Page 115 of The Merger
“Did anyone stick up for you?” I ask, massaging the shampoo into her scalp with my fingertips.
“Aurora told him to stop a few times, but it didn’t matter.”
“Do you want to tell me what he said?”
She takes another breath, letting her eyes close.
“He basically said that he didn’t want anything to do with me, and that I won’t leave him alone. That I’m just hanging around long enough to get something from him when he dies.”
I fight the urge to laugh. If only that fucker knew that as soon as I can work up the courage to ask her to marry me, she’ll have more zeros at the end of her name than he can even fathom.
“None of it really made sense,” she says, tracing the line of my shoulders with her fingers. “I’ve never asked him for anything, and I don’t bother him unless Aurora asks me to come over. It’s not like I’m begging him for attention … or affection.”
“Hurt men hurt women,” I say, working the suds in small circles. “I know it doesn’t help for me to say this, but his behavior has nothing to do with you.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“I know.” I kiss her pout. “And it doesn’t justify it, and I’m not making excuses for him. I’d use the shovel first.”
She grins, running her hands up my chest.
Her body is softer now, less rigid than when she arrived home. The lines around her eyes have lessened and her tears have eased for a few sentences. Progress.
“Here,” I say, tipping her head back. “Let’s rinse you.”
I guide the water over her head, shielding her face with my hand. I take my time removing the shampoo from her hair, hoping it makes her feel loved. Because although I’m not man enough to tell her yet—I haven’t had the right opportunity—I want her to feel it anyway.
“Do you want to use conditioner?” I ask.
She raises her head, squeezing the remaining water from her strands. “I’ll use a leave-in one when we get out.”
“Okay.”
Her arms dangle over my shoulders and she gazes up at me. Something is on the tip of her tongue—I can see her working it out in her head, so I stroke her back, holding her close, until she figures out what to say.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“What are you thanking me for?”
“I’m going to sound like a total … never mind.”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing. “You better start talking.”
“I’m good.”
I lift a brow.
She plays with the back of my hair, swaying back and forth in my arms. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh at me.”
“I’d never laugh at you.”
“You laugh at me all the time.”
“I laugh with you. I can’t help that you don’t always join in.”
She smacks my chest, rolling her eyes. “Asshole.”
“We’ve already established that I am, in fact, an asshole. So what else do you have to tell me?”
