Holding my breath, I braced for the pain. But he stretched the T-shirt fabric out enough that my body barely needed to move to get free. The only touch between our skin was the accidental brush of his knuckles when he maneuvered the shirt over my head, but then it was gone.
"Thank you," I whispered as I instinctively held the fabric to my chest.
His dark eyes took in the defensive gesture, and his jaw tightened. "Any time, Angel," he murmured in a husky voice, his focus locked on my wrist. My right one was bandaged heavily from where I'd cut it, but my left showed all the clear signs of my restraints: scabs and bruises in a near perfect band, the same width as the straps that had held me immobile. Without looking, I knew my ankles would show the same marks.
When I said nothing more, he shook himself and surged back to his feet.
"Don't fucking leave this room," he ordered Lucas. "If she slips—"
"Yeah, I know," Lucas cut him off. "Spare me the threats. I've got this handled."
Cass shot me a warning look, then disappeared out of the bathroom once more. As much as I loved him, I also felt like I could breathe easier with fewer people in my personal space.
Lucas came closer and offered me his hand. "I'll just put you on the stool," he said softly, nodding to the chair Cass had placed inside the shower, "and you can tell me what you need help with. What you're comfortable with. Deal?"
I nodded, swallowing my own refusals because contrary to what Cass might think, I wasn't a total idiot. I could recognize when I needed some help. So I took Lucas's hand, letting him pull me to my feet once more.
Not meeting his eyes, I dropped the T-shirt, then wiggled out of the sweatpants. He'd already seen all my injuries, the physical ones, anyway. So there was nothing to hide from him as he guided me into the shower stall, yet I still kept my gaze locked on the tiles.
"Thanks," I breathed as my butt reached the stool. Cass had put it out of the direct spray, but it'd be easy enough to move the direction of the shower head.
"Stop thanking us," he murmured back. "There is literally nothing we need thanks for here." He straightened up and grabbed the soap, shampoo, and conditioner from the shower caddy, placed them on the floor beside my stool, then sat back on his heels in the open shower doorway. "Can I wash your hair?"
I liked the way he phrased that, like he wanted to do it, rather than was offering me help. A faint smile curved my lips because, holy hell, my hair needed washing so freaking bad. It was a tangled, greasy, mess. The swim I'd taken in the river during my escape was the only reason it wasn't crusted with blood and semen.
"Sure," I agreed, wrapping my arms over my chest. I didn't need to hide from Lucas, but it was a self-comfort move.
He flashed a reassuring smile back at me, then stepped fully into the cubicle with me. His T-shirt soaked through in an instant, but he made no move to take it off as he reached over to angle the shower spray toward me.
The first warm droplets to hit my skin were soothing, and I shifted on my stool to get my hair wet. The moment it touched my face, though, I was plunged right back into that dream Lucas had only just pulled me free of. The sensation of being drowned was so fucking fresh in my mind that all logical thought flew out the window when the shower cascaded over my face.
"Shh, babe," Lucas's soothing voice cut through the rushing in my ears. His hand stroked ever so gently down my arm, and it took me a second to realize my head was between my knees. "Hey, I'm here. Just take it slow, babe. Deep breaths, okay. In and out. Don't rush. We've got all the time in the world."
Panic attack. I'd just had a motherfucking panic attack over a shower.
Oh, hell no.
No freaking way was Chase taking showers away from me. No way, no how.
"I'm okay," I mumbled, lifting my head ever so slightly. The water was off, and Lucas was on his knees in front of me, totally saturated. "I'm okay."
"You're not," he argued, "and that's okay."
I wrinkled my nose. "Nothing about this is okay, Lucas." My voice was hollow and bitter. "But this is something I can and will push through. My desire to clean his touch from my skin is stronger than my fear of drowning. Just... stay with me."
A thousand emotions flashed across Lucas's face, but the one that remained at the end was the only one that counted. Admiration. With a small nod, he sighed. "Alright. Let's take this slow. Can you turn around?"
Gritting my teeth, I did as he suggested, spinning on the stool until my knees were against the cool tiles of the wall and my back was to Lucas. With a murmur of warning, he turned the water back on.
This time, it didn't touch my face. He kept the pressure gentle and used the handheld attachment instead of the full shower head. It meant that at any given time, only a small part of me was under the spray, and it helped.
Adding my anxiety to the mess of injuries, I ended up relying on Lucas a lot to get clean. He was gentle and respectful as he helped wash me, and bit by bit, the lingering, repulsive sensation of Chase was washed down the drain.
By the time Lucas started washing my hair, my breathing was almost back to normal and my spine no longer as stiff as a board. Lucas's long fingers caressed my scalp, sliding carefully between tangles to work the shampoo in, and I sagged back against him in relief.
"Will you be okay if we leave this conditioner in for a bit?" he murmured in my ear as his hands smoothed the cream through my tangled—but clean—tresses. "It'll be easier if we try and brush it through before rinsing this out."
Words were too freaking hard, so I just mumbled a noise of agreement. He twisted my conditioner-slick hair into a loose knot to marinate. Using a washcloth, he went back to my skin, soaping me up a second time.
I appreciated the hell out of him for it because it would still take a shitload more scrubbing before I truly felt clean. Tired or not, I took the cloth from him to clean my own vagina. That would need to be scrubbed with sandpaper and still might not ever be clean enough.
"Hayden," Lucas said softly as I bit my cheek against tears and handed the washcloth back. "Did he..." His question died out, and I knew he'd changed his mind—not because he didn't want to know but because he thought he was crossing a line by asking.
I loved Lucas. Really, honestly loved him like I hadn't known I was capable of, and I knew in my bones that our relationship needed—deserved—total honesty. But I didn't trust him not to do something stupid. Like tell Cass. So I lied.
"No," I murmured back, my eyes locked on the shower wall.
I felt the tension sag out of his body behind me, and his long exhale of relief. It made me feel worse, but I just tightened my jaw and pushed the ugly feeling aside. Some things were more important than honesty. Like my carefully planned revenge. I couldn't risk that all going to shit, not now, not after all I’ve suffered at Chase's hands. Now, more than ever, I needed my plan to succeed.
Chase would pay. Dearly. But it'd be on my terms and no one else's.
8
The expedition to the shower had exhausted me more than I liked, but I was powerless to fight the lull of sleep as Lucas laid me back down in bed and started changing my dressings.