This close, she has to crane her neck to meet my gaze, and I hold out my hand until her delicate fingers touch my palm, then sink down onto the bed with her still standing in front of me. “Will you let me see?” I don’t take my eyes off hers as I bring the back of her hand to my lips. After a moment, I add, “Trust takes time, buttercup. I won’t force you.”
As if I’ve just said the magic words, she takes a deep breath, and her shoulders relax as she turns around.
“Can I touch you?”
Flexing her hand several times, she stutters, “Y-yes.” When my fingers brush along the border of one of the worst of the bruises, she flinches and makes a fist hard enough I can see the blood leave her fingers. Just as I’m about to tell her to stop, though, she relaxes, her hand uncurls, and I think I hear her whisper, “Let yourself feel.”
“What?” I’m frozen in place—one hand on her back, the other curved around her hip. “Talk to me, baby.”
Her head bows, and she lays her hand over mine. “Before this trip, I hadn’t hurt myself in years. But for a long time, I couldn’t stop. I was numb. Like…I moved through life rather than experiencing it. Because if I let myself feel—anything—I’d feel everything. Their h-hands on m-me. The dirty f-floor.”
As a sob shakes her entire body, I take a chance and wrap my other arm around her, pulling her between my legs and against my chest.
The contact seems to steady her, and she clears her throat. “Cutting let me feel something I controlled. The pain helped me focus. And…before long, I needed it. The only time I felt anything was when I cut myself. But then I found a new therapist, and she helped me understand that not every one of my feelings would hurt me. Some of them…could help me heal.”
Twisting in my embrace, she faces me, her eyes clear, and offers me the barest hint of a smile. “I used to love it when you’d touch me. Just…touch. You’d rub my back in bed when you thought I was asleep. And after…we made love…you’d run your fingers up and down my arm.”
Her left arm holds deep finger bruises, but I start stroking her right bicep, the smooth muscle relaxed and supple under my hand. “I couldn’t get enough of you, Joey. I still can’t…” It doesn’t matter that we’re not there yet, or that Trevor’s in the next room. Not to my dick. Half-hard and getting more insistent by the minute, the damn thing starts tenting the towel, and when Joey notices, she sucks in a sharp breath.
“Ford, I don’t know how much I can give you…” Sorrow creeps into her tone, and her shoulders hunch.
“I don’t care.”
Snapping her gaze to mine, she shakes her head. “Ford—”
“Baby, you’re it for me. You always have been and you always will be. If this—holding you—is all we ever have, if this is all you can ever give me, I’ll still be the happiest man in the world. Do I want all of you? Hell yes. And I’ll give you all of me. But only if…or when…you’re ready.”
The storm raging in her eyes settles. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispers. Before I can correct her, she wraps her arms around me. “But you’re it for me too.” When she kisses me, something flares, bright and hot, and it isn’t until she pulls away and reaches for her shirt that I put a name to the feeling.
Hope.
Joey
It feels so good to be wearing “normal” clothes. Tennis shoes. Socks. The black pants hang off of me, but the tank top alone makes me feel more human. I stare at the purple, long-sleeved blouse designed to cover me when outdoors, and for the first time in years, I wonder what it would be like not to hide my arms.
Ford knows now. Everything. Or…almost everything. I didn’t technically tell him I haven’t had sex in twenty years, but he probably figured that part out.
“You don’t have to, buttercup,” he says as he pulls on a black t-shirt. The material hugs his chest and leaves the corded muscles of his forearms bare. I always loved his arms. His strength.
An unfamiliar warmth stirs deep in my center, and I don’t realize I’m staring until he says my name.
“Don’t have to what?” I ask as I tear my gaze away from his biceps.
“Cover up.” His fingers skim the lines on my skin. “Just keep it close in case we have to run.”
My muscles lock, and it’s almost like I can hear panic flooding my system as his words register. “Do you think that’s—?”
His eyes soften, and he links our fingers. “No. I don’t. But I’m not taking any chances with your safety.” Ford cups my cheek, dips his head, and brushes a soft kiss to my lips. “I can’t lose you again.”
When he touches me, it’s like all of my anxiety melts away. As I tie the blouse around my waist, Ford laces up his boots and slides his holster onto his belt.
“Ready?” he asks, his hand on my lower back.
In truth, I want to burrow under the blanket and hide. But I nod and let him open the door for me.
Trevor’s hunched over a laptop on the couch, typing furiously, two energy drink cans at his elbow.
“Any word from Nomar?” Ford asks.
