Page 62 of When The Mountains Held Us

Is his just as erratic? Nothing but a thin towel separates us. Is he as desperate to touch me as I am to touch him?

“I need to look at your hip,” he replies patiently, his hands hovering over the towel, ready to pull it back as soon as I give the okay.

Our proximity, and the fact that I’m not wearing clothes, sends a flush over my entire body. Patience and understanding settle over his features as he waits for my consent, as if he doesn’t want to push me or scare me away. Like he wants me to take the time to decide on my own, regardless of what he wants. I know if I were to push him away and scurry back to my own room to hide, he’d let me go.

And maybe that alone is what has my chin dipping in permission, the air caught in my lungs while I wait for his next move.

“Your left hip, right?” he asks, his voice soft and… breathless?

This is affecting him, too.

“Yeah.”

Slowly, he drops his hand from my elbow to the seam of the towel right between my legs. He’s still standing between my spread thighs, and as soon as he pulls back the towel, he’ll see how much my body has been aching for him.

The ache in my hip is secondary to the ache between my legs. His fingertips graze the top of my thigh, sending bolts of electricity straight to my core. My breathing picks up, my chest rising and falling rapidly, as the anticipation of his eyes on me sings through every nerve ending. I’m a live wire, ready to ignite the moment his skin touches mine.

He pulls the towel back, exposing me to him, and he sucks in a sharp breath at what he sees. I watch him take me in for a moment, heart thundering, pulse racing, head spinning. His eyes darken, and he wets his lips like a lion preparing for a feast.

Neither of us seems to breathe, locked in this suspended moment together, the tension between us so palpable I could reach out and grasp it. Those emerald eyes hold mine, saying so much more than his mouth ever could. Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes a step back and gently swivels my body to expose my injured hip.

When he finally drops his gaze, releasing me from his spell, I breathe a sigh of… relief? Disappointment? Whatever it is, it sits like a lead weight in my throat.

I lick my lips and swallow thickly as his fingertips skim the bruise already forming on my skin.

“Did it hurt when I moved your leg?” he asks, clearing his throat. His touch is strictly clinical as he carefully assesses the area, prodding gently with his fingers and making me wince.

“It hurts when you press on it,” I whisper, my voice coming out in a croak. “But no, not when you moved my leg.”

“Good. I don’t think it’s fractured or broken, but it’ll definitely be sore for a few days. You’ve already got a nasty bruise forming.” He drops the towel back around me, covering me up again. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.” I start to hop down from the counter, but before I can, he grips me around the waist with both hands and effortlessly sets me on my feet.

His hands cautiously linger at my waist, in case I can’t stand on my own. Dull pain lances through my hip, but I’m able to stand on shaky legs.

“Stay here. I’ll grab you some clothes.” He leaves the bathroom, and I stand there awkwardly, clutching the towel to my chest. He rummages around for a minute in the bedroom, and with the brief reprieve, I let out a shaky breath.

My eyes take in the clawfoot tub against the far wall, and images of sinking into warm, soapy water fill my mind. I still need to wash, need to soak this day off of me, but, with how sore my hip is right now, I’m not sure I could stand in the shower.

Levi comes back a minute later with a folded black T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He places them on the counter behind me and rubs the back of his neck with his hand, looking sheepish.

“It didn’t feel right to go through your things to grab your clothes, so I figured you can borrow some of mine for tonight.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, not bothering to tell him that I don’t mind sleeping in his clothes tonight. That I probably won’t want to take them off, even after tonight. “Do you mind if I take a bath? I’m disgusting.” I laugh awkwardly, my joke not landing with the feeble attempt at levity I mean it to when he doesn’t join in.

“You’re anything but.” His compliment catches me off guard as does the warm fuzzy feeling it evokes. He doesn’t answer my question, instead moving to the tub and turning the taps, testing the water temperature with his hand before plugging the drain and letting it fill.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I say, needing to fill the silence.

He doesn’t turn from where he stares into the tub, watching the water rise. “I wasn’t asleep. I was waiting up to make sure you got home okay. I—” He pauses as if contemplating his next words. “I should have waited for you to leave first. I’m sorry.” Any other night, he waits for me in the parking lot, only turning on his truck and pulling out once he sees I’ve pulled out in front of him.

“I didn’t give you a reason to stay.” Guilt over how I spoke to him tonight cascades through me and makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, Levi. I shouldn’t have spoken to you the way I did.”

He pulls a bottle of something out from under the sink, unscrewing the cap and pouring a healthy amount beneath the flow of water. “Why did you?” The question should be harsh, condescending, but all that greets me is guarded curiosity in his tone.

I sigh. “It was a long night, and I—” I stumble over the words, not wanting to bring it up, but know I need to air it out before it eats me alive. “I guess I didn’t expect to see you with Layla. And it’s not an excuse, but I was pissed that she ditched me to tend the bar on my own. Especially on the busiest night of the week.” My words hang heavy in the steamy air of the bathroom, and anxiety twists my insides as I wait for his response.

He cuts the water off and comes over to me. My eyes fix on my chipped toenail polish, and I bite my lip to give myself something else to focus on as the silence threatens to suffocate me.