An involuntary whimper leaves my mouth with the chill of the cool water.
“I got you,” Roman says. And everything inside of me believes him. Roman doesn’t hate me for lying to him. He doesn’t care that I smell like skunk.
A fresh wave of burning surges in my eyes, pulling a hiss from my lips.
“Here.” He sets a fluffy towel into my palm, and I take it blindly.
“Thank you,” I say, my lips quivering. With my eyes closed, I wrap the thing around my shoulders. I’m still dripping, and apparently still pitiful, because soon Roman takes another towel and pats down my legs and arms.
“This way,” he says, his voice a soothing lullaby. He leads me along, blind, until the air in the room has changed. It’s less pungent and much more Roman-like. “I’m going to step out. Can you change by yourself?”
My teeth chatter, but I nod. “I can do it.”
“Good.” He sets a stack of clothing into my hands, and I open my eyes. Roman’s room. Not mine.
“I’ve got the windows open in your room. We need to air the place out,” he says before stepping back into the bathroom, his shirt and pants clinging to his wet body. “Just holler when you’re finished.”
I’m in no condition to argue. So, shivering, I strip my damp tank and underwear from my body, thankful I kept them on at all. I haven’t been myself since my world fell into the trash compactor. And I was so sure I might die of skunk stink and shame, so I kept my tan tank top and underwear on, somehow feeling like I’d have a shred of dignity left if Roman at least didn’t find me deceased, smelly, covered in spaghettisauce,andnaked.
With trembling fingers, I pull the shirt from the pile Roman gave me and slip it over my head. The fabric is soft and large for my frame. It smells like pine and mountain air—like Roman. I sit on the edge of his bed and slip into the boxers and baggy sweats he left for me. Both must belong to him.
“I’m finished,” I say, and the door to the bathroom peeks open.
Roman smiles, his grin crooked as he walks over to me. He stands two feet from me—his hair still wet, but he’s changed into clean, dry clothes. He reaches forward, tugging on the strings of my pants. He tightens the oversized sweats, ensuring they won’t fall off me. “Time for bed. You’ve been through it.”
My heart patters, and a dull burn persists in my eyes. I am in Roman’s room, wearinghisclothes—a Red Tail twenty-one jersey, to be exact. And now he’s telling me it’s time for bed. Yep, that would be my heart rate picking up.
“This way.” Taking me by the hand, Roman leads me to the edge of the bed—hisbed. I can smell it—this is where Roman Graves sleeps every night of his life. With pressure on my shoulders and legs, he helps me lie down, resting my head beneath his pillow. He tucks soft, woodsy-smelling blankets all around me—just like a mother would an infant. “Sleep a while. It’ll all feel less terrible after you’ve rested.”
He’s right. It will. And I’m drained. And yet?—
“Are you leaving?”
“Just going to make us a late dinner.”
I nod, then burrow my jaw and ear into Roman’s pillow. Nibbling on my inner cheek, heart pounding, I say what I want. I’m honest—possibly for the first time since Roman and I reunited. “I’m not hungry. Youcould stay.”
“Do you want me to stay?” He peers down at me, his hand cupping my cheek.
In answer, I move over a few inches. The mattress dips as Roman sits next to me, then sprawls out in the little space I’ve given him. He lies, one arm beneath his head, facing me.
I nestle my head into the crook of his shoulder and chest. He might be the only thing keeping my tears at bay. What a mess I’ve made.
His free arm wraps around me, hugging me close. Gentle fingers glide over my damp hair and down my back.
“It’s okay, Stell,” he says, his head shifting, until his forehead just touches my own. His breaths warm the air between us as he hushes and consoles me once more. “You’re okay.”
I’m not sure how long he lies there, how long he spends caressing and assuring me. I fall asleep long before he stops.
Twenty-Eight
The sun is shiningthrough the bedroom window, but in a different spot than normal. It’s putting a glow on all of the things in this room. Things that don’t belong to me.
I sit up, feeling my once-wet hair rooster in every direction but down. Awesome. My natural waves have taken on an entirely new life having gone to bed with a wet head. I’m still in Roman’s jersey, sweats, and boxers, and while I still smell faintly of skunk, I smell like Roman too. At least I think the skunk is faint—I’ve been wearing it all night, so I might be getting used to it.
Roman and I came clean yesterday. At least my lies are out in the open. If Roman will have me, I don’t want to get an annulment. I don’t want Roman to lose his home. And I don’t want my parents to hurt.
But the weight and burden that telling Roman the truth has lifted is incredible. When Willow asks what I’m good at today, I’m going to tell her: confession! I feel like a new person. Mostly. I’m certain I will feel brand new once Iknow for sure that I didn’t cost Roman his cabin and when I smell like me again.
