“I can try.”
The second I swing my legs off the bench, the room tilts slightly, and I feel the ground shift beneath me. Hawk’s hands are instantly at my waist, his grip tightening just enough to steady me. “Whoa,” he says, concern threading through his voice. “I’ve got you.”
I lean into him without thinking, my forehead pressing lightly against his shoulder. His skin is warm, solid—the kind of comfort I didn’t know I needed.
“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling a rush of embarrassment for needing him so much.
His hand slides up my back slowly, a soothing gesture that sends warmth through me. “You stop apologizing,” he says softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong tonight.”
I swallow, the weight of his words sitting heavy in my chest. He reaches for another towel and wraps it loosely around my shoulders before stepping out of the shower. “Sit here a second,”he instructs gently, guiding me back to the bench just outside the shower.
I comply, grateful for the chance to rest. Honestly, my legs are still trembling, and I can feel the fatigue creeping into my bones. He disappears for a moment, and I take the opportunity to collect myself. When he comes back, he’s holding a pile of clothes—his clothes. A black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants that look enormous in his hands.
“You’re not putting your clothes back on,” he states simply, and I don’t argue. The thought of putting those blood-soaked clothes back on makes my stomach twist in protest.
Hawk kneels in front of me, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s treating a delicate flower. His eyes lift to mine, and there’s a softness there that makes me feel safe. “Alright,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna take this slow.”
I nod, ready to follow his lead.
He helps guide my feet into the sweatpants first, the fabric soft and warm against my skin. But when I try to stand again so he can pull them up, my ribs protest sharply, sending a small hiss escaping my lips.
Hawk freezes immediately, concern flooding his features. “Too much?”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, but he’s already adjusting. His arm slides carefully around my back, allowing me to lean into him while he pulls the waistband up the rest of the way. The pants hang low on my hips—baggy but comfortable, a cocoon of warmth.
Then he lifts the t-shirt, and I can’t help but wince as I move my arms. “Arms up a little,” he instructs quietly, his tone gentle.
“Sorry,” he mutters instantly when I flinch.
“You didn’t do anything,” I reassure him, and he carefully pulls the shirt down over my head. The cotton is soft and forgiving against my skin, and it falls halfway down my thighs, the sleeves swallowing my hands.
I glance down at myself, and I can’t help but smile a little at the sight. I’m drowning in his clothes, and yet, somehow it feels… safe.
Hawk studies me for a moment, his jaw tightening slightly as if he’s wrestling with something unsaid. “What?” I ask quietly, curiosity piqued.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the word sounds rough, as if he’s swallowing something heavy.
He reaches out and gently brushes a damp strand of hair away from my face, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary. “You ready to go back to bed?”
I nod, my heart swelling at his care.
He doesn’t even ask if I want to walk this time. He simply slides one arm under my knees and the other behind my back, lifting me effortlessly. This time, I don’t protest. I rest my head against his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek—a comforting rhythm that calms me.
The hallway feels shorter when you’re not bleeding out on the floor. The medical room door opens, and Hawk carries me back inside, lowering me onto the bed with the utmost care, as if I’m something breakable.
Once I’m settled, he pulls the blanket up around me, and the warmth sinks into my bones almost instantly. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until now, and I nestle deeper into the fabric.
Hawk sits back down in the chair beside the bed, exactly where he was before. His hand finds mine again without hesitation, as if it belongs there, and I can’t help but squeeze it gently.
For a while, we just sit like that, the quiet between us thick but not uncomfortable—just heavy with unspoken emotions. My eyes drift over his face, taking in the way he still looks wrecked, dark circles under his eyes and tension in his jaw.
“You should sleep,” I murmur, feeling a mix of concern and affection.
He shakes his head immediately. “I’m fine.”
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” I point out, my voice laced with worry.
His thumb brushes slowly over my knuckles, as if trying to soothe away my concern. “I’ll sleep later.”
