I leaned forward slightly, and he steadied me without comment. His hand was warm on my back. Anchoring. Not claiming. Just there.
He washed my hair with slow, gentle motions. His fingers careful against my scalp. Rinsed it clean. Warm water streamed down my neck. Down my spine. Taking the cold and the sand and the ocean and the night with it.
I closed my eyes as he carefully washed me from head to foot. Not because I was sleepy but because in that moment I trusted him to not let me fall. It was as dangerous as it was intoxicating.
Once I was clean he slowly worked out every knot from my muscles. The deep rhythmic motion of his finger on my skin was hypnotizing. The first wave of exhaustion washed over me as he left me mellow and calm to soak until the water turned cold.
As the bath drained he helped me out of the water, careful to keep his eyes averted from the water dripping down my body, and wrapped me in a fluffy towel. Like I was made of glass and would crack if he handled me wrong.
It made me feel precious. Treasured. But it was a feeling I knew I couldn’t trust because good things were always taken away from me.
He dried my hair with the same tenderness he’d shown me since we got home. Pressed the towel onto my skin, rubbed around my shoulders and down my arms. Until I was dry enough to be helped into a clean set of pjs he must have gotten from my drawers.
He tucked me into bed, and my mattress felt like a cloud. Unreal. Too safe. Too solid. I wasn’t sure I deserved such a place.
He brushed his knuckles down my cheek and whispered something I didn’t catch before he left the room. He returned a few moments later with a steaming cup of chamomile tea.
“Drink,” he said softly as he sat down on the edge of the bed next to me.
My hands shook less as they wrapped around the cup and I brought it to my lips. He watched me like he was afraid I might disappear if he blinked. His face looked… wrecked.
Lines gathered at the corners of his mouth as he studied me. Tension lined his brow. His eyes darkened with something like pain he wasn’t allowed to put down.
“I didn’t mean for you to take care of me again,” I whispered.
He swallowed. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.”
My eyes locked on his then, searching. He clenched his jaw but didn’t look away. “I don’t want to need you like this,” I said.
He nodded once. Slowly. “I know.”
That was all he said. NotIt’s okay. Notyou don’t.Just: I know. Which meant he saw it all. And he wasn’t going to take advantage of it. That was the part that hurt. That he could hold me like this. Care for me like this. See me like this. And still keep his distance.
Because he thought it was what was safest. Even when it hurt both of us.
“I’m tired,” I said around a yawn.
He took the cup from me and tucked the blanket around me as I lay back down. “You can sleep now, sweetheart.”
He stayed until my eyes closed. I felt the warmth of him beside me like a tether. The steadiness of his breathing. The way the room felt like everything was where it should be because he was in it.
I drifted off wanting him. Needing him. Hurting because he wouldn’t be mine. Both at once. Like everything else drowned me.
CHAPTER 16
ANTHONY
The temperature had dropped overnight, but I couldn’t feel it.
My breath fogged the air as I stepped onto the back porch with a mug of coffee and set it down on the step before lowering myself beside it. The wood was cold through my jeans. I registered that only because I knew I should. My body felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. My hands were steady enough to carry the mug, but there was a tight, humming tension in my arms and shoulders, the kind that came from holding yourself too rigid for too long.
I’d woken before dawn again.
That wasn’t unusual.
Sleep had always been something that avoided me more than it found me, but after a night like last night, it felt less like a need and more like a luxury I wasn’t allowed anymore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him the way he’d looked on the beach—folded into himself, barely conscious, sand clinging to his face, his breath shallow and uneven. The memory rose in me like nausea. It pressed behind my ribs until my chest felt too tight to expand properly.
I watched the sky instead. Dark sapphire fading into gray. The slow, quiet push of morning undoing the night.
