While he waits for the water to heat up, he starts stripping off his clothes. He peels off his deep purple hoodie and his undershirt and neatly folds both of them before placing them on the closed toilet seat.
I admire the broad expanse of his muscular back and the black and gray ink that winds up his arms and across his shoulders. On one arm, I can make out a gnarled tree with mostly wilted leaves, but there are flowers and healthy foliage scattered throughout. On his other arm are several pairs of wings, but I can’t see what creature they belong to.
I want to ask him what they all mean, but Rook’s the most reserved of the guys. I don’t know whether he’d tell me if I did.
He’s quiet, thoughtful, and incredibly smart. He can get lost in the shuffle around Remy’s exuberance, Colt’s domineering personality, Hal’s friendliness, and Azrael’s grumpiness. Anytime we have a conversation, though, I feel like I could happily spend the rest of my life talking with him.
And, right now, I could use his steady strength and his quiet reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.
After pulling his shoes off, he sheds his black jeans until he’s standing before me in nothing but gray boxers.
It takes all my willpower not to let my gaze dip down below his face when he turns back around. The last thing I want is for him to catch me ogling his probably very sizable boxers-covered dick.
Stepping up to me until there’s hardly any room between us, Rook leans down until his lips almost brush mine. “You can look at me all you want, dove. I don’t mind in the slightest.”
My face burns at being caught, but I don’t say anything as Rook opens the shower curtain and offers me a hand. He steadies me as I step inside.
The warm water washes over me, relaxing me for a second before I see the red swirling down the drain.
Squeezing my eyes shut, so I don’t have to look at the evidence of what I did, I hear Rook step into the shower behind me. The tiny shower is already a little cramped with just me in it. Add in Rook’s massive frame, and there’s hardly room to breathe in here.
There’s less than an inch between us, and I can feel the body heat radiating off him. He leans down so that his lips are even with my ear. “You okay?”
“I killed him,” I whisper, instead of answering his question.
Rook rests his hands on my bare waist and simply says, “You did.”
He doesn’t tell me how to feel about it. He doesn’t put any expectations on me. He just acknowledges the truth of the matter, allowing me to feel however I feel about it.
“Part of me is glad he’s dead,” I admit, hating myself for feeling that way. “He wouldn’t have stopped coming for me until he was. What kind of terrible person thinks that way?”
“A perfectly normal person. You said this was at least the second time he tried to hurt you. The first time, he tried to take your life. Anyone is going to be glad a monster like that is dead. Anyone, Lark.” Rook’s voice is somehow soft yet infused with steel, giving me the gentleness I need while leaving no room for argument.
When I don’t say anything, Rook exhales quietly before molding his back to mine. “I’m gonna wash your hair now. If that’s not okay with you, let me know.”
I can’t bring myself to open my eyes and look at the probably bright-red water, so I have no idea how I’d manage washing my hair myself right now. Keeping my lips sealed, I don’t say anything as he starts gently unbraiding my chestnut hair.
I then feel him reach over me to grab the shampoo. I can hear him squeezing some out and lathering it up before he begins to massage it into my scalp, the fruity notes competing with the metallic scent of the blood.
When he starts shampooing the back of my head, he hits a particularly sore spot. I let out a little yelp of pain, causing him to freeze.
I brace myself for questions I don’t want to answer right now, but they never come. Instead, Rook just cleans the area more gently. He spends long enough making sure every inch of the back of my scalp is clean that my eyes start to droop.
I don’t think I’ve ever had someone wash my hair for me, let alone this carefully and meticulously. Rook makes sure my head is thoroughly massaged and my hair is covered in suds before directing me to lean under the spray.
He continues his ministrations until all the soap and hopefully blood is washed out of my hair. Pulling me back out of the water, Rook starts working conditioner through my hair just as carefully.
His tender care breaks the dam keeping all the emotions inside. Tears track down my face before full-blown sobs tear out of my chest.
“He hurt her,” I whimper.
He’s quiet for a long moment, his hand flexing on my hip the only indication he heard me. “Who?”
“Marcus, Wren’s husband. He hurt her. He violated her for a week straight. And I didn’t stop him,” I sob.
I already knew Marcus did terrible things to Wren, but, for some reason, this cold, calculated, and intentional breaking of her shatters something new in me.
And I know I’ll have to take this information to my grave. I know I can never share it with Coop, just like I never shared all the things I eventually learned that Marcus did to Wren. I know it will break him so much worse than me, and I don’t think he’ll survive it.
