” Kisten barks. “This is Damon’s fault. He’s a piece of shit that we should have dealt with a long fucking time ago.”
“Don’t you fucking yell at her,” Matthew growls, taking a threatening step towards Kisten.
“Both of you calm the fuck down. Why don’t you focus on what’s important right now?” Slade snaps. “Come on, little bit, let’s get you cleaned up. Hannah will tend to your back and then make you dinner.”
A pretty redhead steps out from behind Slade and gives me a shy smile. “I’m happy to be of service,” she says softly.
“Hannah, Rose will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. She’s ours to take care of while she’s here.”
Matthew lets out a low growl when Slade uses the word “ours” in conjunction with my name. Warmth blooms in my chest at the possibility that he doesn’t want to share me.
The redhead—Hannah—looks up at Slade with so much love and adoration it’s painful to see, especially when Slade returns the look with hardness. It doesn’t seem to faze her, though.
“As you please, Master,” she says quietly.
Slade blows out a breath. “Hannah—” he starts but seems to think better of whatever he was going to say and closes his mouth.
“Actually,” Matthew speaks up, “If you wouldn’t mind making a quick meal for Rose, I’d like to help her get settled. I’ll take care of her wounds.”
Hannah gives Matthew a bright smile, and I suddenly want to poke the cute redheads pretty green eyes out. “I’d be happy to, Matthew. Any allergies I should know about?” Even though she was looking directly at me when she asks, it’s Matthew who tells her about my allergy to fish and berries. Hannah gives Slade one last longing look before practically skipping toward what I assume is the kitchen.
“That girl,” Slade says with a shake of his head. “She’s going to be the death of me. How did you move from Master Bennett to Matthew? You’re her boss, and she uses your name like it’s no big deal. I’m her friend, and I’ve been trying to get her to call me Slade for years, and she refuses.”
Kisten laughs then puts his hand on Slade’s shoulder consolingly. “You’ll never be just her friend. One of these days, you’ll realize exactly what you are. I can’t wait to see the day.”
Slade brushes his hand away and storms out of the room, causing both Matthew and Kisten to laugh. Whatever it is that’s going on between Hannah and Slade has lifted the tension between Matthew and Kisten. I feel bad for being happy for the distraction.
Matthew turns to me with a smile. “Come on, love. I’ll show you to your room, and we will get your back tended to.”
“Okay, thank you.”
He leads me down a hallway with several doors. He points out his home office, two guest bedrooms, a bathroom, and a room that looks suspiciously like a library. Lastly, he shows me the master suite. I expect him to turn back towards one of the guest rooms, but he leads me into his room and straight through to the attached bathroom. He fiddles with the taps on a tub that I swear is big enough for half a dozen Matthew sized men. It’s even better than I imagined.
I can’t wait to sink into the steaming hot water. Matthew adds a few things to the water, and the room fills with the sweet yet minty scent of eucalyptus. He tests the water then adjusts the tap, when he’s satisfied, he turns to me and freezes. I blush when I realize I dropped my arm, giving him an unfettered view of my bare breasts. I shiver at the smoldering look in his eyes. Matthew looks hungry, and I have the distinct impression that it’s not for food.
A heat I’ve never known before grows in my gut. My nipples pebble into firm peaks. I shift on my feet and am shocked to feel the dampness between my legs. I swallow thickly as I try to process my body’s response to a simple look.
This isn’t the first time a man has looked at me with desire, but the differences are stark in comparison. Men have looked at me with covetous lust. They’ve looked at my nakedness greedily. I’ve had men look at me with a burning hatred while at the same time rock-hard in their pants and eager to have me.
Matthew is looking at me with hungry desire, yes, but he’s not covetous, and he certainly doesn’t have an ounce of hatred in his eyes. For some reason, the look in his eyes is more intimidating than any of the others before him. I knew what to expect before. Now, I’m out of my depth. The urge to cover my body and hide away from the feelings that Matthew evokes in me is strong. I’m already looking for a towel or something to cover myself when he speaks, “You’re fucking beautiful.”
His words are a benediction, and the certainty in his voice when he calls me beautiful makes me desperate to see what he sees. When I look in the mirror, all I can see are my scars. Every little flaw stands out like a spotlight anytime I look at myself. Which is why I avoid mirrors at all costs. I don’t need to see them to know they are there. Seeing them is just a reminder.
“Sorry,” Matthew apologizes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not scared of you, Matty.” He closes his eyes when I say the nickname as if it pains him. Maybe he hates being called that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No need to apologize, love. It’s just been a long time since anyone used that nickname.”
I look at my feet, wondering why a nickname would cause such a reaction from him. He seems both sad and happy at the same time. The juxtaposition between the two is confusing, and I’m not sure how to respond. When in doubt, apologize. That’s the safest response to everything.
“I’m sorry, Matthew. I won’t do it again.”
He crosses the room to me in two long strides. He gently tips my head back with a finger under my chin so that I can’t avoid looking him in the eye. “You misunderstand. I want you to call me that. I want to be your Matty.”
I’m knocked breathless by his impassioned tone.
“Okay,” I smile shyly at him. “I’d like to call you Matty. It just… I don’t know. It feels right somehow.”
“I’m glad, sweetheart. Now let’s get you in the tub before it turns cold.”
The bathwater is the perfect temperature. I practically melt as my body is engulfed by the fragrant water. I don’t even care that it stings on my newly opened wounds. It’s just too dang good to worry about being hurt right now.
I close my eyes and lay my head back against the built-in headrest, letting out a little sigh of contentment.