Page 76 of Call You Mine
I keep my voice low, as if whispering will keep this moment from getting too real. “I’m washing your hair.”
He slightly opens one eye, his lips curving to one side before he closes it again. “Yes, I gathered that.”
There’s no light in the shower, and the deep gray tiles make the space much darker. Seeing his chiseled chin, his blushing cheeks, his full lips—dripping with water in a way that belongs in an art museum—as he looks down at me has my body forgetting that this isn’t the middle of the night; this isn’t one of the nights I’ve stolen with him; this isn’t losingmyself in the feeling of him to help get myself out of my head.
But it’s just as fake as those moments.
Because now, we’re pretending they meant something.
And at the time, I was pretending they didn’t.
“Then why did you ask?” I use my hands to gently wipe away the bubbles gathering on his face.
“Forgive me, because I am fucking exhausted and part of me thinks I’m hallucinating, but I didn’t realize this was something we did together.”
I can’t help but chuckle, and Anderson’s lips curve at the sound, his eyes still closed. I grab the conditioner and lather it in my hands. There are enough lies surrounding us, so I decide to go with the truth. “Something tells me you’re not used to being taken care of.” I run my fingers through his hair.
“I’d argue the same goes for you,” he says.
I snort. “Deflecting doesn’t suit you, sunshine. You’re too handsome.”
“Careful,” he squeezes my waist. “I’m too tired to pretend right now. And you don’t want me pouring my heart out to you.” He says it like a joke, but I can’t ignore the truth he layers into the words.
Pretend.
But right now, in the darkness of this shower—my fingers tangled in his hair, the way he’s holding onto my waist as if I’m the only thing keeping him standing—I want something to be real. “What did you talk about with your uncle?”
Anderson sighs as I rinse out the conditioner from his hair. My palms find his shoulders, just under where the stream of the shower hits him directly. He doesn’t answer at first, keeping his eyes closed.
After a few moments, he lets go of me, wiping the water from his eyes, and I miss the contact immediately. The waterstill runs warm, but I feel my body go cold, rejection stinging my insides.
But then, he opens his eyes, settling his hands on my hips, and I notice how bloodshot they are. The caramel of his irises doesn’t have the usual shine within them, and it causes a crack in my chest.
I may call him “sunshine” as a way to get under his skin, a nickname I know he doesn’t like.
And it fits.
But I’m learning it’s not just because of his attitude or his personality.
It’s because he’s like the sun—unhurried, inevitable.
Steady in a way that doesn’t ask anything from me.
I don’t have to look for him to know he’s there.
And maybe that’s what has been slowly undoing me since I asked him to play along and he did without hesitation. There’s a quiet certainty to him, the way he keeps coming back, the way he doesn’t make me earn his constancy.
Even when I’m not sure I deserve something so unwavering.
And seeing him in this kind of light—letting me be someone he leans on—slices something open in my chest. It’s different from the way I’ve always taken care of everyone else. With my sisters. With my mom. With Rumi and Evee. Even with Emerson.
I take care of them because I want to. Because I have to. Because loving them has always meant being the strong one. The one that holds it all together in ways they don’t even realize.
But this feels different.
There isn’t any obligation, instinct, or survival.
It’s not me bracing myself to carry the weight.
