Page 29 of Backed By You
The moment Beau made the offer to be my ‘backup’ for the night in place of Hulk, I’d never wanted to accept someone’s help so fast in my life. Telling him the truth about Hulk and what he means to me wasn’t about gaining sympathy, it was about… Well, I’m not sure. After his confession, or story rather, from when he was shot, I felt like I needed to return the favor.
Silly, I suppose.
I should be anxious beyond measure with him in my house, using my bathroom, agreeing to sleep on the couch—be here alone with me all night. Instead, I’m calm for the first time in days.
I move around the small kitchen, fishing out my chamomile tea in hopes of calming my nerves enough to get some sleep tonight. Hulk is going to need all my attention tomorrow.I fill the kettle and set it on the stove. The sound of the shower running provides a strangely domestic backdrop to my movements and feels far more natural than it should.
Beau Montgomery.
Former military, grumpy landlord, mountain rescue extraordinaire.
And now my temporary backup for the night.
The kettle whistles just as the water shuts off in the bathroom. I pour the boiling water over two tea bags, the fragrant steam rising to my face. My temple throbs with a heartbeat of its own, a steady reminder of today’s events.
The bathroom door opens, and Beau emerges in a cloud of steam, wearing loose, black shorts and…nothing else. His hair is damp, random beads of water still clinging to his exposed chest and abdomen. He looks younger somehow, the day’s grime finally washed away.
“I made tea,” I say, holding up a mug.
His strong brow furrows as he drops his bag by the couch before walking toward me. “I don’t think I’ve had tea before.” He accepts the mug, our fingers brushing momentarily.
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “I buy this at the farmer’s market on Tuesdays in town. There’s a girl who grows and bags it all herself. You probably know her. I think she grew up here. Super sweet.”
He grunts, sniffing the mug before tentatively bringing it to his lips. “Not bad.” He lifts his chin toward me. “How’s the head?”
“Hurts,” I admit, propping a hip against the counter, my mug clasped between my hands as I blow on it softly.
He nods, taking another sip of his tea.
An awkward silence settles between us. We’re somewhat strangers who’ve gone through an intense evening together, and now we’re standing in my home drinking tea like old friends.
I’m not sure how to feel about it.
“I should probably shower, too,” I say, setting my mug down. “Wash off all the…” I gesture vaguely to my blood and dirt-matted hair.
He steps back, giving me space as I walk past him. “If you need any help—” He stops abruptly and I lift my gaze in time to watch color rise to his cheeks. “I mean, with the walking boot, or—” He shakes his head. “Never mind. That came out wrong.”
I can’t help the small smile that crosses my face. Why does he seem so nervous? “I think I can manage.”
I head for the bathroom, breathing in the lingering scent of his soap. The hot water is heaven on my sore muscles, though I have to be careful around my stitches and keep my weight on one foot. When I emerge fifteen minutes later, I’m wearing the only clean clothes I have left—silky sleep shorts and an oversized university hoodie. I’ve managed to get the walking boot back on, and suffice to say, it looks ridiculous paired with my pajamas.
Beau is sitting on the couch, his attention snapping to me when I limp into the room. His jaw ticks openly as he looks me over, then averts his gaze. “Better?” he asks, his voice rougher than before.
“Much.” I lower myself carefully onto the opposite end of the couch, wincing as I prop my booted foot on the coffee table. “Though I’ll feel a hundred percent better when I have Hulk back.”
He watches me over the rim of his mug. “He’s in good hands.”
I snort a short laugh. “You keep saying that.”
A slow grin loosens his hard features and the sight of it feels like a small victory compared to our first encounter. “Sorry. I’m not the best when it comes to comforting someone,” he tells me. “Or with words.”
I smile. “I think you’re doing all right so far.”
I peer over my shoulder at my tea I left on the counter in the kitchen, and without a word, he stands to retrieve it. When he hands it to me, I giggle. “See. You’re already doing so good.”
He smiles a second time as he retakes his seat beside me. “You’re not gonna tell me I’m being a good boy, are you?”
I sputter with laughter, having to wipe tea from my lips while I eye him. Did he just make a joke? And a rather good one at that. “I can if you want me to,” I tease.
