“You can take more painkillers now, I think. You’re supposed to have them with a snack or some milk. You can wait on the couch, and I’ll—”
“Actually, I...” She pauses to take a breath, and I see her jaw set in a tight line, her teeth grinding in protest over whatever she’s about to force herself to say. She stares at the wall behind me. “I really need to take a shower.”
That should not be able to give me a semi in zero point five seconds. This isnotthe time.
“Okay.” I fight to keep my voice even. “Cool.”
Cool? Seriously?
“What do you, um, need?”
She stares straight ahead and speaks in a monotone, but I can see the flush rising on her chest. It does not help with the semi situation.
“I think if you cut me out of my shirt, I can do the rest.”
“C-cut you out of your shirt?”
That brings up way too many mental images for me to handle. Despite my best efforts, I can’t keep from sounding hoarse.
“Yeah. It’s fine. It’s an old one. It will be easier than trying to get it over my head.”
“Right.” I clear my throat, pushing away thoughts of her bare skin. “And how are you, uh, going to shower with your sling and stuff?”
“Actually, I think I’ll have a bath and just kind of splash what I can reach.”
I am not going to make it through this ordeal if she keeps saying stuff like that.
“Right.”
“Look, I’m not so thrilled about this either. I wouldn’t ask if I weren’t desperate to not smell like a hospital anymore.”
Desperate.
That word and various synonyms bounce around my head as I follow her to the bathroom. She’s all right to walk on her own; it’s any bending and stretching that seems to set her pain off. That’s what I should be focusing on: the fact that she’s in pain, not the idea of her bending and stretching.
“There are scissors in the kitchen. The drawer under the utensils.”
“Got it.” I head off to retrieve them and come back to find her in front of the bath. The whole room is so small that we can’t stand more than a couple feet from each other. “Here, I’ll get the water running.”
The gurgle of the tub fills the silence between us when I straighten up and look at her. She turns around after meeting my gaze for half a second.
I pick up the scissors again. “You sure about this?”
The room has become so charged I can feel the air sparking between us. I stare at the back of her head, my breaths getting heavier and heavier.
“We could try to take it off instead. If we take your sling off first then—”
“Just cut it. It’s fine.”
I step closer and pull the hem of her tank top away from her hips.
I took her shirt off once before. It didn’t involve scissors, but I still felt the same mixture of terror, excitement, and wonder as I tugged it up over her head and revealed her body underneath. We never went any farther than making out without our shirts on, but it meant more than most of the nights I’ve spent with women since.
Seeing her like that, touching her, holding her—it was the greatest gift, the highest privilege. Even before I really knew her, I could tell it had been so long since Paige had opened up to anybody. Even as a teenager, she was an island with shores wrapped in barbed wire.
Somehow, I got through. I got to see her in a way no one else had—not just her body, buther—and I could never shake the impact of what that meant. She chose me, just like I chose her.
Until she didn’t want me anymore.
