Page 73 of The Grief We Hold

Would he have washed my hair? How would his large hands feel as they massaged my scalp?

My body cries out for attention. For something to ground me and make me feel worshipped. I’ve rarely felt that.

I’ve felt needed. God, between Fen and my husband, that’s all I ever am. The one who meets their needs.

But to have someone pause for a moment to meet mine?

Bliss.

In the midst of the turmoil and the self-preservation telling me that none of this is a good idea, I see a sliver of what a fulfilling relationship with Wraith could be like.

Simply standing here, desiring the touch of another man, is more than I could imagine six months ago.

I can’t count the number of nights I simply laid there in bed, dreading the sound of my husband’s footsteps on the way to the bedroom. Trying to ready myself for sex with him when it was really the last thing I wanted to do.

Now I’m standing in the shower, knowing my child is just on the other side of the wall, silently wishing Wraith would throw all good sense out the window and join me.

I finish up, wrap the towel around me, and realize I forgot to bring my own night clothes to the bathroom.

“Shit.” I brush my teeth, looking at my hazy reflection in the steamed-up mirror.

When I’m done, I step out of the bathroom and find Wraith and Smoke at the top of the stairs. They both look at me, and I suddenly cringe, standing there in a towel.

“Stop fucking looking at her,” Wraith says to Smoke.

Smoke laughs. “She looks good in that.”

Wraith shoves Smoke toward the first step. “And you’ll look good six feet under if you don’t get the fuck down those steps.”

“Later, guys,” Smoke shouts.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know he was here. I forgot my clothes.”

Wraith strides toward me with heat in his eyes. “I see that.”

He glances into the bedroom, and whatever he sees reassures him enough that Fen is occupied. “How am I supposed to keep my hands off you?” he asks quietly.

He dips his head and lazily licks a drip of water making its way over my chest.

“Wraith,” I say. The word comes out breathless.

He shifts us so we are out of sight of the bedroom door, and when he does, he kisses me roughly. And for a moment, I let him, before pushing gently on his chest.

“It’s unfair to stir me up when we can’t do anything about it,” I say playfully.

He kisses the side of my neck. “Fucking impossible.”

“What is?” I ask.

He grins. “Nothing.”

“You’ll have to use Fen’s towel. We only have two. Don’t worry if you get blood on it, I’ll just bleach it, but…” I don’t want to ask the question, but for everyone’s safety, I do. “Do we have any reason to be concerned about your blood getting on us?”

Wraith touches his fingertips to my cheeks. “No. But I’ll get tested tomorrow and bring you the results to put your mind at rest.”

“Really?” I expected an argument.

“Stop worrying about shit that’s easy to fix. I get it. Blood. Not always healthy or safe. If it takes a needle to reassure you, I’ll do it. Blue, I was just willing to take a bullet for you—a needle feels too easy.”

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