I parked near the house, hauled him out, and hog-tied him with the leftover ropes that I kept in the bed. I let his body hit the ground like the worthless piece of shit that he was. Then I heaved him back over my shoulder and started toward the shed, where I kept all my woodworking tools.
I rounded the side of the house and froze. A soft sound stopped me in my tracks. Sniffling.
I moved closer and looked through the kitchen window, and I could see Logan through the large back sliding glass door. She was curled up on the back porch, arms around herself, face red and blotchy in the light.
She was crying.My girl was crying.
And the ache in my chest turned into a full-blown fracture.
Fuck the bastard on my back. He could wait. I didn’t want her to see what I had planned for him, so I couldn’t just walk past her. I didn’t want her anywhere near that part of me. So I jogged back to the front of the house, opened the coat closet by the door, and dumped him inside. The ropes would hold him. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Then I ran through the house to get to her.
Logan was still on the porch, Tony curled around her. She looked so small sitting there in the dark, and all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms and never let go.
“Logan,” I said gently.
She looked up, eyes red. “Hi—” she said quickly, wiping her face. “I thought you were still at the bar.”
“No. I had to take care of something.”
I stepped closer. “Then I came back to check on you.” I held out my hand. “Come on, sweetheart. You’re freezing.”
She didn’t speak, just slid her hand into mine. Her fingers were trembling. I led her inside to my bedroom, eased her onto the edge of the bed, and then moved to the bathroom and turned on the bathroom light. The pipes groaned as I turned the faucet to hot.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice cracking.
“Starting a hot shower for you,” I said simply. “You’ve had a hell of a day. Thought it might help.”
I glanced over my shoulder, and she stood in the doorway for a moment, watching me. I stood, readying to leave when I thought she was going to close herself off again, but as I moved to pass her, she stepped forward and caught my hand.
Her grip was soft. But the way she held on told me everything.
She needed me. She wanted me to stay.
And god, I wanted to be the only man she ever reached for.
I gripped for the hem of her shirt and I waited for her permission.
She nodded and raised her arms for me.
I helped her undress gently. Not because I thought she was breakable, but because she mattered. Because this moment mattered. I wasn’t going to rush it or fuck it up. My breath hitched because out of all the times I’d envisioned this moment, it was me kissing every inch of her and working my way downher body, but in this, I just wanted to wash away the day and wrap her up in warmth to replace the cold and fear she’d had on her face at the bar. Everything else could wait.
After I slid the last piece of clothing from her body, I helped her into the shower. She looked over at me then with that silent plea written on her face. The one we both had been doing a damn good job of denying. I quickly shucked off my clothes, got in behind her, grabbed the shampoo, gently washed her hair. She trembled under my touch, but I restrained myself. This wasn’t about pleasure. It was about being there for her when she was emotionally vulnerable. And the fact that I was that person for her, only made me not want to fuck it up more.
She leaned back into me. Trusted me.
Every time she trembled, I adjusted. Pulled back. Slowed down. This was about making her feel safe.
Mine to protect. Mine to cherish.
After I rinsed her hair and worked conditioner through it, I moved on to her body, cleaning her with reverence. Like touching her meant something—because it did. It meant everything. I swallowed hard and kept going, anchoring myself in the moment. In her.
When I finished, she turned. Reached for the soap and pressed it against my chest.
“Logan,” I rasped. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I want to.”
