Page 11 of The Road to You

She tilts her face up, flushed from the wine, and her lips are slightly parted.

A few freckles dust her nose, ones I hadn’t noticed before, and I wonder how I missed them.

Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I just hadn’t let myself focus on them because they are too tempting, too distracting.

It would be so easy to just shut off my reasonable self and brush them with my fingers. Or my lips. So, so easy.

I should let go. I know it’s the right call, but I don’t.

Her breath hitches, just barely. It’s subtle, but I notice the breath caught in her throat.

Just like I’ve noticed the way she leans toward me sometimes, the way she lets her gaze linger, the way she laughs a little softer when it’s just the two of us.

Being together day after day has created the sort of intimacy between us that normally only happens after months of dating.

And the fact that this thought crosses my mind should be enough to let her go, but I linger a moment longer, savoring her breath on my skin, coming closer and closer.

Is it real, or am I just drunk and imagining what I want to see? Her eyes flick to my mouth, just for a second. But I see that too. I didn’t imagine it.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. My grip tightens on her waist before I force myself to loosen it. We’re drunk. That’s all this is. I can’t trust my judgment when I can’t even walk straight.

“We should head back before we hit our heads out here.” I keep my voice light, forcing a grin as I turn her toward the path.

She doesn’t argue. Just slides her arm around my back as I drape mine over her shoulders. It’s practical; we need to keep each other steady. At least that’s what I tell myself, but even drunk I know it’s bullshit.

But the way she fits against me feels far too good to ignore.

We stumble into the winery, Lena still giggling beside me. She’s been laughing at a butterfly for the last five minutes, watching it zip back and forth like it’s drunk too. And now she’s got me chuckling along with her. Our steps are unsteady, our bodies warm from too much wine and summer air.

The woman who served us earlier greets us with a knowing smile.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to drive tonight. Do you have a couple of rooms left in the bed- and-breakfast?” I ask.

Lena covers her mouth, trying—and failing—not to laugh, and the woman’s lips twitch like she’s holding back her own amusement.

“I only have one room left,” she says, almost apologetic.

I glance at Lena, still clinging to my side. She shrugs. “It’s not like we can drive anyway. It’s this or sleep in the car.”

The mere idea of sleeping all cramped up makes my back ache in protest. “We’ll take the room,” I say, and the woman nods.

We barely make it to the door before Lena almost trips over her bag.

“Jesus, I’m drunk, drunk, drunk,” she giggles.

I steady her, my hand instinctively settling at the small of her back. She’s warm beneath my touch, and I have to remind myself to let go.

Inside, the room is small but cozy. One bed, one armchair, a door that probably leads to the bathroom. I stare at the furniture like it somehow betrayed me.

“There’s only one bed,” I mutter, stating the obvious because my brain is too slow to process anything else.

Lena tilts her head at me. “Of course, there’s only one bed. What did you expect?”

Good question. What did I expect?

Before I can figure that out, she sighs. “Listen, we’re both adults. We can be mature enough to sleep in the same bed without having…” She trails off, then dissolves into laughter again.

I smirk, shaking my head, and start to strip out of my shoes and pants.

“Why are you stripping?” she squeaks, covering her eyes.

I pause with fingers gripping the hem of my T-shirt. “Because I need to go to bed? I know it’s early, but I really need to lie down right now. I’m not getting in bed fully dressed.”

“Oh. You’re right.” She mumbles, grabbing her bag and practically sprinting into the bathroom.

I don’t even bother getting under the sheets, just collapse onto the mattress with a sigh. The evening breeze drifts in through the open window, cooling my heated skin. At some point, Lena slips into bed next to me, but I don’t even open my eyes. I’m too far gone to have any reaction.

Pain shatters through my leg, sharp and unrelenting, tearing me from sleep. A choked groan escapes me as I clench the sheets in my fists while my entire body locks up.

“Michele?” Lena’s voice is thick with sleep but laced with concern. She shifts beside me. “What’s wrong?”

I grind my teeth. “My leg.”

There’s rustling as she sits up, her silhouette outlined by the dim moonlight filtering through the window. “What’s happening with your leg?”

“It hurts. A lot,” I manage, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

She mutters something under her breath before fumbling to turn on the bedside lamp. The soft glow spills over us, and I see the horror in her face as her gaze drops to my leg.

