'But hold your breath

Because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you

Over again

Don't make me change my mind.'

*ALTHEA'S POV*

October 30, 2023.

"We do have many clients indeed, and... that's why we only have one room left."

The credit card slipped from my hand upon these words, though I doubted the loud thump echoing around was from its fall on the carpet floor, and I didn't check actually, instead holding the counter with a too-tight grip as I asked,

"With t-two beds or maybe a couch?"

"No, only a double bed, and unfortunately, we used all our spare beds for some large families," the receptionist replied with another sympathetic smile, which didn't help me swallow his answer, nor did the discount he offered.

The problem was still the same: one bed, Asher and I, a late hour making it impossible to go home tonight, the two previous hotels we'd passed already displaying 'full' on their front door, and although Charlotte's foster parents had offered us to stay at their house, we couldn't impose on them when they already welcomed half of their family for the night.

Thus, there was only one possible answer.

"I can sleep on the floor," Asher suggested, letting me guess the distress brewing in my insides was showing outside, even under all the colors covering me.

Just like not even the strain at the left corner of his mouth could stop the grin spreading until his eyes when I announced,

"No, it's fine. We can both sleep in the bed. Double is large enough, and we're both adults."

Besides, it wasn't the first time we shared a bed, and I was reminded of all these times as soon as I glimpsed the bed.

Well, there was nothing special or particularly familiar about the bed, nor its simple white sheets, the small round table surrounded by two chairs, the pale taupe walls, the carpet with flower print... But they were enough to bring back too many memories, especially when I crossed Asher's devious gaze.

"Gotta warn you if you still take the left side, my left arm has involuntary reflexes at night."

"I can take any side. It's like you want," I replied, the words sounding perfectly innocent in my head, yet the second they landed under his lifted eyebrow, they turned into more flashbacks, which I quickly tried to shake away. "Anyway, shouldn't we worry about the bathroom first, before we make a mess on the white sheets? With the colors I mean..."

Did every word twist on my tongue, or was it his green eyes spinning them?

It seemed like an egg or chicken question as the conversation continued.

"You go first?"

"Why me? Isn't it ladies first always?"

"Because you're dirtier." In more ways than one, and hopefully, the water would wash away the dirty thoughts I glimpsed in his clear gaze at the same time as the colors. "You're covered in more powder than me."

"And whose fault is it? You were two 'gainst me. Four hands against one." He narrowed his eyes at me, although it didn't dim the twinkle of mischief shining there, brighter than all the yellow and red covering his face. "How's that fair?"

"Because you never miss your aim." I gestured down my body, as if the orange stains didn't call enough attention, his attention.

"It's easy when you know your target by heart." He shrugged, pushing the wheel of his chair towards the bathroom, and if I could blame the narrow space for his hand grazing my legs as he passed me by, I couldn't say the same for his gaze, whose brush was more intent, trailing up and down every inch of my silhouette like an artist admiring his latest painting.

I could even catch the same proud sparkle in the green shades before he disappeared behind the sliding door of the bathroom, completely ignoring my offer to help if he needed anything.

"I can handle," he assured, and it was what I told myself too as I stared at the bed before me, inhaling a deep waft of air, which was already pervaded in his musky scent.

It was only one night, a few hours, where we would both be sleeping, or at least, trying to. It wouldn't be much different from the day, except we would be lying and... Did he still sleep naked?

No, no. I quickly shook the flashbacks away from my head, focusing on the change of white pajamas the hotel had provided especially for the festival.

Asher may have been devious sometimes—most of the time—but he was always respectful, and I didn't doubt him one second, not even with the involuntary movements of his arm.

As for myself, I could—

I couldn't even take another breath when a familiar trail of curse words echoed from the bathroom, too quickly followed by a loud thud. Loud enough to drown out my worries about Asher's nakedness as I rushed through the bathroom door, almost crashing into his empty wheelchair.

All I saw was his standing figure, the fragile balance of his left shoulder leaning against the outside of the shower stall, which looked ready to give out, and only once I'd slipped my arm around his back, did I notice his open shirt and the surge of fiery tingles sparking from the contact of his bare skin until my face.

Even so, it didn't last long, since he jumped away as soon as I asked,

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. S'just that stupid soap dish that gave out." He nodded towards the shower stall, as his right hand was busy grasping the edge of the sink to support himself.

At least, it was one of the advantages of the narrow space: everything was within hand-reach to hold, although none of the pieces of furniture around looked solid enough to counterbalance the negative points I took one by one as my gaze traveled around the four cream walls... The height of the toilet, the curb of the shower cubicle, the confined space of the shower that couldn't fit a wheelchair, not even a normal chair—if they ever had been something else than the two plush seats in the bedroom—and the angled assist bar under the two-high valve.

Three weeks ago, I surely wouldn't have noticed all these details, but now, it appeared like flashing red lights.

"Aren't hotels supposed to have disability access?"

"In some dreamland maybe, but not in our country."

It was so unfair and dangerous.

