Page 11

Ava

W orry starts to fill me when I haven’t heard a peep from the bathroom. His shower was short, but then it sounded like he filled up the tub and took a bath. That was over an hour ago.

I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want him to drown in a tub. I bite my lip as I think over what I should do. He won’t be mad at me, I know that, but I know he’s tired and probably needs some time. I’ll give it fifteen minutes, and if he doesn’t get out by then, I’m going to check on him.

My eyes check my phone again. It’s now six o'clock and I’m panicking. I hop off my little futon and head to the bathroom door. My knuckles tap against the door. “Mav, are you okay?”

I wait a few seconds and when he doesn’t answer, I knock again, much louder this time. “Mav, please answer me. Are you okay?” I ask, worry evident in my tone.

The water sloshes, and I feel myself sigh out a breath of relief. “Uh, yeah. Sorry, do you need to get in here? I’ll hurry and finish up.”

Leaning against the door, I say, “No, I was just worried about you. You’ve been in there almost two hours and I was starting to think you drowned.”

“There’s no way in hell I would let my tombstone read, ‘Drowned in bath.’ I just fell asleep, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a sec. ”

Warmth fills my chest. Sweetheart. I should tell him to stop calling me that, but I like it. No one ever thinks I’m sweet. Uptight? Yes. Stressed out and overstimulated? Always. Which usually leads to me feeling a little crabby and tired.

I walk back to the futon and pretend like I’m not waiting for him to come out. I know he said he’s fine, but I need to see it with my own eyes before I can believe it.

When the door pops open and the steam billows out behind him, I find myself a little tongue-tied because there stands my husband in a towel.

With water dripping over his very chiseled body.

A body that isn’t built in a gym but by years and years of work.

His abs slink down into that V above his pelvis.

Good lord. Maybe I don’t give drunk me enough credit.

She managed to bag herself one fine ass man.

“See something you like?” Mav teases, a smirk on his face. When his words finally register, I find heat filling my body for an entirely new reason. Damnit. He just caught me eye-fucking him. How the hell am I going to play this one off?

“Not particularly. It doesn’t look like you’re too injured from this side.” Yeah, we will play the nurse card and pretend I was assessing him for injury.

“Mhmm.” The way his lips tilt up lets me know he did not buy my story one bit. But it’s my lie, and I’m sticking by it.

When he turns to walk away, my breath catches. Across his back are large, long, very angry bruises. They stretch across him, starting at one shoulder blade and meeting with the other. There is another along the lumbar portion of his back. Holy shit.

I stumble off my futon, rushing to him to get a closer look. “Maverick, your back. What the hell happened? ”

He peers over his shoulder as if trying to assess his back for himself. I’m shocked his ribs aren't broken with the color of those bruises. No wonder he is so stiff. “What?”

“You have huge bruises all over your back. They look awful.” My hands reach out to touch them, but I hesitate, not sure how he would like me touching his bare skin.

“Oh, that is probably from my ride on Saturday. It wasn’t good.” He says it so nonchalantly, like having blunt force trauma is normal. I guess for him, it probably is.

Sighing, I respond, “Go sit and I will warm up a rag so we can make a hot compress. We should probably rotate between heat and ice. Have you taken any ibuprofen?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I’ll get it taken before bed. Turn around so I can put some shorts on.”

I comply and turn, heading to the bathroom to grab a couple rags from the closet to run under hot water. When I walk back in, he’s sitting on his bed, scrolling on his phone.

“If you lay on your stomach, I can put these on your back.” I hold up the warm, damp towels.

“What?” he asks, putting down his cell phone and looking almost bewildered.

“This will help you heal faster, and hopefully, you won't hurt so bad tonight.”

Shockingly, he listens, rare for a stubborn man like him.

I set the warm rags over the worst spots, hoping it will soothe his sore muscles, and sit on the side of his bed.

Goosebumps break out over his skin when my hand brushes against his bare back.

Every little touch sends a spark through me; it’s all completely innocent, but I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if it weren’t.

