Waiting on Sarah Grace

Making Up

So, he apologizes, brings me into my new home, sets me up in the bathroom with candles and wine; I'll forgive him, but not right away.  I guess massaging my feet while I soak is a nice start, but I don't have anything to say; not right now.  

"Baby, I'm really sorry.  I should have told you what was happening.  It wasn't fair.  What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Yes, you should have told me, and no, it wasn't fair.  It's my life you were opening up for a stranger and knowing how I've felt about being alone since the wreck; that's just what you did.  I'll forgive you, but right now I need to be mad for a little while.  And what happens now that I have two good arms and legs?"

Sitting on his knees next to the tub, he reaches out to touch my face, staring into my eyes, showing me how much he loves me, but all I can show is how hurt I am.  Yeah, I'm gonna wallow in it.  Might even throw myself a pity party, alcohol included.

"What about your friends? Shouldn't you be with them?  You don't get to see them that much."

"Actually, the ones here now are thinking about joining.  Your pops could use some more people to trust unconditionally.  He knows with us getting married next week, that I won't be available us much as I used to be."

I lean my head back and close my eyes.  He sits on his butt and props his arm on the side of the tub, his fingers trailing through the water circling closer to my thigh.  Reaching his goal, he trails his fingers over the outside of my thigh.  Rolling my head in his direction and cracking an eye open to look at him, he just smiles back at me.

"You are aware that nothing is happening tonight?"

"I know baby, I just like touching you.  It's nice to see you not so stiff and uncomfortable looking.  Did I tell you my parents are coming in for the wedding?"

"No, they are aware of the age difference, aren't they?"

"I think I told them, I can't remember, I may have.  Do you want to go to Texas and visit their ranch?"

"One day.  I just want to stop being hunted."

"We're working on it, baby, I want this threat to you gone too.  I'm gonna miss taking care of you, you don't need me to carry you around anymore, or to wash your hair, to get dressed."

"I'm glad to be able to take care of myself again.  I hated depending on someone else to always be around to carry me to the bathroom or grab me some water or grab my book when I left it across the room.  And now, I'm going to wash my hair."

Pulling the plug and waiting for the water to drain, I finish my glass of wine and sit it on the counter.  I start the shower and get the water right, pulling the shower curtain closed, and shutting Shooter out.  I rinse the bubble bath off and scrub my scalp and hair a couple of times, before adding conditioner and rinsing.  I turn the shower off and pull the curtain open and Shooter is sitting right where I left him.  He hands me the towel and I wrap my hair up, as I raise up, he begins to dry me off, starting at my shoulders and working his way down.  As soon as he's done, I go and grab a long t shirt out of my dresser and notice, the drawer that holds my sleep shorts and pants, plus the t-shirts I've had long enough to have holes in them, is now full of his t shirts only.   Shaking my head, I'll ask about that later.  I towel dry my hair and go back in the bathroom to comb my hair and braid it.  Walking out of the bathroom, Shooter is sitting on the end of the bed, he looks a little lost.

"Take me on a tour of my home."  And he does that.  He shows me the extra bedrooms, to be filled however I want to and then into the open kitchen and living room.  The new furniture has been added, but a lot of the small things are from  New Orleans, the antique side tables and an overstuffed chair, of course all the pictures and little knick knacks, and there is a built in shelf for all the show pictures, ribbons and trophies. Everything turned out beautiful with the paint color and the furniture.  The curtains are supposed to be here next week.  I know everyone had their doubts when I picked out such dark colors, but I'm happy and it's my house; well, Shooter lives here too, but he doesn't care about color schemes and pictures.