It’s too exposing. Whatever I ask him to do now will give him an unfair advantage over me. It’s not fair, but I do it anyway. Refusing won’t help me. I want him too damn bad to punish myself by continuing to push.
“I don’t have a heating pad for the cramps.”
“Where can I get one?”
I shake my head against the pillow. “No. Just . . . can you open the window? And then get in the bed.”
Keeping my eyes cast down, I avoid seeing his reaction in real time. He shifts his right leg, then his left, before he steps out of view. I hear the window behind me slide open and feel the soft breeze ruffle my hair.
“It’s hot in here, Tilly. I’ll give you a fever or something.”
I blow out a breath that would have been a laugh any other day. “I don’t care.”
The bed dips. I scrunch my face up and trap my tongue between my teeth when my first instinct is to demand he hurry closer. My head starts fucking with me, and before I know what’s happening, I’m pressing a finger to my lips to keep them sealed shut.
We’ve never shared a bed like this. Not without someone else here with us, either on the floor or sitting on the edge casually watching. But now . . . he’s here. And the last few days are still so fresh in my memory.
“Where does it hurt?” he asks roughly, his voice the only noise in the room.
I hesitate, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. His strong, thick fingertips find my shoulder as he guides me onto my back. Blinking at the ceiling, I try to ignore the rapid, impatient throb beneath my chest bone.
My lips part around a silent moan when he slides his hand beneath the blanket and palms my belly. I turn my head and look at him in complete and utter silence. He begins moving it in small circles, pressing down hard enough for me to feel the heat from his skin sinking into the sore muscles.
“Is this okay?”
“Yes,” I croak, closing my eyes before I do something embarrassing like cry. “That’s . . . good.”
He hums, facing me in the bright room. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“Not unless you can get my therapist on a plane and fly her out here to talk to me.”
“Is that something that would help?”
“Speaking to her usually does.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few breaths. I sink into the mattress, focused completely on the feel of his hand moving so gently over my body. It’s the same hand that brought with it so much pain that night, but never toward me. I touch it before I can stop myself, just holding it as he massages me.
“Does she do video calls?”
“Most do. We’ve never had one.”
“There’s a woman in Cherry Peak. She’s good. It doesn’t help for right now, but for the future.” He clears his throat. “If you stayed.”
I tip my chin. When I reply, it isn’t in response to that. It’s random. A thought that’s been pinging around in my mess of a head today.
“You didn’t tell anyone the truth about why you did what you did that night. Why?”
“Nobody but those who already know will ever find out.”
I gulp, keeping my eyes shut. “It would have been easier for you if you’d given them the real reason instead of letting them see you as the bad guy. Maybe with your parents too.”
“No, it wouldn’t have been. That thought never crossed my mind, Tilly. Let it go.”
“You’re stubborn,” I whisper.
“You should nap.”
“Is all my talking bothering you?”
