Because I’ve already left once. And I’ll never make that mistake again.
I leave the bathroom door cracked, just enough to hear if she calls me, then head downstairs to get her meds ready. It’s almost time for her next dose, and if she’s anything like she used to be, she’ll stubbornly insist she doesn’t need it until she’s wincing through every breath.
I fish through the little paper bag the hospital nurse gave us, setting out the pills and a glass of water on the bedside table. My eyes drift to the open door, the sound of the water still running behind it.
"Logan?"
Her voice floats out like steam from the bath, soft and uncertain.
I’m already moving.
I step inside quietly, pausing in the doorway. The warm scent of bubbles and shampoo hits me first—sweet, familiar. She's sitting in the tub, her knees drawn up slightly, a soft froth of bubbles floating on the surface of the water.
She glances over her shoulder at me, damp hair falling in loose waves down her back. Her cheeks are flushed, whether from the heat or my eyes on her, I don’t know.
"Hey," she murmurs. "You still okay to help?"
"Of course," I say, voice a little too low, a little too rough.
I kneel beside the tub, rolling up my sleeves. She shifts forward, giving me access, and it takes everything in me to keep my hands steady. Her back is bare, droplets sliding over her shoulder blades, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. Her skin is soft and warm beneath my fingertips as I cup water in my palms and pour it slowly over her hair.
She tilts her head back with a soft sigh, eyes fluttering shut.
"That feel okay?"
She lets out a soft moan, almost a whimper. “God, yes… that feels amazing.”
I swallow hard. “Careful, baby. You keep saying stuff like that and you are going to inflate my ego.”
She laughs quietly, but it ends on another soft sound as I gently massage shampoo into her scalp, my fingers working slowly, tenderly. I keep my touch light, but it still sparks something electric every time I brush against her skin.
“You always this gentle?” she asks, her voice dreamy.
“Only with you.”
I rinse the shampoo out in long, slow passes, then follow with the conditioner, my fingers threading through her hair with care.
She’s so relaxed now, I half expect her to fall asleep right there in the water. But when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and vulnerable.
“Thank you. For being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
And I mean it. From the bottom of my heart.
She sighs as I rinse the last of the conditioner from her hair, and when I reach for the towel, she doesn’t flinch—just looks at me like I’m the only safe place she’s ever known. Carefully, I help her to her feet, holding the towel open for her as she steps out of the bath. Her skin is damp and glowing, a little pink from the heat.
I wrap the towel around her gently, tucking the edge in at her chest.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, cheeks flushed, eyes soft. “Yeah. Thanks.”
I press a kiss to her temple, slow and lingering. “I’ll leave you to get changed.”
I step out and give her the space, padding down the stairs and into the living room where I left my duffel by the door. I fish out a fresh t-shirt, a pair of joggers, clean boxers, and my toothbrush, then head back upstairs, the house quiet around me. It’s strange, familiar and foreign. The last time I was here, I was frantic, looking for signs of Mac. Now, I’m just relieved to have her here, safe and sound.
Mac’s bedroom door is closed, so I duck into the bathroom across the hall for a quick shower. The water is hot, chasing away the tension in my muscles, and when I step out and wrap the towel low around my hips, I feel a little more grounded.
