I took my meds, and ate a stir fry that Lucas put in front of me, and thanked him very much. I tried to help him load the dishwasher, but he shooed me away and finished up himself, and I watched him through tired eyes, realising all over again just how hard it would be to ever let him go.
I could never let him go.
Not again.
He showered with me, and wrapped me up in a towel, but he didn’t give me a running commentary on every little movement I should make.
He lit up a cigarette for me, smoked alongside me, and didn’t have a word to say on what I should or shouldn’t be doing for my health.
He was just him.
I was just me.
And we loved each other just for what we were. No conditions. No disapproval. No illusions.
He was so warm at my side in bed, legs twisted in mine and his arm so strong around my shoulder. My face was in his, breath against breath, and it felt so right.
Everything about us felt so right.
My brain was too tired to spin and churn, and my breathing slowed as I relaxed, skin to skin and heat to heat… and slowly… slowly and surely, I drifted off to sleep with him at my side.
“I love you, Anna,” he whispered, when I was right on the edge of my dreams, and I whispered back, nothing more than a ghost of a reply, but one that meant the world.
“I love you, Lucas. I always will.”
Sleep ate me up and held me as tight as he did. Dreams were a blur, and I needed them. I needed every scrap of rest I could get.
When I jolted back awake, the light was streaming in through the window, and he was still asleep at my side, breathing steady.
But I wasn’t breathing steady. Not when I thrust my hand down between my thighs under the covers.
I was wet.
The bed was wet.
I’d wet the bed with Lucas next to me, and I felt the panic. The disgust. The shame.
He must have felt me struggling to get out of bed and get the dirty sheets away from him when he opened his eyes and came to his senses.
I was apologising, asking him to please roll over and I’d clean up.
I promise I’ll clean up. I promise, Lucas. I promise. Just please roll over and give me the sheets.
But he wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t move a muscle to free the sheets for me.
His arms were reaching out, pulling me in so tight and warm and wrapping my wet thighs in his, rolling further into the dirty wet sheets I’d spoiled.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, and I was fighting back the tears. “I’m really, really sorry.”
He shook his head, and held me even tighter, and told me never to apologise again, because I’d never need to apologise to him. Not ever again in this life.
My heart was thumping, and my tears were ready, and I was still so sorry for the wetness in the sheets, and on him, and on me.
I was still ready to jump out and fix things, and strip the bed and make it right again, but he didn’t let me go when I made to pull away.
“I’ll sort it out,” I told him, but he shook his head again, and his eyes were full of love, and care.
And then he kissed me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lucas
Shame.
Embarrassment.
Self-consciousness.
All things I never wanted to see in Anna.
I held her close, and her squirms turned to tension. Until I kissed her.
I kissed her deep and hard, like the Anna I loved, and nothing whatsoever like the china doll she was afraid of being. I kissed her like the man who wanted her body and her heart, no matter how dirty or raw they came. I pulled away for long enough to check the tears weren’t flowing, and her eyes were open wide, still shocked in the moment – but there were no tears to be seen.
So I kissed her again.
“I need to clean up,” she murmured mouth to mouth, but I had no interest in that.
My fingers took on a life of their own as they slipped down between her thighs and found her warm and wet, panties soaked right through.
I didn’t care in the slightest.
I knew how to circle my thumb, and she murmured louder, her mouth still pressed to mine.
“I can clean up,” she insisted, but I smiled against her lips.
“You’ll never need to clean up for me,” I told her, and slowly,