Page 83 of Your Masked Haunting

Once the shampoo is gone from both of our heads, I move on to the conditioner, taking extra care applying it to her hair with another massage before adding some to my hair.

As the conditioner sets, I lather up a loofah, running it all over every inch of her body, sneaking a few tickles into the routine just to hear her giggle. I start mine next, but she steals it from me, cleaning up and down my body as best she can. And by the time I finish rinsing the conditioner out of both our hair, she’s putty in my hands.

“You know, I could get used to this.”

“Oh, really?” I chuckle with a shit-eating grin. “Anytime. Truly, anytime. I would be honored.”

She giggles, and I kill the shower, grabbing a couple of towels from the warmer.

“My lady.” I unroll it, wrapping one around her shoulders and the other around her body, tucking it in on itself.

“Oh, that’s niiiice,” she exhales, pulling the upper one tighter around her.

“I’ll always have hot towels at the ready for you.” I grin, securing mine low on my hips.

“Careful, I might get used to this princess treatment.”

“Good.” I wink at her. “That’s the point.”

Her flush deepens across her cheeks and neck, and I grab the towel off her shoulders, gently drying off her skin.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

She watches me in the mirror, and I glance at her with a smirk.

“I’m drying you off, duh. And then I’m going to massage lotion into your skin, especially since the weather’s cooling off and drying out more and more lately.”

Awe is the only word to describe the look on her face as I make good on my promise, taking my time. But not for too long because there will be more moments like this. We’ve got a lifetime of them.

She’s yawning when I finish brushing her hair, and I get as much water out as possible without a hair dryer before helping her into her panties and my T-shirt.

I walk out of the bathroom, dry and naked, slipping on a pair of loose shorts to sleep in, opting out of a shirt. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Mona crawls onto the sheets, slipping under the comforter with ease, like she’s done it a million times before. “I’m so sleepy.”

The moment I’m beside her, I pull her back into my chest, wrapping my arms around her waist and locking her in place. “Get some sleep, baby.”

Nodding, she leans further back against me, any distance nonexistent. “I love you.”

My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a sharp breath. I wasn’t planning on telling her tonight. I didn’t want her to think that I was only doing it because of what happened. But retrospectively, that’s dumb. Moments like this are when you face your fears, insecurities, or doubt and tell the people you care about that you love them.

I press a kiss against her hair, every fiber of my being warm and happy. “I love you too, Scaredy-Cat.”

It’s been a week since the man, now identified as Edgar Schrader, attacked Mona. A week since I held her through her nightmares, coaxing her out of each one until she fell back asleep. A week since she told me she loved me.

For obvious reasons, the house has been closed, not to reopen until I get the go-ahead from the state. Cambrie has been handling all of that, making sure that the employees are well taken care of in the temporary closure.

In the meantime, I’ve been spending every spare moment with Mona, who is now officially moved into my place—our place. I made the mistake of letting her, Peyton, and Brett take my credit card to Hobby Lobby to get decorations for the condo. Although seeing the joy on her face when she was unbagging everything and showing me was fucking priceless, and I’d let her rack up whatever charges she wanted just to see that smile again.

I really feel like this past week has shifted so much in our lives and our relationship. It only solidified our connection, although it wasn’t wavering in the slightest. But she seems lighter, more intentional, aside from when she’s reliving the accident in her mind, her eyes glossed over. It’s not smooth sailing past the accident, and I wouldn’t expect anything less.

There’s no time limit for healing from anything that causes trauma. No matter how old or young you are. It leaves wounds, some that never heal, some that leave thick, jagged scars behind. But the thing about scars is that even when mended, they can still hurt.

There’s no remedy that takes care of it once and for all, and when she has those moments and craves more alone time, or snuggles, or support, I’ll be ready to help or recruit someone who can. I’ve got the world in the palm of my hand, and it’s hers just as much, maybe even more with me at her beck and call.

But right now? Right now, she’s glowing, dressed up in a pretty, short, dark green plaid dress, tapered at her waist with delicate lace lining the sweetheart neckline. Her necklaces are overlapping one another on her chest, and paired with the outfit are her old Docs.

“I heard whispering,” she reports nervously, her ear pressed against the front door.