The tenderness in his eyes is almost too much. My lower lip trembles before I can stop it.
Rafe kisses me. The touch is soft and solid. A kiss that saysI’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. It steadies me more than the gym ever could.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests briefly against mine. “You worked out,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I needed to… burn it out.”
He nods like he understands without explanation. “Did it help?”
“A little.”
He smiles faintly. “Good. I was going to drag you into bed anyway.”
I let out a weak laugh. “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “We’ve earned it.”
Something loosens in me at that. The idea of rest and surrender. Of not having to be strong for five more minutes. I nod slowly.
Rafe’s hands slide down to my wrists, his thumbs tracing the pulse points there like he’s grounding himself too. “You want to shower?” he asks.
I blink. “I already did.”
“I meant,” he says, and the look he gives me is warm and careful, “with me.”
My chest aches in a different way. I nod again. “Okay.”
He leads me down the hall, fingers laced with mine now. This isn’t the hand-holding we can’t do in public. This is the hand-holding that feels like a secret indulgence.
In the bathroom, he flicks the light on, then starts the shower. Steam builds quickly. The room warms and the mirror fogs at the edges. For a moment, I watch him, taking in the quiet competence of his movements. The way he rolls his shoulders like he’s carrying tension there too.
He glances back at me. “What?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just… glad you’re here.”
Rafe’s expression softens, and he crosses the space to me again, cupping the back of my neck. “I’m always coming back,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?”
I nod, throat thickening as we undress slowly.
He steps into the shower first, then reaches his hand out to me. I take it and step in after him.
The hot water hits my shoulders, my chest, sliding down my back. I close my eyes, letting the heat work through muscle tension and stress. Rafe stands behind me, close enough that his chest brushes my back when he breathes.
He slides his hands up my arms. They rest lightly at my biceps, holding me, supporting me in a way that has my muscles relaxing and me breathing easier. I let myself lean back into him, the weight of him steadying.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m not,” I lie automatically.
He hums, amused but gentle. “You are.”
I exhale. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
Rafe kisses my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
I swallow hard. “I hate that they saw you like that. That they were so awful.”
His hands tighten, then loosen. “They didn’t see me,” he says softly. “They saw what they wanted to see.”
