Maisie
. . .
TWENTY-THREE
Grayson finally holds his head up without my help, staring at me intently. “I’d rather just go to bed. It’s…it’s too much.”
“I’m not letting you go to bed like this. I…I can help. If you want,” I tack on at the end, not wanting to push his boundaries.
His head dips in answer, and I swipe my palms down my pants to wipe the sweat away. I start with his shirt, since it’s already half unbuttoned. I finish off the rest of the buttons, gently slipping his arms out. He’s so bruised, I can’t even make out his tattoos anymore.
“Pants?” I ask next. He nods, fumbling with his belt buckle. Once he’s gotten it undone, I pull it from the loops and throw it on the floor. He’s fumbling with his pants button, but his fingers keep slipping from the tape around his hand.
“Here, let me.” I slowly reach forward, waiting for him to tell me to stop. He doesn’t, instead watching my every move with rapt attention. He swallows deeply when my fingers slip beneath his waistband, pushing the button through the hole. “Do you think you can—”
“No…can, can you help, please?” he groans as he leans forward.
I nibble my lip, spinning my thumb and pointer finger around in an endless loop.
“Yeah, of course. Can you sit up a little so I can pull them to your knees? You can brace your hand on my shoulder if you need.” He does as I say, hissing through the pain, but he gets up enough so I can yank his jeans past his hips before lowering him back down.
“T-thanks,” he stutters, pushing them down the rest of the way before stepping out of them. He’s left only in his black boxer briefs that hug his thick thighs. They are stained with blood, but it’s nothing that can’t be washed out in the shower.
I leave him sitting on the toilet while I turn the shower on, putting my hand under the running water until it’s the right temperature. It’s a large walk-in shower with double heads on opposite walls.
“Okay, I’ll be right outside this door if you need anything.” I walk by him, and he snatches my hand before I can leave.
His bloodshot eyes find mine, and I wait for whatever’s about to come out of his mouth. “Thank you, Maisie. I don’t deserve you, but I’m too selfish not to accept it.”
I smile down at him, squeezing his hand back. “I’m not going anywhere,” I promise before exiting the door.
My anxiety has me leaning back against the door, listening to make sure he’s okay. For a minute, I hear nothing, but then, the soft trickle of water splashing on skin rings through. I relax, letting my head rest against the door while going over tonight.
Grayson can’t hide from me anymore, not after tonight.
He’s hiding something terrible, and I won’t let him hide it from me anymore.
My stomach turns at how bad it could be.
He could have been killed tonight with the number of injuries he’s collected.
I still have half a mind to take his ass to the hospital, but he just finally calmed down, and I don’t want to trigger him again.
I’ve never seen a man so lost. So broken. It doesn’t match the picture I’ve come to know as Grayson Miles. The strong, cocky, independent cowboy who takes no shit and runs the show. The one I’ve come to like…a lot.
This Grayson was a shell of that man. He turned to alcohol instead of asking for help, and it stings all over again. The fact he felt he couldn’t trust anyone to help him breaks my heart for the little boy who was raised to do things all on his own.
That ends today. I’m not letting him talk his way out of it this time. I need to know what’s going on so we can face it together. There’s nothing he could get into that would scare me off. I can handle it. He just has to let me in.
Crash. “Fuck!” Grayson moans.
I’m up and running into the bathroom without a second thought. Grayson is leaning against the shower wall, unable to hold himself up. The shampoo dispenser is on the floor, likely knocked down in his attempt to stay standing.
“One, two, three, four…” he whispers to himself on repeat.
“Grayson?” His head whips up, startled by my entrance. The shower is pouring down his face, but he doesn’t even blink the water away. “Are you okay?”
“I…I get panic attacks sometimes. Counting to ten is supposed to help. It–it’s not helping, though. Everything hurts. I can’t take it anymore.” He looks around, and I’m scared he’s not coherent—not in a concussed manner, but rather lost in an old memory haunting him.
