Damn you, Ang.
Combined with the warmth of the water, the hot liquid coating my throat and settling in my stomach helps soothe away even more of the aches.
It’s exactly what I needed because I really don’t want to take any of the pain medication Aunt Nora prescribed. That shit only clouds my head and my judgement. And while everyone might be trying to keep me from working, keep me in the dark about the investigation into the explosion, that doesn’t mean I won’t be doing my best to try to get that information. Which means I need a clear head.
Hard enough to do around Gage without narcotics thrown into the mix.
I hand the mug back to him, and he turns and drops onto his ass on the old tile, leaning back against the edge of the tub.
“You’re just going to sit there?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “There isn’t anywhere for you to put the mug.”
“So, you’re going to sit there while I take my bath and hold it…”
“Yep.” He settles in, facing away from the tub, toward the small vanity and sink. His hand tightens around the mug almost protectively. “I promise I’ll keep my eyes directed at the wall.”
Grinning at the chivalry, I reach up and playfully smack the back of his head, making water and bubbles trickle off my hand down his neck and onto his shirt. “Like you haven’t seen it all before.”
He chuckles, the sound somehow so sexual that it makes me shift restlessly in the water. “True, but I do want to give you privacy, if that’s what you want. I can leave this on the floor, but you’d have to lean down and grab it every time and”—he shrugs again—“I just think this might be easier.”
“All right.”
I don’t want to admit that it was kind of lonely in here when he was gone, or that sitting in the water with nothing else to keep my mind occupied, I kept replaying the explosion over and over in my head.
The days, hours, and minutes leading up to it…
What I could have done differently…
What I missed and didn’t see…
Each moment of the day it happened…
It’s the same mental video that keeps playing in my head over and over again, and it has since I woke in that hospital. At first, the visuals were fragmented. But over the course of the last few days, things have become clearer.
Everything but who did it and why.
That’s what plagues me as much as my own guilt over missing something—the not knowing.
Satriano’s motivations have shifted over the years, from revenge, to an almost jealousy and desire to manipulate us like puppets on strings. It borders on obsession and turns everything he does into another mystery to solve.
I didn’t really think it would be any different here, that the memories or questions would somehow go away with a change of scenery, but it’s starting to get harder and harder to pretend I’m unaffected by the constant replayed trauma.
A little company to distract from that could be a good thing, even if the man sitting beside this tub is just as complicated for me as the situation outside this loft is.
I release a sigh and sink back down into the water.
“How’re you feeling?”
His voice is so soft, I’m almost not sure I heard him right—or maybe I’m just afraid I did. There’s a tenderness to it, a heavy weight of concern that goes well beyond a man who is babysitting his employer’s daughter. That brings a new ache to my chest that wasn’t there only a few minutes ago. The same one I felt when I found out he hadn’t left my side at the hospital.
What the hell are you doing with this man, Bishop?
I’d love to blame the confusion regarding that topic on my concussion and the fact that my brain still feels a little scrambled, but that would be a lie.
I’ve been a mess where Gage is concerned since the first time I saw him.
His question is so loaded, but I will pretend he only means physically since climbing into this tub.
