Page 91 of Catcher

Ruby is standing in front of the bathroom mirror, one hand braced lightly against the counter, staring at her reflection like she doesn’t quite recognize the woman looking back. Steam still clings to the edges of the glass from where the hot water has been running, blurring the bruises just enough to make them look unreal, except I know exactly how real they are. The cut on her lip. The shadows under her eyes. The way exhaustion pulls at her shoulders now that the chaos has finally gone quiet enough for her body to feel every last hit.

I cross the room slower than I mean to and lean against the doorframe, watching her for a beat, hating that somebody put that look on her face and hating even more that that part of her still seems braced for the next blow. “Want to wash the hospital off you?” I ask quietly. My voice comes out rough, scraped raw by anger, adrenaline, and the slow crash after both.

“Yeah,” she whispers finally. She winces when her ribs protest at her movement, and a sharp breath leaves her mouth.

I react, hands settling carefully at her waist. Ruby looks up at me.

Every damn time we get this close, it feels like standing too near lightning.

Like one wrong move, and everything inside me is going to ignite.

Silence settles while steam thickens around us. The mirror fogs over completely. Heat wraps around the room until breathing feels heavier somehow.

Then her fingers move slowly toward the hoodie’s hem before hesitating.

I see the uncertainty there.

Not because she’s being shy.

Because she is hurting.

I step closer. “I got you, babe.”

Her breathing catches slightly, and her eyes flick to mine. “Catcher…”

“I’m helping you.” The words come out rougher than intended. Not forceful. Just… certain. Because taking care of her feels instinctive now.

Like breathing.

Ruby studies me for a long second before finally nodding once.

I carefully ease the hoodie over her head, so it doesn’t tug at her bruised ribs or injured wrist. The second I see the marks beneath her skin, my jaw tightens. Anger flashes hot inside me. Violent enough that my fingers almost curl automatically.

I force it all down.

Right now, this woman needs softness.

Not rage.

I kneel in front of her and help her step out of the sweatpants before carefully guiding her panties down her hips and thighs, slowly and gently so nothing pulls where she’s already hurting.

I stand and help her step into the shower, then I peel off my clothes and toss them into a pile on the floor.

Ruby’s eyes flick lower for half a second before she catches herself. That tiny reaction punches heat low into my gut despite everything.

Because I’m painfully aware of her too.

Every breath she takes.

Every inch of her skin.

I notice how her body reacts, even when she tries to hide it.

But this is about taking care of her and the fact that she is allowing me to do so.

I step into the shower behind her, steam curling thick around both of us while hot water drums against the tile and our skin.

Ruby steps beneath the spray of water, and my hands slide carefully over her shoulders. I reach for the shampoo first, working it slowly between my palms before carefully washing her hair, fingers massaging lightly against her scalp while avoiding the tender knot near the back of her head.