“I hate that you felt alone in that,” he murmurs. “You can talk to me about this shit, okay? Always.”
“I didn’t want to make it your problem.”
“Carina, you’re my… You are never a problem.”
That sentence hits somewhere low in my chest, sharp and soft all at once.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I nod once, because it’s all I’ve got left.
He rises first, then reaches down and pulls me to my feet with both hands. I sway, but he steadies me, and his hands find the small of my back, warm and firm and grounding.
“You gonna let me undress you, or do I need to file a request form?”
My lips twitch. “Depends who’s processing it.”
“Pretty sure I know someone on the inside.”
He steps closer, fingers brushing the hem of my top.
“Can I?”
I nod, and he helps me out of my top first, lifting it carefully over my head, eyes not leaving mine. Then the tank beneath. His fingers are warm where they graze my skin, but his touch stays reverent, especially as it sweeps across the swell of my stomach.
He kneels to help me step out of my leggings, and when he tugs them free, he winces.
“Jesus. You’ve got another blister on your other foot, too.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Gonna start wrapping you in bubble wrap.”
“Kinky.”
He huffs a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, then leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee.
When he helps me into the tub, the water is perfect. Warm and easing around me like a sigh. He tucks the towel behind my neck, then sits on the closed toilet seat, watching closely.
“You hungry?”
I nod. “Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
His jaw ticks. Just once, but I catch it.
“Carina.”
“I know,” I say quickly, already bracing. “I meant to—there just wasn’t—”
“No.” His voice is quiet, but not soft. “This isn’t negotiable.”
I blink.
“You don’t get to run yourself into the ground,” he says, leaning forward. “You don’t get to go all day on caffeine alone and then collapse in a hallway.”
“I didn’t collapse—”
“You were on the floor.”
