Page 120 of Fighting Spirit

“Ruth, I’m fine.”

I sigh. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Rowan accepts help without turning it into a whole thing.

I pull out the big guns. “If you don’t tell me, then I’m gonna go ask Trevor.”

He growls into the pillow before reaching into his nightstand and grabbing a small red tube. I have to duck to avoid it as he tosses it toward me without looking.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Left side, near the base,” he grumbles, finally relenting.

I run my fingers carefully down his spine, feeling every ridge and dip of muscle until he makes a grunt of affirmation. Probing a little harder, I can feel the tightness that’s bothering him.

Popping the cap off the heat rub, I squeeze a little out, warming it between my palms before starting to apply it. Once I’ve got a good layer on, I gently massage it in, trying to work it into the area that’s hurting him the most.

“You don’t need to do this.”

I reach up to tug at a lock of his hair. “Then go see the trainers.”

A grunt of displeasure is all the response I get.

I continue my ministrations, hoping the knot will start to ease. I don’t claim to be any kind of expert, but I’ve been aroundenough athletes and had enough injuries of my own that I know a little of what I’m doing.

“I’ve got one of those deep tissue guns in the drawer.” His words are quiet. “Can you give it a once over with that?”

Holy shit, is he finally asking for something? I don’t reply, not wanting to scare him off. I just scramble over him, pressing a kiss to the back of his head as I go.

It doesn’t take much rooting around to find it tucked in the bottom of his nightstand drawer. It’s hidden by old packs of protein powder and a sealed box of condoms and for a second, I feel awkward about looking through his belongings, but there’s never been a time in our relationship where it’s occurred to me that he’d have something to hide.

I get back to work, and when Rowan groans in pure relief, I can’t stop the grin that bursts out.

“Better?”

“You got magic hands, Frog.”

Once I’ve finished up, I put the gun aside and lie down next to him. I should get up and try and start getting ready for the day. But when Rowan rolls toward me, pressing the side of his face against mine, I know I’m sunk.

He slides one arm under my head and the other bands across my waist so I couldn’t move even if I wanted to.

“We should get up,” I whisper, giving his bicep a light scratch.

“No,” he grumbles and I can feel the frown against my cheek.

“We’ve got stuff to do.”

“In a bit,” he sighs, burrowing deeper. “I wanna hold you a bit longer.”

Well, shit.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I take a deep breath of his cedar and spice scent. I’m hit by a rush of something so potent that it almost overwhelms me, something that feels a lot likebelonging. It’s a feeling so unfamiliar I almost don’t recognize it, the sensation of being warm, safe, settled. I don’t have a hundred racing thoughts. I’m not second-guessing whether to fill the silence or if he even wants me here. I just feel quiet.

I turn my face into his neck and hold on tighter like he could be the lifebuoy that stops me from washing out to sea.

“You okay?” he asks, running a hand up to cup the back of my neck.

“Mm hm.” I can’t answer around the lump in my throat.

He doesn’t push, just kisses my head and reaches down to grab the comforter. Encased in his arms, his steady breath under my ear, I have to fight not to fall back to sleep.

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