Page 50 of Back to You
“Okay?” I murmur.
She swallows. Nods. Her voice is barely there when she whispers, “Yeah.”
But I don’t miss the way her body finally relaxes. I set the towel aside and reached for the bottle of oil I had grabbed earlier. Lavender and eucalyptus, calming, warming.
I pour some into my palms, rubbing them together, heating the liquid before I touch her. Her eyes flutter closed as I start with her hands, kneading gently and working out the tension in her fingers and her knuckles. I don’t rush. I don’t speak. I just learn her this way, with my hands.
With every slow, deliberate press of my thumbs into the joints I know ache, into the places she won’t admit are hurting. She melts under the touch, her breath evening out, her fingers twitching slightly but no longer with tension.
I work my way to her wrists, applying just enough pressure to ease the stiffness, feeling the way she exhales, the way she sinks deeper into the pillows. By the time I reach her elbows, she lets out a soft, broken exhale. A sound that hits me harder than anything else.
I shift lower, lifting one of her legs into my lap. She tenses. Not from fear or hesitation, but from somewhere deeper. She’s never had anyone do this for her. She’s used to handling everything alone. She’s used to pretending it doesn’t hurt.
I move slowly, rubbing the oil into her calves, over her knees, up to her thighs, feeling the stiffness, the swelling beneath my hands. She exhales sharply, a mix of pain and relief.
This is more than just touch. This is healing. This is undoing years of neglect, of her pushing through the pain alone. This is her letting me in.
“Mariana,” I murmur.
She swallows hard.
I cup her face, holding her steady, “You’re safe,” I whisper. I pull her against me, her body curling into mine, her breath steady but fragile. Her fingers rest against my chest, tracing lazy circles over my skin.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she whispers.
I press a slow kiss on her hair. “Yeah, I did.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then, barely above a whisper, she says, “Thank you.”
I close my eyes, exhaling. “Always.”
CHAPTER 19
Mariana
The firehouse came into view as Sebastian pulled into the lot, the smell of grilled meat and charcoal thick in the air. Laughter and music spilled from the backyard, where familiar voices mixed with the occasional clang of a spatula against the grill.
Through the windshield, I spotted Analyse standing with a drink in hand, chatting with Mateo, while Maya ran in circles around them, a blur of pink sneakers and wild curls. My stomach flipped. We were really doing this.
Seba must have felt it because his fingers suddenly slid over mine, warm and steady, anchoring me. “You ready to shock the hell out of them, Mi Tesoro?” he asked, amusement lacing his voice.
I turned to look at him, at that smug, boyish grin that made me want to roll my eyes and kiss him at the same time. “Oh, they’re not ready.”
He grinned, but before I could even reach for the door handle, his grip on my hand tightened slightly. “Don’t open your door,” he said, already unbuckling.
I frowned. “Why-”
He was out of the car before I could finish the question, jogging around to my side.
By the time he pulled open the door, a satisfied smirk on his face, I was equal parts amused and exasperated.
“Seriously?” I asked, biting back a smile.
He shrugged, offering me his hand. “What? Sue me for having manners, princesa.”
I rolled my eyes but took his hand anyway. And just like that, we were stepping into the firehouse chaos—together.
“OH MY GOSH!” Maya shrieked before we even made it fully into the yard, stopping mid-run, hands on her hips, “Are you Tío Seb’s girlfriend?!”