However, the revolt clenching at my chest would have to wait because I needed my breath to face Asher's scowl once I'd picked up the soap holder from the floor.

"Do you need some—"

"No, told you I can handle," he muttered, turning towards the shower again and intending to step into the stall.

He didn't do it, though.

He could have, with some luck and a bit less fatigue, yet his gaze running around the narrow cubicle, he probably pictured the same thing I did.

What would he do once inside, with water and slippery soap? If he even managed to get shower gel when his one available hand was needed to hold him to the bar.

"I'll wash at the sink."

"Asher... Look at yourself." I sighed, pointing at the mirror because while he was now facing his reflection, his eyes were only on me. "You're covered in colors from head to toe. You won't be able to get rid of everything from this small sink. Let me—"

"No," he cut off, sounding like a capricious kid, even though his voice resonated deeper and hoarser through his clenched teeth. "You're not my nurse."

"I'm not, but I'm your... friend?" The word wavered like a question as I crossed his piercing gaze through the mirror, the green shades too fiery to look friendly at this instant.

Yet I continued, "It's just once. Call it landing a hand, like Carol and your mom helped me sew the kids' costumes, like we helped Kylie and Paxton to bring Cuciolo to the vet. People help each other all the time. So let me help you this time."

"And me what do I do for you in return?" He whipped round so fast that my head was spinning, the only thing seeming to pin me in place being his penetrating gaze, which appeared fiercer without the mirror between us.

"You... You've taken me here, helped me reunite with Charlotte and spend a magical day. It's even because of me that you're here covered in colors."

"No, that was already supposed to be a gift to thank you for ev'rything you've done in the past weeks. You keep helping me, and I... I'm fucking useless."

Here we were again. Back to the same conversation we'd had the morning after I'd found out about his lies. Nothing much had changed.

Well, actually, a lot had changed, as he was now towering in front of me, standing on his two legs, even if with a fragile balance, and his seething arguments fired straight out of his strained lips, making them even sharper as they pierced through my ribcage.

Nevertheless, he was still too blinkered by the same false beliefs to see all of this, and even less reason.

He'd gone as far as faking his death, so it wouldn't be some color powder that would make him blink, nor the protests climbing up my throat with the loud thumps of my heart.

Arguing with him would lead nowhere, and we were both too tired, covered in colors, and... in need of a shower.

Something lit up in my head upon this thought. I wasn't sure if it was an idea or a flashing warning sign, but it was as bright as the orange stains all over my reflection.

"What if... What if I need help to wash my back too?"

At least, it smoothed his frown, his creased eyebrows slowly arching like two question marks for the question I glimpsed in his clear gaze.

Where was I going with this?

Surely straight toward a disaster, but the words were out before I could think, and not even my erratic heart rate could catch up with them.

"I land you a hand. You land me one too. This way, we're both helping each other get cleaned. Seems fair to you?"

He tilted his head, considering the idea for an instant, or maybe undressing me in his mind. Both weren't much different actually, sending the same shiver of warning down my spine as I lifted my finger.

"But we keep our underwear, of course."

"Knew that was too good to be true..." He chuckled, the tensions in his jaw relaxing slightly, and like every time, they traveled to me when we started to undress, the task appearing as laborious for me as it was for him.

And sadly, I didn't have magnetic buttons or velcro fasteners as the reality of what I'd dragged myself into hit me with each piece of clothing my shaky fingers struggled to take off.

My sneakers... I would help him get cleaned... My socks... He would help me wash my back... My jeans... We would shower together... My tank top... I was almost naked... My watch... He was almost naked... My diamond ring... We were about to touch each other almost naked...

To think I'd been dreading sharing a bed with him... Standing with my arms crossed over my stomach in only my bralette and panties, I realized how insignificant it had been. Insignificant in comparison with this.

Here, there was no wonder if I would fall asleep or not, as all my nerve endings awakened in a trail of goosebumps under his burning gaze. I didn't have to worry about the involuntary movements of his left arm when I was the one reaching out to help him get up from his wheelchair again. And all of this was just before stepping into the stall, which was much narrower than a bed, no room for a barrier of pillows, only the faint stream of hot water thickening the already suffocating air between us.

For a long instant, we stayed like this, each on one end of the small cubicle, dry, unmoving, and safe, not even our gazes flickering away from each other for fear of slipping.

And as always, he was the first to take the plunge, cautiously leaning closer to the flow of water as he rasped,

"You sure?"

"Yes, it's just... a shower."

Although the washcloth in my shaky hand felt heavier than just water and shower gel as I lifted it towards his face.

I wiped his forehead first, making sure no color powder could leak in his eyes, even if I doubted anything could blur the intense jade as he observed me attentively, following my every move as I descended the ridge of his nose... his cheeks... the indents of each of his dimples...

I focused inch by inch; it was easier this way, to not skip a dot of colors and more unsteady beats of my heart.

As if I were climbing down a mountain, I couldn't think about the way I still had to go, and even less risk a glance down.

