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This is the one thing I can do for him, so I will do it.

I walk a few paces away from the kitchen and its all-too-tempting bottle of whiskey. He moves slowly, willingly. I let out a breath and walk with him down the nearby hall. There are two doors, one shut and one standing ajar. The open one looks into a bathroom, which is what I want. I nudge it open with my shoulder and turn on the light.

It’s small and dingy, but clean and serviceable. I push him toward the tub. “Sit on the edge there.”

He sits with his hands lying open on his thick thighs and I go out of the bathroom to the closet I had seen on the way to the bathroom. I find a couple of washcloths and bring them back to lay them on the closed toilet lid. Poking around under the sink next, I’m surprised and happy to find a first-aid kit.

“Leah must have put that there,” Wolf says. “She stocked the pantry for me.”

“And did she put the whiskey in there?”

He didn’t say anything to that.

I sit down on the other end of the tub wall, my knees wedged against the toilet. I turn the water on in the tub and test it. I almost gasp aloud at how hot it was in an instant, but then I realize the burning is coming from me. My scratches are stinging as the water runs over the dried blood and scabs. Pink goes swirling down the drain.

I wet one of the cloths in the warm water, then pick up one of Wolf’s hands. I start to wipe at the dried blood. His knuckles are cracked, the skin split. The depth of the wounds makes me wince. Any deeper and his bones would be exposed.

He doesn’t react at all even though it must hurt him badly. His scabs soften and begin to bleed anew as I wipe at them.

“Will you tell me what you learned?” I ask softly.

He watches me tending to him with a softness in his eyes. He gradually begins to tell me about his visit to the club’s compound, where he, Edge, and Steel had themselves a little chat with the stalker. I learn his name, Jake Randy, and that he’s responsible for all the things that have happened to me. Except, it’s really Malcolm who is responsible, having paid him to do those things.

“I can’t believe this,” I whisper.

“Can’t you?” Wolf shakes his head as I switch to cleaning off his other hand. “Fucker like him, he’s not going to get his own hands dirty. Like your father.”

That stings, mostly because it’s true.

Then, he tells me what he and Steel are planning to do tomorrow.

It’s my turn to shake my head. “No, no, there’s no need for that. You don’t need to report this. It’s all been handled, hasn’t it? That Jake guy won’t do anything else so you can just send him packing and it will be okay.”

“You can’t stop us from doin’ it. And we’re gonna do it, because it’s what’s best for you.”

A lump of frustration rises into my throat. If they go to the cops, then the cops are going to go to me and then I’ll have to either lie or tell the truth and neither option is good. I close my eyes for a moment. I just don’t want to have to deal with any of this anymore.

Wolf plucks the cloth from my hand and leans around me. His manly scent fills my nostrils as his heat surrounds me. I swallow around that lump in my throat and touch his shoulder, skimming my fingers over the bulging muscle.

Water runs in the tub and he straightens up with the washcloth newly wet. He takes one of my hands now and dabs the cloth against my scraped palm. I hiss between my teeth and he stops right away. “Sorry. I know it ain’t no fun, but you gotta get these clean. Take it from someone who’s been smeared across the road more than a few times. The road is dirty as fuck.”

Here I thought I was going to be the one taking care of him and now the roles are reversed. Or is this mutual care? Is this what he and I were like before? There’s been so much time that it’s hard to remember the calmer, quieter moments of our relationship. I wish I did remember more than just the intense passionate stuff because that’s not all that a relationship is.

Well, what would I know about that, actually?

Maybe right now I need to focus on this very moment and not try to dissect what it means.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask and then forge onward before he can make a smart comment about me having already asked a question. “Why does this place look like you just moved in?”

“Because I did just move in,” he says.

“Oh.”

“I just got out of prison,” he reminds me.

“Oh.”

Wolf tosses the damp cloth into the bottom of the tub and picks up the dry one. He dabs my hands off then his own. He reaches over to pick up the first-aid kit and opens it and takes out an alcohol pad. He pats himself, then me, and the sharp sting feels good in a medicinal kind of way.