My lips parted as I stared at him.
Tonight, Ihadneeded him. I was used to dealing on my own—not being able to rely on anyone—so my default had been to push him away when he’d tried to help.
It was scary to admit that maybe I couldn’t do all this alone anymore. Even more terrifying was the thought that I no longer wanted to, and I shivered.
Eyes trained on me like a hawk, Sasha’s head popped up, his hand dipping into the water. “Is it getting too cool?”
Folding my lips in, I fought back the emotions threatening to overwhelm me at the idea that he genuinely cared about my well-being—something I’d never received from another human being.
Nodding, my voice wavered in my reply. “Maybe.”
“Need me to help you out?” Rising to his feet, he offered me his hand.
I placed my palm against his, letting him curl his calloused fingers around my wrinkly ones. Bending at the waist, he used his free hand to grip the elbow of my opposite arm, easing me up gently until I was standing, water cascading over my pinkened skin.
Guiding me over the lip of the tub, he began to pat me dry with a towel. “Feeling better?”
“A little,” I admitted.
“Good.” Kneeling before me, he carefully let the fluffy fabric drag over my midsection before moving lower.
When the pad of a fingertip traced a line over one of the numerous raised scars on my upper thighs, I sucked in a sharp breath. My natural reflex was to withdraw, to cover myself. The same way I had the last time Sasha focused on those marks. They were a reminder of a time I wanted to forget.
His hands dropped the towel, quickly anchoring both hands on my ass so I couldn’t escape.
“Sasha, please.” My voice broke, and his eyes rose to meet mine.
I expected to see judgment in his blue gaze, but instead, I found only compassion.
Without a word, he leaned closer, inspecting the proof of my teenage self-mutilation. Then, he did the last thing I would expect: he pressed his lips to each one, almost as if paying homage to the spiraling girl I used to be—the one who saw no other way to have control over her own life.
Some days, I still was that girl.
“I hate that you found yourself in a place so dark that you felt the need to hurt yourself in order to feel something.”
My breath caught in my throat, but he pressed on.
“I hope you’ll share your story with me someday, but right now, I want you to know that I view each one of these scars as a piece of who you are. They’re part of the path you’ve traveled to become the woman you are today.”
I had no words. It didn’t make sense how this man could be so kind and understanding.
When was the other shoe going to drop? It had to, right? It always did.
Getting to his feet, Sasha guided me back into the bedroom. I stood silent while he rummaged through my drawers, holding up a pair of panties similar to the ones I’d been wearing before my bath and an oversized T-shirt. I nodded my approval, and he carefully helped me put them on like I was a child, and for once, I didn’t argue.
He pulled back the sheets and settled me in bed, pulling the blankets over my chest. From where I lay, I had the perfect view of him stripping off the water-stained dress shirt he wore beforehe kicked off his shoes and removed his pants, leaving him only in tight-fitting black boxer briefs.
The mattress dipped as he climbed in behind me and flicked off the bedside lamp. Darkness shrouded us as a hand dragged over my hip, settling over my lower belly. His palm radiated warmth, and I let out a contented sigh, hopeful that it would provide a relief similar to the hot water throughout the night.
That thought stopped me in my tracks.
“Sasha?” I called out.
His chest expanded against my back. “Yeah?”
“You’re staying the night?”
“Mm-hmm.”