I wonder if he thinks about it too, but I shut that thought down the second it enters my head.

The warmth of him radiates and makes me want to curl up next to him.

Wyoming mountain winters leave you chilled to the bone.

Settling myself next to him, I break the short silence. “Well, if you got beat to shit, did you at least win?” My hands fidget with washcloths, trying to get them in the right position and trying to keep my head on straight as my brain short-circuits.

He lets out a curt chuckle. “Unfortunately, no. But I did take home second. My bull wasn’t that great. I actually had to do a re-ride after he rammed me into the corral side and hit his knee on the ground.”

“Sure, blame it on the bull,” I tease.

He shoots me a faux glare over his shoulder. “Hey, half our scoring comes from the bull.”

Seriously, I need to do some research on bull riding so I don’t sound like a complete idiot when I talk to him. “Really? That doesn’t seem fair.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Bull riding is part skill, part gamble.” Seems to me like they are gambling more than just on the bull. With the way his body is beat, it seems like they’re gambling their lives.

I can’t imagine not knowing if you were going to come home or wind up severely injured. Makes me wonder what the point is. “Do you really like it? Bull riding?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been doing it forever.

I think I started playing bull rider when I was six.

My body is getting real sick of it, though.

But my head and my heart aren’t quite done.

And I’ve still got some shit I need to prove.

” Part of me wants to dig deeper into that last part, but this is the first time we’ve really done this and I don’t want to ruin it because his company is nice.

It doesn’t feel like this is the first time we’ve actually sat down and had a real conversation, it feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer.

“I don’t know if you could pay me enough to get the crap beat out of me all the time.” My hands have a hard time staying off him. I keep fiddling with his rags, telling myself it’s to reposition, but I’m drawn to him, addicted to the rush I feel every time my fingers brush against him.

“The adrenaline rush is like no other. And most days, I walk away just fine.”

“Yeah, you look so fine right now. You can call me grandma all you want. With the way you were walking in the door, you will need a cane by the Fourth of July.”

He lets out a deep chuckle and I savor the sound of it. It’s deep and raspy, and melts against me in the softest way. “Your bedside manner could use some work.”

“Hey, I’m not on the clock. If you want a nice nurse, I will take no less than thirty dollars an hour.” I reposition myself, getting more comfortable the longer I sit here.

He perks his head up at that. “I already told you, I’m happy to pay you. Speaking of, when does your new job start?”

“Sometime in March, but we’ll see. Hiring processes at hospitals take forever. So it very well could be April.”

“I know you said no, but if you need some help in the meantime, just let me know.”

My head begins shaking before he can even finish his sentence. “I don’t take handouts.”

“I can respect that, but technically you’re working right now so it wouldn’t be a handout. And if you want to get really technical, I’m your husband. It’s my duty to make sure you’re supported.” My heart thrashes a little faster at that last part.

He sure has a way of spinning things to fit his narrative.

“Well, husband , I’m doing fine. I’ve been figuring it out since I was eighteen, believe me, there is no one more skilled at stretching a dollar more than me.

” In reality, if the hiring process gets too delayed, I’m going to have to find a part-time job around here.

The thought of student loans, my car payment, and credit card payments all coming up makes me feel nauseous.

“What, did your parents give you the boot at eighteen?” His tone is light and inquisitive, like he’s asking a funny question, but the feelings that come along with talking about my parents are anything but.

“Actually, they died right after I turned eighteen.” I take a steadying breath, the same way I have to anytime I talk about this.

I feel his body tense, then go completely still, probably a little shocked by my admission.

“And I had no close relatives. So it was just me. I skimmed by on their life insurance for a while, but they didn’t have a lot so I had to make up the difference. ”

There’s a heavy pause for a couple of seconds. “Both of them?”

I hum my confirmation. That’s all I want to give at the moment, all I can give. Talking about it still hurts. It took years for me to be able to blink without seeing them in the hospital. Even longer to sleep through the night.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sure you know my dad died when I was young too. So I get it. It makes you tough but in the worst of ways. If you ever need an ear to talk to, I’m here. That isn’t something someone should go through alone.”

