Beverly sighed, dropped the washcloth on the floor, and pulled my shirt over my head.

“B—” I started, but she was already rolling her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she muttered under her breath, tossing my shirt aside. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen you shirtless before. You’ve been shirtless around me more times than I can count.”

I blinked at her.

I had no comeback.

Ignoring my stunned silence, Beverly unbuttoned her pink cardigan, letting it slide off her shoulders before reaching for the hem of her white top.

I looked away, focusing on the beige tiles beneath my feet.

“Come on,” she said, her voice softer now. “Get in.”

“In? In what?”

“In the bathtub, Blake.”

I risked a glance at her. “Are you sure you⁠—”

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “You’re covered in blood, I’m sore, and frankly, I don’t care anymore.” She paused, then added with a raised brow, “Unless you’re scared?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the challenge in her tone or the way her eyes never left mine that made my heart beat a little faster.

Still, I stripped down to my boxers and stepped into the tub. The hot water stung at first, my cuts and bruises burning like fire. But then I relaxed. The warmth seeped into my muscles, dulling the pain just enough to make me forget how much I hurt.

Beverly joined me, settling across from me. Her skin was flushed from the heat, her hair damp from the steam, and she sighed like she had never been more exhausted in her life.

“I was going to take a bath anyway,” she said with a sigh, more to herself than to me. “My cramps are killing me.”

I wanted to say something comforting, to acknowledge it somehow, but what could I offer? Words never seemed to be enough. It wasn’t like I could take her pain away.

She stretched one foot out, pressing it against my chest, nudging me lightly. “You okay?”

I let my head rest against the cool tile. “Sure.”

Beverly tilted her head, watching me for a second before pressing her foot harder against my chest.

I grabbed her ankle before she could do it again. She sucked in a quiet breath as I rubbed slow, firm circles over the arch of her foot, kneading the muscle.

She didn’t pull away, letting me work my hands over her ankle, then up her calf.

Her lashes fluttered. She wouldn’t admit it, but she loved this.

I moved to her other foot, carefully repeating the motion, and she let her head rest against the edge of the tub, her eyelids heavy with relaxation. “You’re not getting out of this bath until I say so,” she said, her voice quieter now.

“I’m not exactly in a rush, B.”

She hummed softly. “I like it when you listen.”