Page 39 of Cross the Line
His gaze softened. Or maybe that was recognition. For a moment, we weren't Carlson and Hawley. Rivals forced together by circumstance. We were just two people. One helping the other through suffering.
"You'd do the same."
Would I? Before today, I might have doubted it. But now, feeling the deliberate strength in his grip as he supported me, I thought perhaps I would.
"Still, not how I expected this day to end."
His lips quirked slightly. "What, being bathed like a child?"
"Being taken care of." The correction slipped out before I could stop it.
Hawley's palms stilled for a heartbeat. Then he reached past me for the shampoo. His arm brushed mine. Sent an unexpected shiver through me that had nothing to do with the water temperature.
Chapter 16: The Boy in the Photograph
Ryan
"Turn around. Your hair needs washing too."
I complied. Closed my lids as his hands worked through my hair. Strong and thorough. For someone so intimidating, his contact could be surprisingly gentle. I leaned into it without meaning to. My usual defensiveness washed away by discomfort and exhaustion and the strange intimacy of the moment.
I leaned into the spray. Grateful for the hot water washing away the laneway's grime. Hawley's palms traced methodically across my shoulders. Scrubbing away dirt with clinical efficiency. I noticed how deliberately he avoided anything below my waist. Kept his contact professional. The fact that he skipped my more private areas without comment made this strange situation almost bearable. Almost.
The painkillers were hitting me hard now. Made the edges of the world soft and distant. Steam swirled around us. Transformed the small bathroom into something dreamlike. Iswayed slightly. Hawley's grip immediately steadied me. His palm warm against my shoulder.
"Careful."
I stood under the spray with my lids closed. Let the water cascade over my face. It was easier not to look. Not to acknowledge the bizarre intimacy of having my taciturn roommate washing blood and grime from my skin. His palms traced patterns across my shoulders. Down my spine. Around the tender spots where bruises were forming, with contact so light it barely registered as pressure. Just the ghost of sensation.
The gentleness surprised me. Everything about Hawley suggested harshness. His clipped speech. His rigid posture. His sheer strength. The way he navigated the world like he was braced for impact. Yet his palms told a different story. One of care and precision.
"Why do they call you 'The Bear'?" The question slipped out before I could reconsider. Maybe hoping conversation would distract from the unusual circumstance we found ourselves in.
Hawley's grip paused momentarily on my arm before continuing. The silence stretched long enough that I thought he might not answer.
"Because I'm big, quiet, and best left alone." The response came neutral. With an undercurrent that suggested there was more to the story.
I opened my lids. Blinked away water droplets. "That's the official version?"
His palms worked through my hair again. Rinsing out the last of the shampoo. "Official enough."
"And the unofficial version?" I pressed. Oddly determined to extract something personal from this man who revealed so little.
"Depends who you ask." His fingers worked through a tangle with unexpected care. "Some say it's because I hibernate,disappear for days when I'm working a case. Others think it's because I'm dangerous when cornered."
There was something in his tone. A bitter edge. It made me wonder who had cornered him. And what had happened afterward.
"And what do you think?"
His stare met mine through the steam. Dark and unreadable. "I think nicknames are for people who don't know how to see what's actually there."
Hawley reached past me to shut the water off. Droplets traced paths down my skin as he reached for a towel and handed it to me.
"Can you manage?"
I nodded. Wrapped the towel around my waist with my good palm. The action sent a sharp sting through my ribs. Forced a hiss between my teeth. Hawley noticed, of course he did, and stepped closer again. His grip finding my elbow to steady me.
"Sit." He guided me to the closed toilet lid.
