Page 31 of Bound By Obsession

“I’ll grab the mop.” Avery stands and steps aside, her eyes roving over my arms and shoulders as I clean the floor.

“Honestly, how does he survive?”

“He has us,” I say with a shrug. Avery giggles, swiping more of the gloopy liquid off her neck. Garrett puts an acceptable amount of clothes into the washer and switches it on.

“There,” she says, glancing at Garrett. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I’ll give you hard,” he mutters under his breath. Grabbing his laundry basket, he attempts to leave when I block him with the mop’s handle.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I cock a brow. An instant shift happens in Garrett’s features, his eyes brightening at my tone. He acts like he prefers being the Dom out of the two of us, but he loves it even more when I turn the tables on him. “Our girl needs another shower. You made the mess, you need to help clean it up.” I gesture to her hair, sticky and tangled. Garrett grins, grabbing a towel and holding it out to her.

“You heard the man, Peach. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

We make it all the way to our private bathroom before the reality of what he’s agreed to hits. I watch Garrett hesitate, torn between wanting to walk away and realizing that he’s cornered. He lets out a resigned sigh and reluctantly moves into the bathroom, the towel slung over his shoulder. Avery follows after him, wringing out some of the softener in her hair.

I lean against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms crossed, curious about how this is going to play out. The dynamic between the two of them changes. Garrett, usually so cocky and brash, suddenly seems completely out of his element. Avery, on the other hand, seems unfazed by it all, not noticing the turmoil taking place behind Garrett’s dark eyes. I see it, but then again, I know where to look. She tugs at her shirt and sweatpants, baring herself to both of us.

Garrett clears his throat, avoiding her eyes as he grabs the showerhead, turning on the water. Avery raises a brow at his gym shorts and white T-shirt.

“Are you not coming in?”

Garrett doesn’t answer, too focused on adjusting the water temperature and busying himself with unnecessary tasks. I can’t help but chuckle under my breath. I rarely get to see him flustered, and if I was a better man, I might offer to shower with Avery to save him the trouble. Alas, I’m enjoying this far too much.

Once the water is at the right temperature, Garrett indicates that Avery should step into the shower. She does, waiting for Garrett to hose her down like a prized pig before she turns on him. Grabbing his shoulders, she yanks him into the cubicle. There’s a struggle with the shower head, resulting in Garrett’s front becoming soaked before he can grapple back some control.

Seeming satisfied, Avery gives him her back, arching so that he can rinse the fabric softener from her hair. The water cascades over her head, dripping down her stunning body.Shifting her hair aside, Garrett’s fingers trail the arrow tattooed at the top of her back, causing her to shudder.

His own discomfort becomes more apparent as his drenched T-shirt sticks to his frame, and nothing he does helps. In the end, he glances at me, giving the best puppy dog eyes. I slowly shake my head.

“This is good for you,” I clarify. I’m right here, a few feet away. This is a safe space and until Garrett is put in situations that he can’t back out of, he’ll never start to heal. So much focus is spent on me fighting my demons while he’s happy to ignore his, but I won’t let him anymore. Garrett’s throat bobs as he looks down at the fabric molded to his body, outlining the tattoos inked across his chest and abdomen.

Avery’s attention shifts at the same time, turning back to face him. She assesses the wet material. “What’s that one?” She points to a tattoo on his chest, just above his heart.

Garrett stiffens, glancing down at where she’s gesturing. “It’s a rabbit’s foot,” he mumbles, his tone suddenly shy.

“For luck?” Avery tilts her head, water droplets gathered on her lashes. Garrett releases a harsh bark of laughter.

“None of my tattoos have any meaning, Peach.” Her eyes flick back up to his face but she doesn’t remove her finger from prodding his chest.

“So what’s the point of them?”

“To hide me,” Garrett answers immediately. He’s unusually devoid of all emotion, standing statue still and holding the shower head over Avery’s shoulders to keep her warm. “They’re just illustrations I picked off a wall. Once, I donated my legs to a bunch of students, letting them do whatever they wanted. It’s not about the images, it’s about the coverage.” Avery glances at me and I nod.

I was with him for that entire weekend. Some of the artists were more promising than others, and anything that the tattooshop owner didn’t deem up to quality was offered a free cover up. Gare never took the offer. He doesn’t care about being a walking piece of art or his skin telling a story. Garrett simply wants to disappear beneath the ink.

To her credit, Avery doesn’t pursue the conversation that could have followed. She doesn’t tell him that’s stupid or try to give compliments he would have refused to hear. Instead, her finger trails lower.

“What’s this?”

“A paper bag of daisies.”

“What’s that?” Avery squints, shifting her face closer to Garrett’s ribs. He sucks in a breath, going even more rigid before looking down.

“A naked woman in a scuba mask walking a fish on a leash.”

“And this one?” She points lower, just above his hip, where another tattoo peeks out from beneath his soaked shirt.

“That’s Bart Simpson’s butt with ‘Eat My Shorts’ written across it.” Avery snorts a laugh. She’s smiling wide, and soon enough, so is he. It’s a beautiful sight, something I’m thankful I got to witness as an outsider. Avery is helping Garrett in ways he can’t fully comprehend.

---