Though he resembled more a volcano, rumbling quietly as he stepped right under the stream of water, tilting his head back with his eyes closed in a deceptive expression of serenity, while I could sense the mix of tensions and thrumming blood brewing inside.

It wasn't helping that some yellow and red had slipped to the sweet spot underneath the left side of his jaw. Well, it had been his sweet spot when we'd been together, and he hadn't lost sensitivity here, judging by the bob of his Adam's apple when I softly brushed the washcloth here, the strong echo of his heart rate traveling until my fingertips.

It was almost in sync with mine, at least until I approached the trickiest slope, at the top of his chest.

However, it wasn't for the expected reason that my heart halted.

"They're ugly, aren't they?" he murmured, his eyes still closed, and his voice almost drowned under the quiet flow of water.

Yet it crashed through my chest like a tsunami, restarting my heart at a pace as fragile and unsteady as the patches of skin before my eyes.

"No." I shook my head, even if he couldn't see me as he kept his eyes pinched closed like a kid terrified to face the monster under his bed. "I love them."

This made him open his eyes. Unless it was the spark between our skins as I grazed one of his many scars?

By now, I already knew a few by heart from the peek his clothes let out. But here, I was gazing at the whole story, my finger tracing the uneven line from behind his right ear all the sinuous way down until the middle of his chest, almost reaching his heart, like a reminder of how everything had only been hanging on a thin thread.

"They're proof of what you've survived."

He was still here; it was all I saw, along with each mark, even the smallest dots—probably from shards of the shattered windshield—moving with the heavy rises and falls of his ribcage, while the mix of water, colors, and soap trickling down his torso made them shine like an infinite of stars.

They felt like it too under my fingertips, the heat of his wet skin sending trails of fire along my nerves.

The washcloth was long abandoned as my fingers glided across his tensing muscles, every line and edge, every hollow and bump... Above the elastic band of his boxers.

The second I grazed the damp strip of fabric, my hand jumped away, and my heart too. However, my gaze wasn't as fast, and I could absorb clearly why keeping our underwear wasn't my best idea.

It wasn't like swimwear, and once soaked, the fabric stuck to the skin, hugging every bulge and peak...

"I... I think it's your turn." I cleared my throat, taking in how much steam had formed in the narrow stall.

And yet, the glint in his darkening eyes still flashed bright as they flickered to my chest, where the flimsy fabric of my bralette was getting wet too.

"How do you want it?" he asked, the question half-mischievous, just like his smirk as the right corner of his mouth smoothed up, while the other side stayed strained, held by a string of tension that tugged until his left hand as he tried to grab the assist bar.

He had gained a lot of movement in his arm with the physiotherapy, but from there to be able to hold his entire weight on it while he used his right hand, it was something else.

His balance already wavered when I replied,

"Touch me with your left hand."

"What?" He snapped his head towards me again, the contrast with how slowly he dragged his tongue along his lips to lick away any droplet making me sway on my two legs too.

"I mean... use your left hand to wash my back."

At this point, I wasn't sure who was the most unsteady—and the amount of shower gel I shakily poured onto his hand wasn't helping. But strangely, we found a delicate balance between my hand, pulling his towards my shoulder as I turned around, and his strained fingers, tugging on all my nerve endings at the first wobble of touch.

"Won't be as smooth as you." He let out something between a frustrated groan and a chuckle as he battled to steer his hand across my shoulders, and I slipped my ponytail away just in time before his fingers could get stuck into my strands.

"No, it's perfect."

Of course, it wasn't smooth; nothing had ever been with him, and every brush of his rugged fingers seared me more than the stream of burning hot water pouring down my back. Still, I could sense the thorough intention behind each of his shallow breaths hitting the nape of my neck and in every trembling stroke of his knuckles.

Even when his hand slipped down my left arm, his grasp of my wrist almost felt deliberate, and the same way I'd traced his scars, he drew invisible shapes on the soft, immaculate skin.

A semi-colon? An infinite sign? Some kind of hieroglyph from a mystic language?

I wasn't sure, yet my heart understood, thrumming loudly as I watched the mix of water, colors, soap, and a tear disappear down the drain, and with them, the emotions of the last few hours... the last few weeks... the last three years, seven months, and 21 days.

Maybe even more... as I didn't know how long we stayed inside this shower, the thick steam sheltering us from the rest of the world, but it could have been forever, if his leg hadn't given out at some point when we washed our hair.

So... I bet you didn't expect this with the one bedroom trope.😏 Sharing a shower is better than a bed, don't you think? 🔥🔥

This chapter has been brewing in my mind since I started the story, and I'm so excited it's finally out!! I hope it brought you as many feels as it did for me! 😍

If so don't forget to vote ⭐ and comment all your thoughts!!

Also, get ready because next chapter will also be packed with emotions 🤭🤫 Though it won't be out until more than two weeks because I'm leaving for vacation on Saturday 😎! I promise to make it worth the wait!

I love you, my little peaches! And remember that scars visible or invisible are like stars, making you shine brighter and stronger ✨.