Page 15

TEN

GAGE

I’m staring at the bathroom door, the cold porcelain seeming to mock my stillness, willing myself to get up, to move, to do something other than just lie here like an invalid.

But every time I try to shift my body, a searing pain shoots through my ribs, a brutal reminder of the injuries I sustained.

I’m so goddamn tired of feeling like I’m broken—physically and mentally.

I need to shower. To feel normal again. But even now, with everything quiet around me, I can’t shake this feeling that if I step into that bathroom, something will change.

Something will shift between Ale and me, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

If we’re ready to acknowledge the tension that’s been growing between us. The sparks when our hands touch and how I linger a little longer.

The sponge baths she’s been giving me aren’t enough anymore.

They never were. But they’re the safe option.

They’re professional. She stays close and makes sure I’m clean, but there’s no intimacy to it.

There’s no crossing of lines. The shower is a whole other story.

I’ve been avoiding it for days. Hell, I’ve been avoiding it since I came back from the mission, from the day I got off the bus and tried to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. When I’m still not.

But that’s the problem now. I’m not fine.

I’m lying in bed, the sheets pulled up to my waist, my body stiff from the lack of movement, the muscles sore from the forced inactivity. I reach over, testing the water bottle on the nightstand. It’s nearly empty.

Fuck this shit! I can’t just keep lying here. I need to nut the fuck up and do what needs to be done.

I take another breath, bracing myself, but then I hear the bedroom door open.

“ Ale, ” I murmur, not even bothering to look over at her.

“Gage,” she says, her voice soft and knowing, and something about it just sinks into me. “Are you still staring at the bathroom?”

I feel the weight of her words hit me, and I know exactly what she’s talking about. She knows. She’s been watching me, waiting for me to finally make the move, to take the step I’ve been avoiding for days. I’m not stupid—I can’t hide things from her. She’s too smart for that.

“Just… thinking,” I mumble, my throat tight. I try to play it off like it’s nothing. Like I’m not scared of something as simple as taking a goddamn shower. But that’s exactly what it is. It’s not the shower that’s bothering me. It’s the idea of her seeing me like this.

Of me needing her help on a new level.

I don’t know how to explain it. She’s here, fuck, she’s been here for weeks, but every time she moves close to me, every time I feel her hand on my arm or hear her voice in my ear, it’s like my body is on high alert.

She’s so fucking close to me, and I’m terrified of crossing that line.

Of what might happen if I let her in more than I already have.

Ale sighs quietly and the sound is filled with something... but I don’t know what. She walks into the room without hesitation, like she knows I need her, even when I won’t admit it to myself.

Because you're a pussy, Gage.

Just tell her.

“Alright,” she says, her tone patient but firm. “You need to shower, Gage. You’re not going to get better if you just stay in bed all day. Let me help you.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected. “Help me?” I ask, turning my head slowly toward her, trying to gauge her expression. There’s no teasing, no joking—just calm, unwavering certainty.

She means it.

She’s been helping me with everything else: the meals, the medicine, the ice packs, and the sponge baths. With Zoe. But this feels different. This feels more intimate. More real. And I don’t know if I can do it.

Her eyes are steady as they meet mine, and I feel this odd warmth bloom in my chest. “Yeah, help you,” she repeats softly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not going to get any better if you don’t take care of yourself.

That means keeping this wound clean.” She reaches for the sheet and I clutch the hem.

I know I’ve got basketball shorts on, but still.

I want to refuse, but the truth is, I’m exhausted. The thought of not doing anything for another day makes my skin crawl. But it’s more than that. It’s the fact that I’ve spent every single day since I’ve been home avoiding her.

Avoiding the way she makes me feel.

She stands there, watching me like she’s waiting for me to make the decision. I swallow hard, the tension building in my chest. I’ve been trying to avoid her touch for days, but here she is, standing right in front of me, her arms crossed, her eyes soft but unwavering.

“I can do it myself,” I try again, though my voice lacks the conviction it had when I first said it.

