I step closer and lift her into my arms.
“I can walk, Jax.”
“Why walk when you can ride?” I wink.
I deposit her beside the tub and lift the hem of her shirt.
She grips my hands. “I can do it.”
“You could barely hold a spoon a few hours ago. Arms up.”
Her eyes turn pleading. “I can’t.”
“Hey.” There’s a tightness in my chest as I cup her cheek. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She leans into my touch; it’s so subtle I’m not sure she realizes she’s doing it. Tentatively, she whispers, “I have scars.”
My mind travels back in time to a brief conversation years ago.
“I always wanted a cat.” A ragged breath escapes her. “My parents… they didn’t allow pets.”
I can’t see her face, but I’m attuned to each subtle shift in hervoice as she speaks. My stomach sinks at the sudden realization. “They hurt you.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t have to say anything else for me to know she’d been abused. Now this. They’d better pray I never meet them in a dark alley.
I slide my thumb along her cheekbone. “That doesn’t bother me.”
“It’s just… they’re not pretty.”
“You’re beautiful, Callie. Scars or no scars. Nothing will ever change that.”
“Could you maybe… close your eyes?”
She’s setting a boundary, and I have to respect that, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I want to see all of her, scars and all, if only so I can prove to her that she’s not as damaged as she thinks she is.
I close my eyes and grip the hem of her shirt again. “Arms up. I promise I’m not looking.”
“Ok.”
I lift the shirt over her head and toss it somewhere to the side.
“I can do the rest,” she murmurs.
“When you’re ready, take my hand, and I’ll help you into the tub. I don’t want you to slip and fall.”
Fabric rustles as she undresses the rest of the way, and it’s a struggle not to picture her standing naked less than two feet from me.
Her hand slides into my upturned palm. Once she’s fully submerged, she says. “Ok. You can look now.”
Goddamn. Maybe I shouldn’t have insisted on helping. She’s covered by a mass of bubbles, but that doesn’t stop me from getting a raging fucking hard-on.
I squat by the side of the tub to hide the inconvenient boner. “Do you need help? I can wash your hair for you.”
She scoops up some of the bubbles and playfully blows them at me. “Go away.”
I sweep my finger through them and dot the tip of her nose. She smiles and wipes them away.