I approach the shower slowly. “I’m here. You’re safe now. Can I join you in the shower?”
He nods frantically, thumping the side of his head. My hands find his, and I pull them away so he doesn’t injure himself more.
“How about we wash this hair?” I lower him so he’s sitting in the center of the shower, grabbing the detachable showerhead to wash him off. He leans back into my touch, and I decide to straddle him from behind, so his back is against my chest.
“Yeah, that’s nice,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.
I’m careful not to get the spray too close to his face so blood doesn’t get in his eyes. The water washes down the drain, a deep red color, and I try to ignore it. I’m still in my clothes, completely drenched, but I don’t care.
I slide the fallen shampoo bottle over, pumping a generous amount into my palm to massage into his knotted hair. He moans as my nails dig into his scalp. I begin soaping up his body, avoiding the bandages. His palm gauze is soaked, and I know I’ll have to replace it when we're finished.
Grayson relaxes against me, and my nerves settle a little. “Are you feeling better?” I ask, rinsing off his leg.
“Mhm, it helped.”
“The counting?”
“You, Maisie. You are my remedy. You keep me sane.”
My heart swells. You are my remedy. I know he’s fighting demons, but he doesn’t have to fight them alone anymore. I see him like he sees me.
“Let’s get you dried up and in bed, Gray.”
His head turns against my shoulder, a dopey drunk smile on his face. “Say that again,” he breathes.
“Say what, Gray?” I ask, my breath labored. I know exactly what he’s asking about, because it’s the very thing that had both of us running in opposite directions last time.
His smile takes over his entire face. “Perfect,” he mutters under his breath. “Just like your eyes. I think golden is my new favorite color.”
I’m done for.
He slouches against me, his lashes fluttering shut.
He needs to rest and heal. I slip from behind him and hoist him up.
“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.” He helps me stand him, leaning on me for support.
His eyes are still closed, but he follows my steps into his room before I deposit him in the leather chair next to his bed in search of some fresh clothes.
“Bottom drawer,” he calls. I find him inspecting me curiously, leaning back in the chair.
I slide the dresser open, finding clean boxer briefs folded inside.
My cheeks heat, but I ignore it, grabbing a pair and tossing them his way.
I’m about to rifle through his other drawers, when his words halt me.
“That’s all I need, honey.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, that makes sense.” I nervously laugh, shoving the drawer closed. When I face him, chills wrack my body at how deeply he’s watching me back. He seems more himself now. Maybe the shower helped sober him up, or maybe he’s going into full shock. Who knows?
“Are you planning on watching me change, or…”
Oh God. My face pales. I’m standing here, watching him like a cheerleader watching a jock from the school bleachers. He shoots me a half smirk, but it’s tired looking.
“I’m not opposed either way, but I wanted you to know what you were in for.” The words sound like him, but his face is missing the classic mischief.
“Sorry,” I rush out, turning my back to him.
I hear the leather chair groan under him as he slides his wet boxers off, replacing them with the new ones. My foot taps anxiously against the floor as I wait. He’s slow, but he eventually gets the new ones on, groaning when he leans back in the chair.
“Top drawer.”
My eyebrows furrow, but I do as he says. There are freshly folded T-shirts inside, and now, I’m even more confused. “I thought you only wanted boxers?” I ask him over my shoulder.
He’s dressed in his new boxers, casually leaning back in the chair, slowly dragging his eyes down my body. “It’s not for me. You’re soaked. You need something dry to put on, or you’re going to freeze to death.”
“Oh…I’m—I’m fine. Really, Grayson, I don’t want to be a bother.”
His face pinches, and I’m scared he’s in pain.
“Gray, not Grayson, and I’m not asking. I can see you shaking.
I insist, and I won’t take no for an answer.
It should be big enough to wear like a dress, but if you really want some sweats, they are in the middle drawer.
I’m not sure they will stay up on you though. ”
I nod, nibbling my lip and trying to process his words.
Gray, not Grayson. He’s acknowledging whatever this is between us.
