Toweling dry is easier today than it ever has been because I don’t have to keep my eyes locked on Ryan’s back wondering if today is going to be the day he turns around, disregarding my privacy before he takes from me what he thinks he’s owed for the help and comfort he’s provided.
Deep in my gut, I know he isn’t that type of man. He’s proved it over and over, so many times I lost count, but it doesn’t stop my traumatized brain from creating scenarios where he turns into the villain and hurts me.
More tears spring from my eyes at the realization that I’ll probably never be able to trust another living person again. That level of awareness brings a wash of sadness, but I straighten my spine as I struggle into fresh clothes. Only moments ago, I resolved myself to do better today than I did yesterday, and it’s too soon to already start back peddling now.
“All done?” Ryan asks from the bed.
He’s lounged back on a pile of pillows with the TV remote sitting in his lap. He’s the epitome of cool and casual, but the way he chews on the inside of his cheek as his eyes scan my body betrays his easy demeanor. He’s not the only one good at reading people.
“I’m good,” I tell him, knowing that the first part of my getting-better plan needs to include more talking.
I’ve avoided all forms of conversation, afraid that speaking will lead to questions because people will think that I’m ready to talk about what happened. What they don’t know is that day will never come. I want to burn those memories from my brain, not talk out loud about them.
“I’m next,” he says as he pops off the bed and slides past me to head into the bathroom for his own shower. “Give me five minutes, and then I’ll go get us breakfast.”
We literally switch places; him in the shower and me against the pillows as I flip through dozens of channels, finding absolutely nothing to watch.
The water shuts off, but before he has enough time to dress, the bathroom door cracks open, releasing a puff of steam around Ryan.
His head pokes out, and I’m struck speechless. I can’t focus on his face because the sight of his bare shoulder hypnotizes me. He’s rock-solid, and even though he’s worked out in the room while I watched, he’s always had a shirt on. He’s always been clothed, but right now, as my eyes trail down his side, it’s clear he’s only wrapped in a fluffy towel.
My fingers begin to tremble when he shifts his weight, my eyes darting to the bedroom door that leads into the hallway, and that sadness I felt in the bathroom earlier returns since my first instinct is to get away from him. He’s too close to naked, too close to revealing the parts of a man’s body that’s designed to take a woman.
“Mia?”
Tears bead on my lashes as my eyes meet his.
“What’s wrong?” He swings the door open, gripping his towel at the waist and walks a few steps deeper into the room.
“Please don’t,” I beg, cringing further away with every inch he draws closer.
“Fuck,” he spits. “I’m not going to hurt you. I forgot my clothes.”
Without another word, he turns toward the closet, closing the door behind him, and it seems like an eternity before the door opens again to reveal him fully dressed with a cautious look on his face.
“It won’t happen again,” he tells me, standing on the other side of the room and giving me enough space to get things right in my head again. “Our routine was thrown off this morning. I just forgot my clothes.”
“It’s fine,” I mumble.
“It’s not. I know your brain won’t let you trust, and I get that, but please know I’d never hurt you.”
“I know,” I tell him, and in some place, deep in my heart, I do know that, or at least I want to believe that, but today isn’t that day, unfortunately.
“Did you want me to go make breakfast?” He gives me a weak smile, knowing that morning time is when I’m the hungriest. My appetite wanes as the day goes by, and I’m certain it has everything to do with the stress building up over the daylight hours.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Can I go with you?”
I give him my best practiced smile, hoping he buys it when really the four walls of the bedroom feel like they’re closing in on me for the first time. Normally, I find sanctuary in here, but today it’s just too much.
“Really?” A genuine grin spreads across his face. “I’d love that.”
My hand trembles in his as we step out into the hallway, but as always, he’s patient with me, letting me stop and listen to the sounds of the building before taking another step down the hall.
“It’s going to be pretty quiet today. Most of the guys will be sleeping off hangovers from the party last night,” Ryan explains as we inch our way toward the kitchen.
I freeze on the threshold of the kitchen, but the man in the corner doesn’t even look up from his coffee cup as we enter. Ryan uses a bent knuckle to nudge my head up.
“Eggs and bacon?” he asks as if the two of us standing in the kitchen is an everyday occurrence instead of it being my first time venturing out this far since I got here over a week ago.
“Eggs and toast?” I counter.
If he’s disappointed, his face doesn’t show it. Bacon takes too long to cook, and I don’t know how long I’m going to be able to stand being in here.
“Why don’t you make our coffee.” He points to the station that’s thankfully on the opposite side of the room from where the guy is sitting. “That’s Jinx. He won’t bother you. The man doesn’t even speak until his third cup of coffee. I like mine black with a little sugar.”
With a gentle hand at the small of my back, Ryan urges me in the direction of the already brewed coffee. The station is set off to itself, but it’s on an island as if these guys need space around the entire thing to line up and serve themselves. I’m grateful because it allows me to stand on the far side and keep an eye on the entire room as I make our cups.
As I’m reaching for the sugar, another man walks in. He’s shirtless with pajama pants that are only staying up by the juts of his hips. He doesn’t seem to notice me as he rubs his eyes, but his destination is clear.
The sugar jar, glass with a metal lid like the ones you’d find at a hotel or diner, falls from my hand, clanking on the granite countertop of the coffee station.
The guy walking toward me looks up, freezing like he’s been struck, but thankfully the noise also draws Ryan’s attention.
“Rocker,” Ryan snaps, “go get dressed.”
“Sorry,” the man mutters, looking sincerely apologetic for startling me. “Good morning, Mia.”
He turns around and leaves without another word.
“Don’t forget a little sugar in mine,” Ryan says as he situates himself in front of the huge stove.
He doesn’t make a big deal out of my negative reaction to his friend. He acts as if nothing happened at all.
I nod, picking the sugar jar back up and sprinkling a little into his coffee before using a wooden stir stick to mix it well. My raging pulse and the spike of adrenaline makes me rush to his side, but I somehow manage doing so without spilling any of the coffee on my hands or the floor.
“Scrambled okay?”