Page 110 of The Tattered Gloves
“What are you doing? You can’t go in the bathroom with me.” I laughed.
“No?” He grinned, making my heart stutter. “But I can make sure you spend at least twenty minutes in there since we all know you’re planning on taking five.”
I groaned.
“You need to relax. Your aunt is right. You need to be prepared.”
“Fine,” I said. “But I’m locking the door, so you don’t get any bright ideas.”
He just continued grinning at the entrance to my bedroom as I grabbed a change of clothes and then all the way up until I clicked the lock.
And, for the next twenty minutes, he became my jailer. Every time I shut off the water, he’d demand through the door that I turn it back on.
“You’re annoying,” I grumbled the first time.
“So are you.” He fought back.
“I’m bored,” I whined after ten minutes.
“Don’t care!”
This went on, back and forth, and although I tried to sound put out and angry, I was anything but. I happily shaved my legs and washed my hair — not once, but twice — letting the conditioner soak in while I washed my face.
After I was thoroughly convinced I was squeaky clean from head to toe, I turned the water off, waiting for a rebuttal. But none came.
Success!
I rewarded myself with some lotion, which I rarely did. Maneuvering lotion with large plastic bags taped to my hands wasn’t an easy task. After getting dressed, I applied a bit of makeup for a change and ran a quick brush through my wet hair, already feeling better.
Braver.
But the gloves still remained.
When I pulled the door open, Sam was exactly where I’d left him, reading a book on his phone while leaning against the doorframe.
“You smell good,” he acknowledged right away.
“Do you think I’ll ever be rid of them?” I asked, gently placing a hand on his arm.
His phone was already back in his pocket as his eyes found mine.
“The gloves?” he asked, running his thumb along mine. “Yes, but I think, for right now, it doesn’t matter. You’re healing, Willow. Give yourself time. There are still things in my house — presents and mementos from my mom — I can’t bear to look at. I have them all tucked away in the attic, like some dirty little secret. Will I ever go up there again? Probably. But it doesn’t have to be today.”
“It doesn’t bother you? That we can’t touch… for real?”
His fingers slid between mine, and he held our joined hands between us.
“This is real,” he said with conviction before his lips met mine once more.
But, this time, it wasn’t an end.
It was simply a beginning.
AFTER ONE OF Addy’s signature breakfast plates, filled to the brim with piping hot eggs and crisp bacon, all of us headed over to the county sheriff’s office. It was in the next town over since most of the areas around here weren’t large enough for their own police stations.
We passed the time by playing catch-up. With all the emotional drama of my homecoming, I had a lot to fill them in on, specifically where I’d been.
“It looks just like I described it?” Addy asked, surprised to find out I’d retraced her steps all the way back to Charlottesville.
