The man, the one now standing in the middle of the room like a shell of who he once had been, was hollow. Hisnormally vivid and cynical eyes were now glassy and devoid of anything. For a moment, I was so stunned that I couldn’t move, and I sure as hell couldn’t breathe. My glance moved slowly from his bloodied jeans, up to the droplets of crimson falling languidly from his hands, which were balled at his sides and looked as though they’d been masticated.
The higher my attention got, the more blood I saw. Dark spots on his already dark T-shirt made the stains obvious. It was as though the more of it I saw, the more my own ran through my veins, colder, filling me with dread.
This hollow, vacant husk of the most formidable man I thought I’d ever known was making everything but my fear drain from me.
“Drew?”
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even flicker his eyes in my direction. There was no response. The only sign he’d heard me at all was the sway of his body before he fell into the same chilling stillness he had when I’d entered. I stumbled forward one step, my feet dragging as my bag slid from my arm and landed at my feet with a thump. Neither of us moved; he wouldn’t, and I couldn’t. My eyes were trained on his, looking for some spark of life.
“You’re bleeding.”
Drew's eyes finally dropped to his balled hands and back up to me in a slow circuit that almost made him look deranged. I don’t think I took a breath as he did. I was too afraid that any movement I made would throw him back into the lifeless statue he had been. The darkness of his normally multi-hued eyes now looked as though his irises had swallowed the color in their depths.
“Not mine.”
I looked behind me at the door that led to the corridor, before glancing back at Drew with concern. I didn’t know if the men out there knew what the hell was going on in here, but it didn’t really matter to me what they thought, because all I could think about in that moment was protecting him. My only priority was to take care of him when he was so obviously lost in his own head.
I didn't think about my next actions. I was on autopilot as I twisted the lock, and kept my back to him as I attempted to catch my own breath.
It was true, I’d always been afraid of Drew Tucker in the past, but as unresponsive and daunting this mimic of him was, I found I fearedforhim. I was afraid that he was broken, that there was no putting him back together, and even in that moment, where hope seemed so unattainable, I thought about what a loss that would be to the world.
I sucked in the biggest breath I could manage, regaining my focus before I turned to face him again. I closed the distance between us in a couple of steps until we were completely isolated, and my hands reached to cup his cool cheeks, if for no other reason than to simply let him know I was there.
“Drew, I need you to come back to me,” I whispered, my thumb attempting to rub some warmth into his flesh. The hand closest to me twitched, bumping against my leg, recognition that he knew I was there and talking. There was a chance I was imagining things, but contrary to his belief, I wasn’t that defeatist girl he’d pegged me as. I was an eternal optimist, and I wasn’t giving up that easily. “We need to clean you up, but I need you to work with me here.”
His responding nod was small but obvious, and asI dropped my hand to his wrist and tugged gently in the direction of the bathroom, he gave me no resistance.
There were no words I could give that would reassure him or make whatever this was go away, and I wasn’t going to try. In his world, there were different rules and standards. This response he seemed to be having could have been to anything. The possibilities and variables were endless. So I kept my mouth shut and my hand lightly on his wrist as I reached into the shower and started the water, the sudden stream a grateful break to the silence that had been ringing around us only seconds earlier.
“I’m going to undress you,” I whispered, my trembling hands moving between us and up to his broad shoulders. I paused as my thumbs brushed the cut. It was a sacred thing for him, and I wasn't aware of the rules.
When he didn't react, I pushed the leather back and down his long arms, my hands sure of each movement they executed, hoping against all hope that I didn’t startle him. When I could no longer reach, I kept contact between our bodies, brushing by as I stepped around behind him, relieving him of the cut respectfully before folding it carefully and setting it on the sink.
I'd been taking my time, and the more measured my movements, the more the room filled up with steam. It didn't deter me as I moved all the way around to his front again. The T-shirt he was wearing was still damp with blood when I gripped the edge of it, but as I started to lift it upward, his hands clamped down around my wrists and held them in place. “No.”
The word was executed with such precision that it froze me in place, my skin dampening from the heat and humiditythe steam offered, which was beginning to completely close in around us.
I waited him out, though, my skin beading with sweat with every passing second, and eventually my patience paid off. The moment the pressure on my wrists started to release, I continued working in the same slow, measured speed. My hands lifted the damp weighted material up over his abs and chest, until I was forced onto my toes, my fingertips pushing the material up his stretched arms.
Even like that, my body was only inches from his and my eyes were level with his tensed jaw. I saw the twitch moments before his lips moved again. “Ayda, go.”
I shook my head, struggling for a moment to free him from the confines of his T-shirt, until he complied and allowed me to remove the thing. I dropped it with an unintentional shudder, and the sound of the wet material landing on the floor seemed even louder than the hiss of the water hitting the glass, reminding me exactly why I was there.
No matter how formidable Drew was, I tried not to let my glance linger on the scars and tattoos that littered his exposed flesh. I’d seen them all before. The man walked around topless more than some of the women, but there was something far more intimate in that moment between us that spoke to me. It made it all seem more real than it had before. Each scar was someone's attempt to kill him. Each pale, ragged line was an attempt on the life he was now holding onto by the skin of his teeth.
My fingers shook as they gravitated to the one over his hip. The skin was raised over an obvious rip in his flesh, and as I brushed it, the muscles in his abs tensed. I couldn't tell if he was upset, or it was a natural reaction, so I dropped myhand to the buckle of his belt with a muttered apology.
I didn't have to look at Drew to know he was staring at me. I could feel his eyes as I tried to make my hands work the way I wanted them to. “Why are you here?” he whispered roughly, the warm air of his words falling against my head.
My fingers locked awkwardly at the button of his jeans, my chest aching with the breath I pulled in and held. I didn’t know how to answer that and stay honest. I’d gone to The Hut for the sole purpose of shouting at him, to demand that he leave me, and by extension, Tate, alone, and there I was, undressing him to wash blood that wasn't his from his body.
Toeing off my shoes, I dropped my gaze to my feet, mostly to stay away from his eyes. I was unsure if they were still going to be eerily vacant, or filled with that fire I caught there at times when he was looking at me. His question held so much weight and it had so many vacillating arms that I couldn’t seem to sift through them all to get to a simple and straightforward answer. I was looking too far into myself and what I was feeling, only to find the one thing I’d been working so hard to bury, not just from him, but from both of us. I was there with him because I cared, and on further evaluation, I realized that I cared too much. I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn't. Not then, and maybe not ever.
“To help,” I said, simplifying it to the most basic level and forcing myself to unfasten his button, before lifting my eyes to meet his.
The sadness that lingered in the depths of them had my heart tightening in my chest. He was so lost and unsure of everything, and as his eyes searched mine, I knew that included me. I could tell by the way he was unintentionally seeking to find the emotions I was feeling. I didn't know whathe was expecting to find. Was it understanding? Pity? Or was he looking for the disgust he thought he'd earned for his behavior?
“I’m beyond help.”