“Gage,” she says, her voice low, but there’s an edge of amusement in it now. Pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighs. “You can barely move without me. Stop being so fucking stubborn. Come on.”

I hesitate, but there’s something in her tone—something I can’t argue with.

Her presence in the room makes me feel like I’m not as broken as I think I am.

I can’t explain it, but when she’s near, I don’t feel like I’m just the guy who’s been wounded, who’s been through hell.

I feel like... maybe I can get through this.

Maybe if I just let her help me.

I try to push myself up, but the pain shoots through my ribs again, sharp and quick. I curse under my breath, unable to hide the grunt that slips from my mouth. Ale immediately steps forward, her hand on my shoulder, steadying me.

“Easy,” she says, her voice gentle now. She leans in, her breath warm against my ear. “I’ve got you.”

I don’t know why, but that phrase— “I’ve got you”— hits me like a freight train. It’s the way she says it. Like she really means it. She’s not just here because it’s her job to care for my daughter. Ale’s here because she genuinely cares and that changes everything.

I nod, letting her guide me. Not because I want to, but because I know I don’t have a choice. She’s right. I need help. I can’t do this alone.

She leads me to the bathroom, the distance between us feeling like a thousand miles, but it’s a distance I’m willing to cross now. As we move, I can feel her hand on my lower back, steadying me. She’s here. She’s not going anywhere.

Such a foreign feeling.

The bathroom feels cold compared to the warmth of the bedroom, but I don’t say anything. She helps me sit down on the lean of the edge of the vanity, the cool marble against my skin, and I can’t help but feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt before.

Alejandra stands in front of me, her hands gentle as they move to remove my shirt, her fingers brushing lightly against my skin.

The touch is nothing like the ones she’s given me before.

This is different. It feels like she’s seeing me—not just the soldier, not just the man who’s been through hell—but the man who needs help.

The man who’s broken and the man who doesn’t know how to let anyone in.

Her touch is careful, almost hesitant, but there’s a softness to it that makes my chest tighten. She’s not just taking care of me. She’s doing something more.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, even though I’m not sure what I mean by that. I don’t know if I’m talking about the shower or her being here with me. Either way, it’s too much. It’s more than I ever expected to feel.

She meets my gaze, her eyes steady. “I’m doing this because I want to ,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “Let me take care of you, Gage. Please. ”

Her words sink into me like a slow burn, spreading warmth through my chest. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about her being here, helping me in a way no one else ever has. That makes me realize just how much I’ve come to rely on her.

I’ve been pushing her away, keeping her at arm’s length, but now... now I’m not sure I can.

She stands, leaving me in my boxer briefs, turning the water on, the sound of it hitting the tile filling the silence between us.

When she looks back at me, there’s a softness in her gaze, a warmth I haven’t seen before.

And for the first time since I’ve been home, I don’t feel like I’m carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

She’s here, and I’m not alone.

I take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay. Help me,” the words are a sweet relief.

The words are barely out of my mouth when she’s at my side again, ready to guide me through the next step. Her soft hands tug at the waistband of my underwear and I take a deep inhale.

I reach out and grip her chin, tilting it up so her eyes can stay on mine. This might cross a line, but right now, I’m too tired to care. “Keep these gorgeous brown eyes up here. Because if you look at my cock, I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

Ale’s lip trembles, and the sweet sound of her drawing in a breath has me fighting the feelings, warming my blood, and heading straight for my cock.

Her eyes flash with a mix of surprise and amusement, but she doesn’t pull away.

Instead, she nods slightly, her gaze locked on mine.

I can see the hint of a smile playing on her lips, and it sends a spark of electricity through my body.

She continues to work on removing my underwear; her fingers brush against my skin, sending jolts of electricity down my spine. I’m acutely aware of her touch and of the gentle way she’s handling me. It’s intimate. I let out a soft groan as the boxer briefs catch on the head of my cock.

