Page 36 of Wildest Forever

It's only seven, a few hours in here and it'll be good as new.

Unbuttoning my jeans, I grab my towel and toiletries bag from one of the boxes and take myself to the bathroom. Lifting my hand, I knock on the closed door before I twist the knob and let myself in, locking it behind me.

Removing the towel that is already sitting on the towel rail, I hang mine over it and place my hand on the rail, it's lukewarm. Folding the other towel up and placing it on the shelf, I unload my bag and grab what I need.

Not that the room was cold, but nothing beats a warm towel after a shower.

Pushing my jeans down, I discard them along with my boxers before twisting the stiff shower, a loud bang echoes around the small room as the water kicks in.

Holding my hand under the water, it takes about five minutes for the water to warm and when it has, I step under and groan as the hard water hits my skin.

Lathering myself up, I clean myself before washing my hair. Letting my head tip back, I give myself a minute more before I step out and am back faced with the angry blonde-haired woman I married.

She is trying to throw down her dominance.

Bit like when a dog pees up a tree, marking his territory.

I'm the tree, covered in dog pee.

Shutting the water off, it bangs again and I pull back the wet shower curtain as I reach for my towel, wrapping it around my body.

Brushing my teeth, I bend for my dirty clothes before spitting in the sink and placing my brush back in my bag.

That would be a tomorrow job.

I'm not back to work until Monday so I have another full day of sorting out the house that I am terrified is going to fall down around us, but I need to have faith.

It's lasted this long.

Twisting the handle, I pad out into the hallway, feet still wet as I move down the hardwood floor and towards my bedroom when I see her standing at the top of the stairs, eyes trailing up and down my wet torso.

I wasn't overly toned, but I had definition. Arms were more of a statement than my torso. I watch as her eyes graze down to my bullet wound, they narrow slightly before she looks at my face, her hand slipping into the back of her jeans and I know she is desperate to ask but doesn't want to.

“I was shot,” I say as if it is no big deal, but in reality, it was a fucking huge deal.

Still wake up some nights screaming.

Her eyes widen.

“Yeah.” I nod then begin to walk past her and I don't look back.

I could have been an asshole and not uttered a word.

But I was brought up better than that.

Slamming my bedroom door, I get myself ready before I am back in my truck and driving towards my mom's.

Warmth radiates around my body as I step into the bright, large, hallway and I seek my mom out instantly.

She is sitting in my dad's chair in the lounge, knitting a blanket. A pastel rainbow length of woven wool is stretched out in front of her and I know how desperate she has been to get it finished before baby Rivera arrives.

“Hey Ma,” I smile at her, leaning in and giving her a kiss.

“Hey sunshine boy,” she smiles wide as I take my seat opposite her and I fall into easy conversation, telling her all about my day.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MORGAN

---