Page 17 of Axe-ing for Trouble
“Of course. Sorry I was gone for so long. After the meetings, I picked a few things up for you. But if I shopped in town, people would talk, so I went to Bangor.”
He held up the white plastic bags with the red Target logo.
“You went all the way to Bangor?”
“It’s only forty minutes.” He lifted a shoulder. “And I figured you could use some clothes and toiletries and stuff.”
He set the bags down on the coffee table, the plastic rustling, and I peeked inside.
There were a couple of pairs of what looked like black leggings and several T-shirts. An oversized fleece jacket and thick socks and—
Snapping back, I cringed. “You bought underwear for me?”
His cheeks turned the most adorable shade of pink.
Dammit. Why did he have to be so endearing?
“I called Willa. She gave me a list and guessed your sizes. If any of it doesn’t fit, I’ll take it back.” He held his hands up in surrender.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You did good,” I said as I pulled out a set of PJs and a package of tank tops with built-in bras. Under it was a soft cotton bra, as well.
“She said to buy those because they would be easier to put on than a regular bra for now,” he explained.
“Thank you.”
The next bag was filled to the brim with toiletries. Moisturizer, a hairbrush, and a box of tampons.
“Willa gave me a list,” he said. Again. He was careful to avoid eye contact as he explained this time.
I was impressed. I didn’t know many men who willingly bought tampons, especially for a woman he barely knew.
As that thought hit me, so did another. One that knocked the wind out of me.
I was alone.
And I was helpless. Forced to rely on the kindness of strangers. Unable to care for myself and failing at my one mission.
I couldn’t hold back the tears. Head bowed, clinging to the package of underwear, I gave into them.
One after another, they dripped onto the plastic still in my lap, plopping audibly. I was trying to sniff them back, determined to wipe them away, when Jude appeared at my side.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “If I fucked up, I’m so sorry. I’ll go back tomorrow.”
“No.” I shook my head and instantly regretted it when a sharp pain shot through my shoulder and down my arm. “No,” I whispered. “I’m grateful, I promise. This is too kind. It’s too much.”
“Mila, no.” He tentatively rested a hand on my back. “It’s only a couple of things from Target. That’s all.”
“But I’m such a failure,” I cried, cupping my face with my good hand. “Look at me. I can’t even shake my head. I’m literally hiding out in your house, and I’ve got dried blood and rotting leaves in my hair. I’ve fucked up so badly.”
“You haven’t fucked up,” he urged, scooting a fraction closer. “You’re hurt. And while I don’t know what you’ve been up to for the past year, I have a feeling that if you filled me in, I’d be impressed by your bravery and annoyed by your recklessness.”
Sniffling, I staunchly avoided his eye. I didn’t usually subscribe to defeatist tendencies. In fact, I’d been accused of being overconfident on many occasions. But at this moment, every aspect of my life was crumbling. I’d backed myself into a corner, and the hot guy giving me pitying looks was not helping me regain my composure.
“How can I help right now?” He sat back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his forearm muscles bulging and a deep kindness in his eyes. There was no use fighting it. I needed his help.
Closing my eyes, I sighed. “For now, I just want a shower. I feel so gross.”
He nodded. “I’ll get towels. Redid the shower last year, installed a rainhead and the works. The water pressure is excellent.”