Maybe he’s influenced by all the alcohol, but I hate to admit how good it feels, that he wants me warm in his clothes.
We may have both run away that night, but I still want him to choose me.
I grab the biggest shirt I can find. It’s an old rock T-shirt, thoroughly loved to the point the fabric is buttery soft. I love it. Gray watches me with rapt attention.
My pulse thumps in my neck as his eyes eat me alive, dilating ever so slightly in the dim lighting. He licks his lip, sitting up a little taller in the chair. His voice is raspy. “I can’t turn around—”
“Do…do you want to? Turn around, I mean.”
He gulps, shaking his head side to side. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
My pulse hammers when I slowly slide off my wet pants, letting them slap against the floor.
I hesitate only for a second before grabbing the hem of my oversized hoodie and pulling it over my head.
I’m left in only my black lace matching set that clings to my wet skin.
My nipples pebble when the cold air brushes over them.
I’ve yet to have the courage to look up at Grayson, scared to see what’s reflected on his face.
His slow breath has my eyes sliding up to find his. His face is pinched in pain, and I want to rub my thumb over the worry indented between his eyes. He isn’t looking up at me, instead down at my leg. I follow his line of sight and flinch when I find what he’s looking at.
“Did I do that?” he asks, his voice barely restrained. Seeing me injured has sobered him instantly.
“It’s nothing. Just a small cut,” I assure him. My knee is bloody and has a couple small shards of glass protruding from it from when I knelt next to him in the kitchen.
“You’re hurt because of me. Anything that has to do with you is the opposite of nothing, Maisie. When will you learn that?” His chest is heaving while he continues to stare at my knee.
I slip his shirt on, and it engulfs me like a dress, just as he said it would. It brings me instant comfort, and I let out a sigh. “It looks worse than it really is.” I throw his exact words back at him.
“I’ll be the judge of that. There’s a first-aid kit under the bathroom sink. Can you grab it for me, please?”
I know he will just try and do it himself if I refuse, so I run into the bathroom, finding the little kit stashed away. How many of these does he have hidden around his house? I don’t want to look into why that is. I’m getting a firsthand look at it right now.
I return with the kit, handing it to him. “Sit,” he commands, pointing at his lap.
“Grayson…I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Gray,” he reiterates, “and, once again, it wasn’t a question.”
I roll my eyes, doing as he says. His legs are warm under me, our bare skin fusing in the most delicious way. With the precision of a surgeon, he pulls the glass shards from my skin, making sure to clean the area before covering it with a large Band-Aid.
He kisses the Band-Aid. “There. Better,” he says to himself, satisfied.
We sit in silence for a moment, unsure what to do. I’m scared to leave him alone for the night. His injuries are pretty severe, and I need to make sure his symptoms don’t change. On the other hand, I don’t want to intrude.
Maybe I can just come back early in the morning to check on him?
I decide I’ll go home for the night. When I try to get up, Grayson's arms lock around me. “Stay,” he pleads, his voice timid, afraid I’ll shut him down. “It’s late and cold out and…just please say you’ll stay, just for the night.”
I’m terrified if I leave, he could be triggered by something and fall into another panic attack. He looks to be halfway there at the thought of me leaving. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he got hurt more or was stuck in that traumatic place alone.
“Sure, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Let’s get you in bed, huh?” I slip off his lap, helping him under the covers of his bed right next to us. I make sure his pillows have him propped enough to support his ribs before smoothing his hair out of his face. “Goodnight, Gray.”
“Where are you going?”
I give him a soft smile. “I’m going to sleep in Nova's room.”
“I want you here. With me.”
His tone never wavers. His eyes hold true, and he means every word with his whole chest. He needs me, and I want to give myself over to him. Just this once. For him, but, selfishly, for me too.
“Okay.”
I fall asleep nuzzled in Grayson's warm arms, getting the deepest sleep I’ve had since the accident.
Research notes: cowboys will mend your wounds, and not just your physical ones.