Page 78 of Austin

To look at sand in a jar is like looking at a picture. You see the place you’ve been, but you can’t see or smell or feel. The details get faded—sometimes, for the worse. Sand needs to be free. You should crush it into your palm and remember the warmth of the sun as you slid your feet into the heated sand and breathed in the fresh sea air.

I place the bottle back on the table and look over to Austin’s open bedroom door. I pad over to peek in, but he’s not there. The sound of running water has me looking toward the master bathroom.

When I glance in the room, he’s sitting on the side of the bathtub, his hands covering his face and his body shaking.

After softly closing the door behind me, I walk to him, wrap my hands around his head, and bring his face into my stomach, praying to God I can give him the strength he needs right now.

After he takes a few breaths, his arms work their way up my legs, and he tightly holds on to me as he sobs into my body. Tears run down my cheeks for this man who must have been through so much and seems to have kept it all in this entire time.

Once he’s able to calm down, I lean over and plug the bath, hoping, if we get him inside, it will help relieve the tension of today.

I adjust the water temperature and watch as the steam rises. Austin keeps his vision straight forward, staring into my shirt, as I loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt.

He tilts his head up, and when his red-rimmed eyes meet mine, I have to take a deep breath to keep my composure. He looks so scared, so tired, but mainly … broken. I’ve had my fair share of dealing with broken men, but never before have I been in love with one.

Falling for someone is an exhilarating ride. Not knowing whether you’ll crash at the bottom or be caught in a forever kind of love is absolutely petrifying.

Right now, I’m not entirely sure how I’ll land.

After removing his shirt completely, I put my hands under his arms and motion lifting him to get him to stand. His eyes meet mine as I unbuckle his pants and drop them to his ankles. The hunger, sadness, and fear I see reflecting back at me gives me the strength I need to be here for him.

I’ve known him only a short time, but what I do know is, he has no one he can truly lean on, and I want to be that person.

I reach down, taking off each shoe. Then, I slip his pants and boxers off completely before guiding him into the bathtub.

As he turns to climb in, I see his beautiful back, which is scarred with dark red marks going all the way down his spine. He drops to his knees, facing me, and places his arms on the side of the tub with his head down.

The tub has a shower wand attached to it, so I lift it up, running water down his back. He lifts his head, placing his hands on the sides of my arms, and pulls me into him, so his forehead is lying on my chest.

The grip he has on my arms and the slight shudder of his shoulders almost break me. I close my eyes and pray I can be everything he needs.

I grab a loofah and dip it into the hot water. Then, I raise it to his back and squeeze the water onto one of his scars.

“How badly were you injured?” I say barely above a whisper.

I can’t see his face, but I can feel his back rising and then freezing.

“Shrapnel from the IED lodged into my back. I had the best doctors in the world, making sure I was okay.”

I watch the water trickle down the next scar. It’s jagged and raised, a badge of courage on my wounded veteran. Now, I know why he wore his shirt to bed. “I didn’t see these last night, but I wish I had. They’re beautiful.”

His breath hitches as I lean forward and lay a kiss on his shoulder.

“Missy came with my father to see me in the hospital. She told me she had the best plastic surgeon in New York who could make my back smooth again.”

My knees press into the tiled floor as I lean further, and I squeeze more water on his lower back. “She’s an idiot.”

“I told her no. They’re my scars. My penance.”

“Why don’t you want people to know you were one of the men Sergeant Miller saved?”

He takes a deep breath and shrugs. “I just needed to process everything on my own. I didn’t want all the attention or people looking at me differently. I didn’t want to drive attention back to him when he’s been in hiding all this time.”

“How do you feel now?” I run the loofah over another scar.

Deep breaths come and go from his lungs until he finally says, “Tired.” His entire body deflates. “I’m so fucking tired.”

I grip his shoulders and lay my cheek against his skin. “From what?”