Page 42 of Salvation

I don’t know how much time passes, but only when my sobs slow does he stand to set me back on the bed. I scrub my hands over my face as I hear the faint sound of footsteps and then water running. He returns, setting a fresh towel down next to me, dropping a kiss to the top of my forehead. We both still. My eyes flicker to his, and they widen as if he didn’t mean to do it. As if it was so natural, it wasn’t even a thought. He clears his throat, straightening to his full height. “I’ll come back to check on you in a few.”

He doesn’t wait for my response; only the sound of the door clicking signals his departure. I realize now that I’m in his room. His bedroom. Alone.

It feels wrong to be given free access to something that has the power to tell one’s entire personality. The king-size bed is adorned with a dark grey duvet. The grey walls were only a few shades lighter. Everything is so neat with a quick sweep of my eyes, but the clutter on his nightstand is undeniably Wesley’s. A small smile breaks through my dried tears at the picture of him and his dad after a baseball game. Ben looks so proud standing next to his son, and Wesley looks so happy. Beaming from ear to ear, one of his front teeth missing. Nothing like the hardened man I’ve come back home to.

I make my way to the bathroom, and nearly collapse from the warmth wafting from the full tub. The ache in my shoulders and hand from earlier comes to a full crescendo at the idea of sinkinginto the warm, bubbly liquid and easing my sore muscles. It’s a huge claw tub. Big enough to fit two people, maybe even three.

I try, and fail, not to imagine why Wesley, who lives alone and is single, would need such a big tub.

When he returns, I see he’s changed into shorts, and a mug of warm, hot liquid is in his large hands. I’m already undressed and fully submerged in the water. Nothing is visible beneath the white bubbles, only my collarbone peeks out over the soap. Something flares in his eyes at the sight of me, but it’s gone in an instant. When he sees I haven’t made a move to grab the soap lining the side of the tub, he sets the mug down and reaches behind him to pull off his shirt. Then, he shocks me to my core when he gets behind me.

I’m too dumbstruck by the sight of him shirtless to do anything but scoot farther down the tub, giving him more room to settle in behind me. He nudges me, telling me to dip my head back just enough to wet it. Then he’s reaching around me for the shampoo. “Do you want to talk about it?”

I suck in a breath as he begins working soap into my hair. A moan nearly slips from my lips at the sensation of his hands massaging my scalp. His touch is in no way sexual, but it's intimate in a way I’ve never experienced. For a few moments, I’m utterly silent. Debating on if I do want to talk about it. If talking about it makes me weak, or if it’ll help this ever-growing hole in my chest. I decide he, of all people, deserves a piece of me, no matter how small the piece is that I can offer.

My lip trembles as I close my eyes. “I’m sick and tired of men just taking andtaking.”

His fingers still in my hair for a heartbeat before he’s back to it. “Do you love him?

I bite my lip, but the answer isn’t a hard one. “I-I think I loved the idea of him more.”

He doesn’t respond, but I feel the movement of him nodding his head. He cups some of the water, bringing it over my head to rinse the soapy residue from my strands. Once he deems his work worthy, his fingers glide over the back of my neck, sending goosebumps over my exposed flesh. He stiffens but only wrings out my hair and sets it over my shoulder. He clears his throat and stands from where he’s nestled behind me. Despite the warmth of the tub, I feel much colder with his body no longer pressed against mine. “I’ll let you finish up, get you some clothes, and you can take the bed for tonight.”

I reach out, snagging his hand. A bolt of electricity runs up my wrist at the same time he settles his gaze onto our intertwined fingers. “Thank you.”

He dips his head, shutting the bathroom door on his way out. I sink further beneath the water, trying to sort out how the hell I got here.

***

Once I’m dried off, my hair is brushed, and I’m dressed in the clothes Wesley gave me, I finally make my way out of the bathroom. I find him tossing back the large comforter and rearranging the pillows. He nods towards the living room. “I’ll be just out there if you need anything.”

He turns toward the door without another word, and I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of today or from the way he took care of me in the tub, but I call out for him. “Will you stay?”

He looks from me to the door, hesitation written on his features, but nods. I scooch over as he comes to crawl into the bed with me. Once he’s settled, I lay my head on his chest, focusing on his deep breaths. I know we should talk about today’s fight. And he deserves the full story on Marshall’s appearance after everything that’s happened today. But I amso, so tired, and the idea of even using my last bit of energy to apologize to him sounds excruciating. Wesley’s hand rubs soothing circles on my back, and I swear I hear him whisper "Always” as I drift off to sleep.

Chapter 42

Wesley

When I woke up this morning to Blake snoring on my chest and her legs wrapped around my own, I was fully content with ignoring any work I needed to get done for the day and making her a breakfast so big I’d have to wheel her back home.

But now? Now, I sit across from a spitfire brunette who talks and talks and talks, and I wish I would have thrown my work boots on before the sun even rose.

“He just kept sending gifts and flowers to the apartment. Eventually, he found out she was gone and went ballistic. I knew when she texted me something was wrong. So naturally, I bought the first plane ticket out here.”

She was so giddy when she got here that I almost let her go wake Blake up, but we both agreed she deserved the extra few hours of sleep. I made her coffee, but she declined any breakfast until Blake awoke. Now she sits across from me on the couch, filling me in on ‘Princess Marshall’, as Vivienne likes to call him.I couldn’t help the laugh that came barreling out of me at that name.

“So, how long have you known Blake?” I ask, setting my mug on the side table.

“We met when she moved to the city, so-"

“Six years.” I nod my head in confirmation.

“Right.” Vivienne draws out the word, raking a skeptical eye over me, like she justknowssomething I don’t. Usually, I wouldn’t be so intimidated by a woman so small, but I’d do just about anything to get the hell out of this conversation as soon as possible. “We’ve been roommates for forever,” she adds.

“Well-"

“Vivienne?” Blake’s soft voice interrupts from the hallway, making me nearly groan in relief.

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