Page 76 of No Save Point

She mumbles the words that make my stomach flutter. “I w-want a bath.”

I breathe out a quiet laugh, pressing my lips against her temple, my arms tightening around her as I glance toward the hallway.

“Think your little golden boy wants to help with that, pretty?” Tate yawns out.

I tilt my head back against the wall, catching my breath, my fingers lazily running along Haven’s bare back, still feeling the heat of her skin.

I glance at Tate. “What, you just gonna lay there, or are you actually gonna be useful?”

He lets out a small dry laugh, not even bothering to lift his head. “I did all the fucking work, Carter. You were the one just sitting back and watching.”

I narrow my eyes, shifting slightly as I gesture toward Haven, who’s barely holding herself together, her limbs still limp, her breath still uneven. “Yeah? Then explain why she can barely fucking move.”

Tate snorts, but when he glances down at Haven, his smirk falters just slightly, just enough for me to catch it.

With an exaggerated sigh, he pushes himself up. “Fine. I’ll start the damn bath. You go grab her something to wear.”

I grin, satisfied, before carefully shifting out from beneath Haven, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. “Be right back, sweetheart.”

She barely nods, her fingers tightening slightly against my skin, her body still sinking into me.

I head toward my dresser, rifling through my drawers, grabbing a fresh oversized T-shirt and a pair of sweats that’ll be way too big on her but comfortable enough to keep her warm.

By the time I return to the bathroom, Tate is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching the tub fill with steaming water. Haven is still trying to sit up, her body sluggish, expression hazy, her attempt at regaining some semblance of composure completely fucking failing. God, I would trade anything to be able to see her like that forever.

I set the clothes down on the counter, reaching for her, pressing a hand against the small of her back. “Come on, baby,” I murmur, brushing my lips against her temple. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

The moment we ease Haven into the water, her body relaxes instantly, a soft sigh slipping from her lips as the heat soaks into her aching muscles, as the steam curls around her skin, the exhaustion starts to sink deeper.

Tate and I kneel on either side of the tub, watching her, waiting for her to say something, do something, tell us what she needs, but all she does is tilt her head back against the porcelain, her lashes fluttering, her lips parting just slightly.

Fuck, she’s beautiful like this. I grab a washcloth, dipping it into the water, wringing it out before running it over her shoulder, down her arm, slow, careful, making sure I don’t miss a single inch of her skin.

Tate does the same. But where I’m gentle, taking my time, soaking in every moment, Tate moves more efficiently, pressing the cloth against the bruises forming along her ribs, her hips, her thighs, his lips parting just slightly as he traces the evidence of everything we just did to her. Without a word, he leans down and presses a kiss right over one of them.

Haven shivers, her breath catching, her fingers twitching in the water. I do the same, trailing the cloth lower, smoothing over her stomach, her waist, her inner thigh, my lips finding a particularly dark mark near her hipbone, kissing it, soothing it, whispering soft apologies against her skin.

He cups Haven’s jaw, tilting her head slightly toward him, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “Feeling better, pretty?”

Her eyes slowly open, hazy, warm, so fucking tired, but she smiles—completely at peace. “Yeah,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “You guys take good care of me.”

By the time I’m lifting Haven out of the water, she’s practically limp against me, her body slack, her arms barely able to wrap around my shoulders, her breath warm against my neck.

Tate has already wandered off, his footsteps disappearing down the hall without a single word, his presence vanishing like he was never even here.

It’s typical. The second emotions start creeping in, the second something doesn’t fit into his usual game of control, he shuts down, checks out, leaves before he has to acknowledge anything that might make him feel. A part of me rationalizes with him, because what the fuck are we even doing?

We both know the truth, we both know Haven is different. We both know we’ve fallen for her, hard and fast and reckless. He doesn’t fucking do feelings, but I do. And right now I’m the only one left here to take care of her.

I wrap a towel around her, keeping her close, rubbing the soft fabric over her skin, drying every inch of her slowly, carefully, making sure she’s warm, that she’s comfortable, that she knows I’m not just going to use her and walk away like my brother does. When I help her step into my sweatpants, they swallow her whole, the fabric pooling around her ankles, the waistband cinched tight just to keep them from falling. My T-shirt drowns her too, the sleeves nearly covering her fingers, but fuck she looks so damn perfect in my clothes.

I kiss the top of her damp hair, guiding her out of the bathroom, leading her back to my room, helping her into bed, letting her curl up against me like she belongs here.

Just as my eyes start to shut and as I let my body relax, I hear her voice, soft and uncertain, cutting through the silence. “Do you think Tate likes me?”

I stiffen. My jaw clenches, fuck, that’s a dangerous loaded question. I’ve been waiting for her to ask, but not ready for the answer. It’s one she might not understand, or maybe she already does.

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