I watch her face, searching for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But all I see is focus and determination.

She’s intent on helping me, but it’s her eyes that give her away.

Burning with the same feelings that I feel.

She tries to peek down to adjust the waistband, but I tighten my grip on her chin.

“Don’t, Ale.” I say through gritted teeth, knowing I’m holding on by a shred of sanity. Recovering or not, given the opportunity, I’ll pop these stitches so fast if it means having her.

But we can’t.

God, I want to.

As the fabric slides down my legs, I feel a rush of cool air against my skin. Her eyes never leave mine, even as she works to drop them to the floor. It’s as if she’s daring herself to keep looking at me, to keep our gazes locked in this intense moment.

My heart’s pounding in my chest, and I can feel the tension building between us. It’s not just about the physical act of undressing, it’s about the emotional intimacy that comes with it. We’re crossing into uncharted territory here, and I’m not sure if either of us is ready for what comes next.

But for now, I just let myself get lost in her eyes. The world around us melts away, leaving only the two of us suspended right here, with all of this raw vulnerability.

“Okay?” she whispers softly when she finally finishes removing everything covering me.

My response barely rises above an audible whisper too—“Yeah.” When the whisper leaves my lips, I can feel the air thickening around us. The tension between us is palpable, and I’m not sure how much longer we can keep dancing around the attraction that’s growing between us.

Her eyes never leave mine as she takes a step back, her gaze drinking in the sight of me standing there, naked and vulnerable. I feel a shiver run down my spine as she looks at me, her eyes burning with an intensity that makes my heart skip a beat.

For a moment, we just stand there, frozen in time.

The only sound is the quiet hum of the air conditioning, the water pattering against the tile floor, and the soft rustle of her clothes as she shifts.

Her jeans slide to the floor and she stands there in a pair of skin-tone bikini underwear and her cream-colored tank top.

Fuck.

Give me strength, because her curves are to die for. I see the hint of the softness of her stomach and why does my brain go directly to what it would look like round with a baby? My baby.

Whoa, lock that shit down, Gage. You have a newborn daughter sleeping in the next room because of a bad fucking decision. You cannot be thinking about shit like that.

But I am and it’s making it really hard... to concentrate on keeping my dick soft.

Then, without breaking eye contact, she reaches out and gently takes my hand. Her touch sends sparks flying through my body, and I feel myself leaning into her touch.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she leads me towards the shower, I feel like I’m walking on autopilot. My mind is reeling with everything but my body seems to be moving on its own accord.

The warm water cascades down around us as we step into the shower together. She doesn’t miss a beat, reaching out and washing me gently, her hands moving over my skin with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh as she works out the knots in my muscles.

To be touched like this and to be cared for by someone who seems to genuinely want to help me feels like heaven.

I’ve never felt this kind of affection from a woman, and it’s overwhelming.

Before I can stop myself, I squeeze my eyes shut and feel the tears fall.

“Gage?” Worry in her voice has my eyes snapping open to look down at her. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I choke out. “Please—” I draw in a breath.

She nods, continuing, and I allow myself to feel everything. Zoe, McMahon. Getting shot.

All of it.

She doesn’t judge me for crying or for turning into a complete mess with her in the shower with me.

Ale is just here.

We stand there under the water, and I begin to feel like myself again. The tension seeps out of my body, replaced by a sense of calm and relaxation that I haven’t felt in weeks.

But even as I’m feeling more at ease, I know that this is just the beginning. There’s still so much uncertainty ahead of us, so many unanswered questions about what’s going on between us and where it might lead.

And yet, for now, it doesn’t matter because all I need right now is her.

Something about her is making me feel more alive than I have in my entire life. Before her, I wasn’t dead, but I wasn’t really living either. I was shell with a beating heart, and even when Zoe came, I was lost. I was trapped in the misery, a state of existential numbness.

Ale is finding me.

She’s breathing new life into me, chipping away at the misery and replacing it with a profound sense of being.

With her, I’m not just existing anymore.