We’ve been living together for a few weeks, but this is the first time I’ve seen this side to him.

A side to him that makes me a little nervous because I’m finding myself not only attracted to him physically but on a level I never thought would be possible.

He might be a pain in the ass, but his heart and intentions are gold.

I nod my head in agreement to what he said, but he can’t see the motion.

He’s right. Pieces of me died that night, and I think they were all the soft, delicate parts.

In their place, a darker feeling took root.

Because at that moment, my childhood was over, and the reality of the world was blaring bright in my face.

I was thrust into adulthood before I was really ready, but I made it.

It’s kind of nice being able to talk about this with someone who truly gets it.

I worked my ass off before school to have a good amount saved.

I had to take some extra out from student loans for living expenses, which will inevitably come back to bite me.

But I was twenty-two and doing it all on my own.

The debt will be worth it someday. I’ll get to have a career of saving lives.

I wasn’t able to save those who mattered most, but maybe I will be able to save someone else's favorite person.

Maybe then my heart won't feel like it’s constantly bleeding.

A sore spot that never quite healed. Death will do that, linger like an unwanted pest.

“Thanks, Mav. I’m sorry, too. But you seem to be doing really well.

I am sure he would be proud.” My hand rests on his back; part of me doesn’t want to move it and break the contact.

I never thought I would like such a simple touch, but with this conversation, I find myself wanting to be even closer to him, that draw to him is just getting stronger.

I don’t miss the way he grunts in response. Making me wonder what’s going on in that head of his.

We sit and chat for a while; I find myself laughing more than I care to admit. I don’t know if he has ever taken life super seriously, while I have taken the exact opposite approach. He seems happy, and it makes me wonder if I really have been pushing it too hard. Been too closed off for too long.

“What do you mean you’ve never seen The Longest Ride?” He scoffs at me like not having watched this movie was some sort of egregious crime.

“Uhm, I don’t know. I was busy in school and didn’t really have the time.”

“We’re going to fix that right now.” He has to practically roll off the bed with how sore his body is, the wash rags falling to the floor as he stands.

“You need to rest.” I get off the bed and grab the washcloths, putting them in the laundry hamper next.

He pays me no mind. “Nope, I need to make some popcorn.” He picks up the remote from his side of the bed. “Here’s the remote,” he tosses it to me from his bed stand, “find the movie and put it on.”

“Fine, but take the ibuprofen while you’re up. I promise you will thank me for it.”

“Deal,” he says over from the kitchen, the crinkle of the plastic wrapper from the popcorn lets me know he was one hundred percent serious.

I go over to my futon to get comfy. He looks over at me from the kitchen with a brow quirked. “What are you doing all the way over there?”

“Going to watch the movie?”

“I promise I don’t bite. You can sit on my bed, it’s closer to the TV. ”

I nod and walk back over. Something about laying in his bed watching a movie just feels different.

There’s an odd little feeling coming over me.

Damn, am I nervous to watch a movie with him?

If I can keep my distance, I don’t feel the pull to him as bad.

But side by side? That’s when things get fuzzy.

It isn’t fair that he is so damn attractive.

And it turns out he isn’t a complete dumbass like I originally thought.

But what does it matter? In a few months, we will go our separate ways like this never happened.

So I sit and lift the blankets for him to get under when he returns.

We can be married and be friends. The lines don’t have to get blurry. It will be easier for us both.

I wonder how many times I will have to tell myself that over time? My thoughts come to a halt when he presses play. His arm slides over my back, and I freeze.

“I can move my arm if you want, but this feels more comfortable.” His voice comes out in a nervous wobble. At least I’m not the only one feeling a little bit shaken.

I all but choke on my words. “It’s fine.”

But it isn’t fine, and the butterflies in my stomach are from the excitement of the movie. Not my roomie slash husband. And I don’t lean into him because I like the feel of his presence. Nope. Denial is such a fun place to be.