“Can you stop being a broody caveman hovering over his woman? I’m dying right now.”
He’s still staring down at me, confused, while I’m sprawled on the bathroom floor, laughing so hard that I can barely breathe.
“Are you done yet?” He asks dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Not even close,” I say as I wipe my eyes, and gasp for air. But the second I look up at him, naked, and completely unbothered—I lose it again.
He shakes his head, muttering about losing all the hot water, before bending down and scooping me off the floor like I weigh nothing.
“Ryatt,” I squeal as he carries me straight into the shower, and directly into the hot water.
Hot water hits my back, soaking through my hair and sliding down both of us. He doesn’t let me go—just presses his forehead to mine as he lets out a chuckle.
“You know, when you mentioned aftercare, this isn’t what I was thinking.” I giggle as I pop the cap on my strawberries and cream shampoo, lathering my hands, and running them through his hair.
He hums contently. “Oh, I think this is exactly what you needed,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.
Soap bubbles and laughter fill the tiny space, the steam wrapping us in our own little world. Every touch is tender, almost reverent. He rinses shampoo from my hair as my fingers trace along the creases in his muscles. The air feels thick with warmth and something deeper—something I’ve never experienced before.
By the time the water cools, I feel different. Not because we showered together, something I’ve never done before. But it feels as though something settled in my soul, as though he rubbed a balm across a wound that never quite healed.
He shuts off the facet, grabs two towels, and wraps one around me before pulling me close again. “Better?”
“Cleaner,” I grin. “I’m still convinced you might caveman out on me.”
“Caveman out on you?”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s what I was laughing about before the shower. I envisioned you standing over me banging your fists against your chest as you proclaimed me as yours.”
“That’s…” he shakes his head slowly, wrapping his towel around him. “Yet you still let me shower with you.”
I shrug my shoulder. “Temporary lapse in judgement. Who could fault a girl for wanting,” I gesture down his chest. “a handsome caveman like yourself in her shower. Nobody, that’s who.”
He swats my ass as we turn to walk out of the bathroom. We are both still laughing when the sound of Jingle Bell Rock fills the apartment. I look to Ryatt in confusion, but his face has gone white. He’s practically frozen until the song ends.
“You alright?”
Before he can answer, the song starts again, but this time he rushes into the living room. I follow after him, wondering what could spook a person so bad if they call.
When I walk around the corner, I find him staring at the screen on his phone as he hits the green answer button.
“Dad?” he answers quietly.
There’s a pause. Then his jaw tightens.
He’s listening to whatever is being said as he falls down onto the couch. He’s staring straight at my mantle, but you can tell he isn’t seeing the object. His hand grips his phone tighter.
“What do you mean you’re sick?”
My heart stutters. I experienced this with my own Pa when he was diagnosed with heart failure. He’ll have to leave. I have no idea where his dad lives, but he’ll need to go. There’s no way I can see him staying, and I’d never dream of asking for him to.
He listens, his eyes drifting up my wall above my mantel. I have no idea where he’s looking, but it’s somewhere I can’t follow.
He nods his head slowly before his eyes shutter closed. Whatever is being said, he doesn’t want it to be true. I can see it in the way his shoulders drooped, and the heavy breath he sighed.
“I’ll come home,” he says finally, voice low and steady. “Tonight.”
My heart shatters. For a week I’ve let him break down my walls, slowly chipping away at everything I’d put between men and my heart. Now, as if fate finds it hilarious, it’s all being ripped away from me. I shouldn’t have let myself hope.
