Page 18 of Love Punch

I dropped the duvet and darted to the en-suite door. I’d never cared about being naked around anyone, but I didn’t want Arthur to see me likethis.We both had our place in this relationship, our strengths and weaknesses. His strength was organisation, his ability to bring everything together. Mine was my brawn, both physical and mental. And I felt like I had neither right now.

I’d forgotten just how refreshing a shower could be. How the harsh jets could rinse away four days worth of gunk As I let some of the bad thoughts wash themselves down the drain, I could be thankful that Arthur had decided to get so drastic.

For once, I decided to use some of his shampoo. Something fruity and fragrant, rather than whatever crap I trusted him to pick up for me. If it didn’t say “6-in-1” I really didn’t trust its efficiency. But after using some of Arthur’s products and giving my face a proper scrub with some exfoliator, I started to feel human again. Once I deemed myself clean, I shaved off the stubble that had been growing on my face and admired my chest in the mirror. A fine scruff was starting to grow on my chest and stomach, and I kind of liked it. I had always shaved myself downto nothing for training and fighting, but that was one little part of me I could let go wild now.

I grabbed a towel just in case Arthur was waiting for me and sure enough, there he sat cross-legged on my bed, which had been completely stripped down to the mattress. He’d laid out a tablecloth and was slicing into a loaf of olive bread. To one side, he’d cautiously placed bowls of dips and dressings, and a knob of butter in a tray.

“C’mon, sit down.” Arthur patted the side of the bed.”

“Shouldn’t I get dressed first?”

“Do you want to?” Arthur indicated my open wardrobe, where my empty suitcase was tucked into a corner, my clothes neatly put away. I inhaled, and the fresh air made me realise the window had been open. All the dirty crockery was gone and it even looked like the carpet had been vacuumed. The whole place looked—and smelled—a hundred times better.

I remained in my towel, sitting on the corner of the bed. Arthur buttered a piece of the bread and handed it to me. “What do we do now?” I asked.

“That’s your choice. If you really want to be a depressed little hermit, that’s up to you. I can’t make you get up andcarpe diemevery day, but I can give you this little push.”

“You didn’t need to do any of it,” I said gesturing around my room. “You might be my PA, but I’d never expect you to be my…well, my carer. I should be able to look after myself.”

Arthur sighed, but a smile played at the edge of his lips. “You know I didn’t grow up with all this, right?” He looked around the room. “My accent and vocabulary are affectations learned at school and university. My parents, they weren’t the best.”

I stayed silent, willing him to continue. Arthur knew everything about me from my upbringing to my blood type, but he’d always been so cagey about his own past.

After a second, he elaborated. “Mum never worked, and Dad was in and out of jobs all the time. Despite that, I wasn’t ever really parented. Gran was great but she was old, and couldn’t be with me all the time. So, I was kind of left to my own devices, which was fine. But I grew up fast. I learned to cook for myself—and my parents—with whatever we had in the house. I joined after school art clubs because I knew they’d be warm and sometimes Mrs Rooney bought us pizza for our end-of-term galleries.

“The house was never tidy. And that’s one thing I never really thought I needed to teach myself. Most dishes didn’t get washed. The living room was a mess and they weren’t always sober, so I stuck to my bedroom and entertained myself. I showered, but probably not as often as a teenager should have—because my parents didn’t care if I did or didn’t. Despite everything, I got decent grades in school and I moved away to university. It wasn’t until the dorms had their end-of-term inspections that I realised just how grim I was living compared to some of my peers.”

Arthur paused for a second. “Shit, sorry, it feels like I’ve just way overshared. You didn’t need to hear all the build-up.”

My heart ached for him. ”Go on. I’m listening.”

“I went home for Christmas, and things had gotten so much worse. So, when I got back to the dorm, I really struggled—even though I had to clean myself up or get out. And I fell into a bit of a pit. I felt shit about my life outside of uni, shit about the hovel away from home that I had let happen around me. I stopped going to classes, just laid in bed all day. I became exactly what I knew I didn’t want to be. I just laid there, waiting to be kicked out for non-attendance or for the state I’d left the dorm in.

“And then there was Gracie—one of the Student Union reps. She knocked on my door one day, holding a black bag and a casserole dish. She basically overhauled my room around me while I wallowed. She even brought me some cleaning suppliesto help me keep on top of it all. And then she took me to the kitchen, we ate together, and she taught me how to properly wash a dish. I guess what I’m trying to say is…I’m not doing this because I think I’m your carer. I’m doing itbecauseI care. And I know first hand how having someone organise the little things can give the kick up the arse to get better.”

My eyes stung with unshed tears, and I took a big bite of bread like it would hold them back. “Thank you,” I said. “I just don’t know what there is to get better from. Once this concussion clears, I’m all fine, right?”

Arthur reached out and put one hand on my arm. “It’s not your head injury I’m worried about. It’s how you’re feeling in here.” He reached up and tapped my temple.

“That’s still my head,” I pointed out.

“He must have hit you even harder than we thought,” sighed Arthur. “Seriously now, it’s about your mental health.”

I tried a smile, but the tears were threatening again, and smiling tightened up my throat so it was hard to breathe.

“I’ll be fine,” I promised weakly. “I just needed that little bit of help.”

“Right. Come on. We’re going for a walk,” Arthur said, giving my thigh a squeeze.

“And what if I don’t want to?”

“Listen to your boss,” he smiled. And finally, I returned the gesture.

Chapter 10

Arthur

Ilooked ridiculous behind the wheel of Mrs Tyler’s massive Land Rover. I wondered how she ever controlled the thing. So when I pulled up into the car park the sat nav directed me to, I was relieved. And Bradley’s sigh from the seat next to me told me he was too.

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