I could have done something more. I should have pulled people out with me.

His hand touches my shoulder, keeping me down. “No. The only person’s safety you need to worry about is your own.”

“I know it’s stupid to say”—I laugh sardonically—“but I really didn’t think something like this could ever happen to me.”

He licks his lips. “No one ever does, Lauren. That’s how it always goes.”

Slade turns around, and I swipe the tears falling down my face with warm bath water. He sifts through puffy white towels, searching for something. When he doesn’t find whatever he’s looking for, he leaves the bathroom.

“Hello. I need hand towels please.” Pause. “What do you mean, you’ve run out? I need one.” Pause. “No, I can’t use the large ones.” Pause. “Forget it.” The phone slams.

Coming back into the bathroom, he’s rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s hard to use a huge towel in a tub. It gets wet and heavy. It will be hard for you to clean yourself up. It’s all right. Just lift your leg up for me.”

“I can do it myself,” I whisper.

My stomach churns when I remember my legs are bloodied. That’s why he pulled off my underwear. He was trying to spare me the view.

Oh my God.

“Let me clean you. Don’t be afraid, okay?”

I can only blink.

Trusting him, I raise my left leg against the edge of the tub, cringing at the blackness strewed about my legs.

“Just close your eyes. Don’t look at it.”

He grabs the soap from the edge of the tub, and my eyes screw shut. The towel presses warmly against my leg. I open my eyes, unable to stop myself from looking at Slade. Slightly open-mouthed and face in concentration, he wipes the towel against my skin. Cleaning me with careful strokes.

Bending forward, he asks, “How is your arm?”

“It hurts.”

Moving the edge of the towel up higher and higher, he reaches the juncture between my thighs. My body quivers.

“They’re scraped up. I see bruising starting to form on the right. Can you lift your left arm for me?” He coats the corner of the towel again with soap.

I do as he said, letting him wipe off evidence of the night. How can a man so huge be so gentle?

He moves methodically, as though he’s done this all before. I want to ask if he has. With hands so sure, without any trembling or fear, it’s as though he was born for this role. Slade moves, walks, and stands with utter assurance.

I’ll take care of everything; his body seems to say.

Soon, I’ll be clean. And then we’re going to sleep. And then I’ll wake up and say good-bye.

No! my mind shouts.

His large form looms over mine as he turns the hot water back on. The sound batters against the older water. “Warmer?”

I want to stretch out my arms and tell him to come inside with me. I want to feel him, his body, and his stability.