Page 42 of I Love a Good Challenge

Concern is etched into his furrowed brow. I really can’t focus on my hand, as afraid of blood as I am. (I have several phobias, clearly.) I do my best to direct my attention to the man in front of me. Shamelessly, I take him in, mesmerized by the boldness of his features, the grace in his movements, and the riveted way he gives me his attention, masterfully taking care of me in the process.

My eyes fill up against my will. It is only when I feel the pads of his fingers tracing the edge of my hand to tuck in the end of the bandage he’s applied that I allow a tear to fall. I hope he doesn’t catch sight of my emotion this time.

“I don’t think it needs stitches,” Graham says softly. The richness of his voice creates a canopy of safety and want between my ribs. “It’s wider than it is deep.”

“That’s . . . good.” I work to keep my voice steady.

He nods, not breaking our connection yet. Before I can process what’s happening, Graham’s hand gently cups my face. He wipes the one tear that escaped. A few moments later, the edge of his thumb leaves a trail of heat as he stands and moves toward the fireplace, preparing to stoke the fire for us both.

Chapter Fifteen

Graham

Ilook toward the hearth below the crackling fire as if it holds the answers to all my problems. Like a siren in a storm, I followed Lily home. Now, I fear I may not recover. I can’t imagine how much more this woman could wreck me, but seeing her first cold and crying and now bleeding and hurt makes my mind race and my heart feel as if it could break.

When I bandaged her hand, I could feel the way she studied me, taking in my features. I almost wanted to ask if I reminded her of the man she fell in love with long ago. I wish the qualities in my nature I know she used to treasure would trigger her to tell me the truth about what happened between us.

I may not be willing to get my heart broken again, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know why it ended. I accept that our love is a lost cause. I can’t help but hope that maybe this one moment in which I get to wrap her up in my affection is God’s kindness in giving me another chance to take care of her. Perhaps I can show her that I’m truly not mad at her. Maybe she’ll see the void in me that has been cold and empty since she left.

“Are you still cold?” Lily asks. I turn to face her, surprised to hear her say anything that could be construed as caring about my well-being.

The firelight reveals the sight of her sitting with her shoulders hunched forward, her hand wrapped with a large bandage. Her usually strong demeanor is frail, fraying at the edges. I steel my jaw with the effort of preventing myself from moving closer to touch her. Touching her face was one thing, but I know she won’t let me wrap my arms around her to hold her closely while the storm rages.

Shaking my head, I move toward the opposite end of the couch. We continue to stare into the illuminated hearth together.

Her hair glows in the flickering flames. The shimmer creates a halo around her head. Her ponytail flips at the ends. She tries to pull it down with one hand, but the band gets snagged in her hair on the way out. I’ve only seen Lily’s hair down around her shoulders once, and the sight about did me in. She winces when the band pulls at her hair. Before I can think too much of it, I’m beside her.

“Let me,” I say, the gritty quality in my voice like the crackling wood in the fire as it turns to ash.

She turns toward me. With wide eyes, she searches me, no doubt looking for any traps or ulterior motives. But my defenses are down, shattered. I have nothing except the intense need to feel her hair between my fingers again, even if it isn’t in the way I once had hoped.

Finally, she nods lightly. She throws down a small decorative pillow on the circle of carpet beneath our feet. Slipping to the floor, she leans forward so her spine is aligned between my knees. As she arches, her long hair trails down her back.

I force my hands to stop shaking. As one hand cups the bottom of her deflated ponytail, I use my other hand to slide the band from her hair as gently as possible. For a moment, I revel at the rapid increase in her breathing at my touch.

I extend the band over her right shoulder, allowing it to glide softly over the creamy patch of skin peeking out of the top of her sweatshirt—a Boston University sweatshirt, my alma mater, nonetheless. I take note that her fingers don’t pull away when we touch in the exchange.

Clenching my jaw, I move my neck side to side to try to rid myself of some of the tension.

“Do you—do you need a brush?” she asks softly, the vulnerability in her voice sending a flash of heat through my chest.

“I don’t think we’ll need it.” My reply comes out husky and deep.

She nods lightly. I count to ten to convince myself not to forget this moment as I simultaneously will my hands to stay steady.

Before I overthink what I’m about to do, I trail my fingers through her hair, starting at the bottom. Inch by inch, I run my fingers slowly and softly through her pale golden strands, gently working out any knots I find, moving my way up with precision.

Her breathing slows in response. When I reach the base of her neck, a shiver is all the evidence I need that she is as affected by this moment as I am.

I sense that her reaction is an honest one, and it reminds me how much I’ve wanted to care for her since the moment we met.

Lightly, I massage her scalp, pushing my fingers through the silky sections, watching it flow like golden water through my hands. When I hit a tangle or a piece still heavy with water from the storm, I do my best to patiently sift through it all until her hair flows down her back, smooth and combed with my own two hands.

At some point in the process, Lily relaxes in a way that causes her to angle back toward me. Her neck tilts to the side under my hands, losing its stiffness.

I hear a sniffle. I know she’s got more emotion caught up in that mind and heart of hers, but I keep moving. Instead of saying anything that might embarrass her, I carefully part her hair into three sections and begin to braid it.

Piece by piece, I intertwine the strands to create a long braid. As I near the end, the hollow in her lower back dips inward. I will time to stand still.

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