The muscles are locked in a tight spasm, the scar standing out stark against my skin. I know it looks bad. I can feel how bad it is.

“What do I do? How can I help?” Her voice is small but steady.

“In the front pocket of my bag, there are painkillers. Can you grab them?”

She doesn’t hesitate. In a blur, she’s out of bed, rummaging through my bag. A moment later, she’s back with the pills, a glass of water in her other hand. I toss back the medication, swallowing it down, then hand her the empty glass.

“Thank you,” I whisper through clenched teeth.

“Is there something else I can do?” She’s searching my face, looking for an answer I’m not sure I can give. This is my life, and I feel exposed letting her in when I’m so vulnerable. I’ve seen enough pity in everyone’s eyes since the accident not to want to witness it on her face too.

I shake my head. “Not much. I just need the pills to do their job.”

She frowns, unconvinced. “What if I try to massage the muscle? Stretch your leg?”

I hesitate. The pain is unbearable, but the thought of her hands on me, of her touch being the thing that helps, makes my breath catch in a silent gasp. She is worried, not pitying me, and this loosens my uncertainty a bit.

“It can’t be worse than this,” I admit.

She kneels beside me. Her touch is tentative at first, her fingers pressing gently into my calf.

It hurts like hell. I suck in a sharp breath, but she doesn’t stop.

Slowly, carefully, she works through the tension, her hands moving with more confidence as she kneads out the knots.

The pain shifts from unbearable to something I can breathe through, and eventually, she manages to stretch my leg out, letting it rest on the bed.

The worst of it passes, leaving behind the dull ache I’ve learned to live with. I exhale, my body sagging into the mattress.

Lena watches me. Her brows are pinched, and worry is still etched across her features.

“I’ll be fine,” I murmur, giving her a tired smile. “It’s already way better than before.”

She nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. There’s a question in her eyes, one I know she won’t hold back for long.

“Go ahead,” I say, preempting her. “Ask.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

She hesitates for only a second before speaking. “What happened to your leg?”

“Motorcycle accident,” I say simply. “Got crushed between two cars. My leg took the worst of it.”

“Jesus Christ.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

I shrug. “Lucky to still have my leg. Injuries like this usually end in amputation.”

Her eyes snap to mine, and I see the weight of my words settle over her.

She looks almost terrified at the idea, and the sight softens something in my chest. Gone is the carefree Lena I’ve gotten used to lately, and I don’t know how to feel about her worry.

I’ve learned to deal with pity, but I still have a hard time reassuring people.

“When did it happen?”

“Six months ago. I was driving to my parents’ place, and some idiot ran a red light, pinning me against another car.”

She exhales deeply. “Is that why you’re ‘in between jobs’?”

I know this bothers her, but I’m grateful she didn’t press until now. I’m still not ready to lay out the whole truth for her, but I can give her something.

A half-laugh leaves me before I can stop it. “Sort of. I’m an athlete, so…” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence. I can see in her expression the realization of what I’ve lost. The horror, the sympathy. But not the pity, and I’m grateful for that.

“I get it,” she says softly. “Can’t you take more painkillers? Avoid getting to this point?”

This is the first time I haven’t heard the dreadful words, “I’m sorry,” coming from someone hearing my situation for the first time, and it’s a refreshing feeling.

I shake my head. “They’re strong. I don’t want to rely on them too much. And they mess with my job…antidoping and all that stuff.”

She nods slowly, then, without hesitation, she slides back under the covers and shifts closer. Before I can react, she tucks an arm under my head and pulls me against her, her fingers threading gently through my hair. The gesture is so natural that it throws me off guard.

I go completely still. I should pull away. I should make a joke. But instead, I let myself sink into her warmth, my arm wrapping around her waist. It feels so right, I can barely breathe. How is it possible I feel so safe with someone I barely know?

She presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Now sleep. And from now on, we take it slow,” she says, turning off the lamp.

Warmth unfurls beneath my ribs. The heavy weight I’ve been carrying for months lifts, just enough to let me breathe again. In the dim light coming from the window, I bask in the comfort of her arms wrapped around me.

I’ve slept with countless women, but I’ve never felt as intimate with anyone as I feel with Lena right now. There is no amount of sex that can compare to the connection I have in the arms of this woman.

I don’t want this night to end and reality to rise again with the fast-approaching sunrise.