Page 109 of Burn the Wild

When he’s finished with the shampoo, he rinses my hair, then adds conditioner.

His palm pressing me up, I curl forward. Cool air hardens my nipples. Water cascades down my back as Ford rinses my hair. Just when I think we’re done, he pulls me back down against his solid chest.

When I realize what he’s doing, my breath hitches.

He’s braiding my hair.

Those big, calloused fingers skillfully twist my damp hair into two thick braids.

“Who taught you how to braid?” I ask, delighted. I twist around to watch him, curling tighter in his arms.

“I did.” His look is bashful, then hesitant as he says, “When I was ten, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. Words and letters were like soup in my brain. Every test I took, I failed. The only thing I was good at was sports. I didn’t beat myself up, but I damn sure wasn’t going to fail.”

Guilt burns in my throat. Ford’s shared so much with me, and I’m still holding back.

His face pinches with pain, with memory.

“Every afternoon I took my books and went to the barn. It was a quiet space to learn and let me get away from my assholelittle brothers. I was fucking determined to beat it. I sat there and studied, and I braided the horse’s hair.” A deep chuckle vibrates both our bodies. “Every damn one of them. They all came out looking like they were in a beauty salon.”

I laugh.

He exhales a ragged breath. “That’s why I love baseball. It built up my confidence when I thought I had lost it. I may have been shit at everything else in life, but baseball was mine.”

“It still is.” I twist into him. My hands glide up his slippery chest. “You talk like you don’t deserve it. Why?”

He leans forward, nipping at my collarbone. His big hand finds my thigh under the water, and he squeezes. “Let’s get you out. You’re cold.”

He scoops me up and steps out of the tub. A fresh, fluffy towel is wrapped around me.

While I find clean clothes, Ford heads to the kitchen. I pull on a long slip dress and when I head to the main room, Ford’s setting a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a plate next to a bag of Combos.

“You’re spoiling me.”

He grunts. “You eat like shit, but you gotta eat what you like.”

Dropping into a chair, I reach for the Combos, suddenly ravenous. With clear eyes, I evaluate the chalet. Every window and door is thrown open, allowing the morning breeze to chase away the stagnant air. The sunrise is a bloom of colors.

I inhale, exhale.

A new day. A new slate. Peace.

Across from me, Ford leans forward, rubbing his long fingers over his jaw. “So, what happened, Birdie?” His worried eyes search mine. My heart melts.

I swallow a bite of sandwich. Ford’s showing me I can trust him. But do I want to? Trust means feelings and feelings meancomplications. If I tell him the truth and this goes south, and I lose his friendship…it’s too important. I can’t do that.

“I don’t know.” I stick my hands between my knees. Try for honesty the best I can. “After Gavin and the horse, it all felt heavy.”

He nods like he understands. “Like cement?”

“Yeah. Like cement.” I hesitate. I already know he won’t like it. “And then…I got a text from Gavin.”

He goes still, eyes hard. “Show me,” he orders.

“Ford—”

“Baby, if this asshole is fucking with you, I need to know.”

Sighing, I hand him my phone.

---