Page 101 of The Path to Loving Him
I shake my head. “I can do it myself.”
“Gabby, I’ve seen you naked plenty of times. It’s not a big deal.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t have to be naked.”
“Do you want me to get naked so you feel more comfortable?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That would . . . that would not lead to good things.”
His eyes go dark as he says, “Pretty sure it has led to great things.”
“You know what I mean.” I sigh and hop off the counter. He’s quickly taking my arm and helping me over to the tub. “I can do this myself, Ryland.”
“Just at least let me help you get in the tub. I won’t look. Promise.”
“Ryland, that’s not?—”
“Please, Gabby,” he says with more force. “This was my fucking fault, just let me . . . let me fix it.” His chest grows heavy as our gazes mix. “Stop arguing, and just let me fix it.”
I can see the desperation in his eyes.
The need to be the one who corrects the wrong.
And I can feel that deep in my soul. As the older sibling, the one who’s supposed to be the protector, I know what it means to have this undeniable, itching need to make sure everything is okay.
So I let him.
“Okay,” I say softly.
“Thank you.” He lets go of my hand. “Hold on, let me grab you a towel.”
I stay where I am as the tub fills up. He heads out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where I hear him move some boxes around. When he reappears, he has a tan towel in his hand that looks about thirty years old.
Looking embarrassed, he says, “I, uh, I haven’t gotten to cleaning all the towels.”
“You can always grab mine from the bathroom,” I say. “But that works too.”
“Right, yours, that’ll be better.” He places the towel at the base of the tub and then takes off downstairs.
Wanting to help, I remove my shirt and my shorts. They’re decorated in paint, giving me the sneaky suspicion that these will now be my permanent work clothes. I take my time with my shorts because of how sensitive my flesh is, so when Ryland returns to the bathroom, he finds me standing in my underwear.
His body language immediately shifts.
“I thought I’d get started on the undressing,” I say, not sure how else to address the fact that I’m in my underwear. “I hope that’s okay.”
He sets my towel down and nods. “As long as you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“I didn’t.”
He nods in approval, then tests the water. Seemingly happy, he turns it off, grabs some soap and a washcloth, then brings itover to the tub. “Uh, I should have grabbed your shampoo while I was down there.”
“I can use whatever you have,” I say. “As long as you’re cool with that.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
From his shower, he grabs his shampoo and no conditioner. For a moment, I consider asking him to grab my bottle from my shower, but I have some spray-in conditioner I can use later—at least that’s what I tell myself so he doesn’t have to go back downstairs again.
“Well, the water is ready,” he says.
