Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“YOU DID WHAT?”
“I found underpants. And soap. And toothpaste. And I—”
“Fucking hell, Menace,” he grunts, probably preparing himself to give me a three-hour lecture about how exposing myself was a terrible idea, but he won’t find an apology here. I did what I had to do to save his life, and that’s not something I will ever apologize for.
Instead, I look up at him and bat my lashes, knowing he can’t resist. “Did I mention I found sandwiches?”
His whole demeanor changes, and his brows arch high. At this point, I’m wondering how much longer he can bear to be on his feet. I need to get him in bed. “Sandwiches?”
I nod. “Plural. I bought a bunch,” I tell him. “Figured you’d need as much energy as you could get.”
“Shit, Menace. You should have started with that,” he says, turning his attention to the cottage behind me. “Now, show me where the fuck these sandwiches are while you tell me where the hell we are.”
“Cedar Falls,” I tell him, making my way up the back porch to the door.
“Where the fuck is Cedar Falls?”
I shrug and smile as I glance back at him. “I don’t know. In Cedar Falls,” I say. “I drove for as long as I could, and this is where we ended up. But so far, I think it’s alright. This little cottage needs a good clean, but it could be alright for us to stay for a while. There’s a town close by for food. There’s running water, and clean . . . cleanish clothes.”
“How close is the town? Close enough that someone will notice us?”
“I don’t think so.”
He nods, mostly trusting my judgment, but the moment I pull the sandwiches out of the bag, all thoughts of small towns and gas station shopping sprees seem to fade away, and I watch in disbelief as he puts the sandwiches away faster than common sense bailed on Ash all those years ago.
Once the wild beast’s hunger has been sated, I force him to take a shower, and he reluctantly agrees, despite knowing just how bad he needs it. While I did a good job cleaning him up through the night, it wasn’t great. There’s still blood coating his skin, and to be honest, he just stinks. He’s a man who’s been deprived of a thorough shower for far too long, and he spent the night sweating in a hot car. It really doesn’t make for a good mix.
I find him a change of clothes, a clean towel, and go as far as to step outside and shake them out, losing any dust particles that have called them home for the past twenty or so years. Once they’re as clean as they’re going to get, I place them inside the bathroom, unable to keep from stealing a glance at this machine of a man.
He leans against the wall, his arm braced over his head as he closes his eyes. He’s fucking stunning, a literal piece of art, but now the bruising has completely come out, and with the natural light pouring in through the old cottage, there’s no denying how much pain he must be in.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, his eyes still closed.
“Just be happy it’s me and not one of the assholes in prison. I bet they all liked stealing a glance every now and then,” I say with a smirk. “Tell me, is the whole don’t drop the soap thing real?”
Stone opens his eyes and turns his attention on me before flicking his fingers through the water and watching as the drops splatter across my face. “Get lost, perv.”
I laugh and turn on my heel, giving him the privacy he needs so he can stop pretending for just a moment that everything is going to be okay. I might need him to be that sounding board for me, to always be the hero I know him to be, the man who’s going to swoop in and save the day, but in reality, he’s human. He still gets scared. He still hurts. And fuck, he must be hurting badly, but he’s not the kind who enjoys vulnerability.
Leaving him to shower, I make my way into the small bedroom before stripping the sheets off the bed and shoving them in a pile to burn before ransacking the linen cupboard for new blankets, and while there isn’t much to choose from, there’s enough that can get us by.
After I finish fixing up the bed, Stone eventually emerges from the bathroom, looking like a brand-new person. The hot water did him a world of good, and when he lies down on the shitty bed and closes his eyes, I see a version of him I haven’t seen since I was a kid. Carefree, calm, happy, but most importantly, at peace.
He wraps his arm around me, and I rest my head against his side, being careful not to hurt him. “How are you feeling?” he asks. “Bruised?”