Page 69 of Drown Like Heaven
I pushed my face against the soft towel. Panic was making the edges of my thoughts fuzzy, everything swirling towards darkness. I was breathing too fast.
“Hey.” Mason tapped the back of my thigh. “In and out.Breathe. Tell me what other emotions you’ll give me when you’re not being a little liar.”
“Sadness. Misery. Lust, every once in a while.”
“Think you’ll ever grant me a show of happiness?”
“You don’t make me happy, so probably not.” I sucked in a sharp breath when I felt something touch the glass, which was still apparently lodged in my foot. Probably Mason’s fingers ortweezers. A little whimper of pain escaped me, muffled in the towel.
Before I could really focus in on the sensation of the glass being removed from my foot, though, there was a large hand palming my ass. Mason slipped his fingers under the hem of my bikini bottoms, pressing into my flesh.
“I’ll make you happy. Promise.”
You also promised you wouldn’t push me under the water, but look how well that promise held up.
“Stop groping me.”
“Prove to me you’re not about to pass out and I’ll stop trying to distract you.” His hand slid down my thigh and then left my body, digging around in the first-aid kit again.
Fine.
“What are you even doing?”
“I’m about to pour clean water on your foot. Shouldn’t hurt.”
I craned my neck to look back at him holding a bottle of water, twisting the cap off. I had no idea where he’d gotten it from, but I supposed it was necessary to rinse the sand off my foot.
“Told you not to look back here,” Mason said, but he wasn’t looking at my face. His stare remained fixed on my foot as he crouched down, gently holding my ankle.
I buried my face back in the towel.
I hate this.
He poured a steady stream of water over my heel, letting it flow down my arch and the ball of my foot, letting it drip off my toes. My breath was warm on my face against the cotton, and I narrowed my focus to that sensation only. Mason was doing something else to my foot now, and not telling me what. More cleaning, maybe. I didn’t ask.
There was a little bit of pressure as he wrapped something soft around my foot. A bandage, I assumed.
“All done,” he murmured, leaning over me to touch my cheek. “It’s not deep. You’ll heal up in no time.”
I forced a quick smile, still nauseous. My foot hadn’t stopped throbbing where the glass cut me.
A cold breeze swept into the car, reminding me of my wet bathing suit, my wet hair.
Mason noticed the goosebumps spreading over all my exposed skin and he went around to start the car and turn the heat on, then put down the middle row of seats so the back of the car was mostly flat. I just laid motionless on my stomach, curling my fingers tightly into the thick terry cloth below my head.
He climbed into the back with me, pulling the door to the trunk shut.
I cracked an eyelid, watching him maneuver his large body into the awkward space next to me. His hands grabbed my body and lifted me to lay on him, half sitting up but still reclined. I tucked myself against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, curled into a little ball cradled on his lap.
“You gave me another secret.” His voice was deep and rumbling with my ear pressed to his chest.
“No I didn’t,” I protested, hating the way my voice wobbled. It sounded like I was about to cry—which, I probably was. The emotions of today were catching up with me, and I was too tired to hold myself together anymore.
“You don’t like the sight of blood,” Mason said quietly, his thumb stroking back and forth on my shoulder.
“It’s not really a secret.”
“Still feels like I’m learning things about you.” The car was quiet, save for the sounds of me trying to suppress my sniffles. I swiped away the tears trying to escape my eyes, chest tight with hidden sobs. “You’re allowed to cry, you know.”
