Page 109 of Save Your Breath

Tension melted off me like butter on a skillet the moment he sank those thumbs deep into my muscle.

“Sit down,please,” he amended. “I want to make you feel better. Will you stop being so damn stubborn for one millisecond and let me try?”

Oh, how I wanted to say no. I willed myself to tell him I didn’t need him to help me withanything— but I was a prisoner under that delicious pressure of his hands. A groan leaked out of me unbidden, and reluctantly, I did as he said.

Aleks waited until I was cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch before he took a seat on it again, his legs braced on either side of my shoulders. He worked the muscles for a while, his magic hands slow and steady and sure. It took every ounce of willpower in me not to moan again, and I used it, because I’d be damned if this man got me to moan when I was mad at him.

Whywas I mad at him again?

“Feel better?” he asked, his breath warm on my ear.

I shrugged, which earned me another amused laugh.

Okay, maybe he was right. Maybe I was being stubborn. But it was his fault for being so damn confusing — and for living in a state where there are freaking hurricanes.

After a moment, Aleks pulled on my shoulders until I reclined farther, my back settling against the leather couch. His hands glided up over my neck, fingers weaving through the strands at the base of my scalp, sending chills down to my bare toes.

He didn’t say a word, but I already knew what he was doing.

He was braiding my hair.

The motions were achingly familiar—his fingers gliding from roots to tips, massaging my scalp just a little before he separated the first section to begin the braid.

And this time, I couldn’t fight it.

I let out a deep and heavy sigh, my shoulders relaxing with it, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of something so nostalgic.

When we were in high school, Aleks would braid my hair any time he saw that I was stressed out or having a bad day. It had started from him watching me huff in frustration one morning before school as I tried and failed to French braid my hair. I was so worried about my audition to sing the national anthem at a Bears game that season that I kept messing up the braid, and by the time he found me, I was on the verge of crying or ripping my hair out or both.

He hadn’t said a word. He’d simply taken me by the hand and led me out of my bathroom and into my bedroom. He had me sit on the floor and he sat in my desk chair behind me while he braided my hair — calmly, efficiently, — all while I silently cried and wiped my tears away.

By the time he asked me for a hair tie to fasten the end of the braid, I was breathing steadier. I’d asked him how he knew how to do it, and he’d told me he used to braid Anneliese’s hair because her arthritis had gotten so bad and she missed having her hair braided.

I’d had a hard time not crying again at that.

Afterward, it just became ritual. Whenever I felt those talons of anxiety clawing at my insides, I’d find him, wordlessly handing him a hair tie and situating myself on the floor at his feet.

Tears stung my eyes at the memory, at the way my body and mind and soul found relief with his hands in my hair now.

This was what he was for me, what he’d always been — my rock.

Strong and steady and supportive.

Even when I was being a brat.

Aleks had unmuted the television, but I only half-listened to the weather reporter detailing the storm update. I was more focused on every brush of his fingertips against my scalp, my eyes closed, breaths coming easier and easier with each stroke.

“You used to love when I did this,” he mused behind me, his voice deep and quiet. “Said it brought you peace.”

A tear slid hot and fast down my left cheek, falling onto my lap before I could swipe it away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your questions when we were at the pier.”

My eyes opened at that, heart kicking up a notch from where it had steadied.

“I…” He cleared his throat. “Well, you know how I feel about myself, about what I have to offer.”

I heard him swallow behind me, his hands still weaving my hair as if it was like riding a bike, something he’d never forget how to do no matter how much time had passed.