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Chapter 14

Fourteen

Harlowe

As soon as Roc left for the diner, I headed for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes along the way. There was traveling grime and then there was survived-an emergency-plane-landing-and-broke-down-in-a-rusty-truck-on-the-side-of-the-road grime.

The honeymoon suite might have scored sky high on the cringe meter, but if the water in the shower was hot and the pressure was good, I was willing to overlook the mirror over the bed and the profusion of hearts.

Once I’d left a trail of discarded clothes on the tile floor and was naked, I stepped into the standing shower and adjusted the showerhead so I wouldn’t get doused by frigid water. I gingerly pulled up on the nozzle and angled it to the left then flattened myself to the glass wall to avoid the water that gushed from above. I sucked in a few quick breaths, my body’s response to the icy water that was splashing me even if it wasn’t pouring over my head, and I waited for the warmth.

“Come on, come on.” My voice cracked as I held my breath for the water to heat. A hot shower might be a small thing, but after my day, it felt like everything. If I could stand under hot, pounding water, I could wash away all the stress and panic and confusion that had whirled around me since I’d opened my front door that morning.

I held out my hand, my shoulders sagging with relief when droplets of warm water hit it. I stepped fully under the water flow, which was hot and strong, and I moaned with shameless pleasure. “Thank you, Velvet Cloak Inn.”

Tipping my head back, I let the water stream over my face, down my hair, over my bare skin. I would never think another uncharitable thought about the cheesy—correction, quaint—motel. I didn’t care that the decor was a throwback to the ‘80s, and the mirror on the ceiling was taken right out of a bad porno. None of that mattered. I was alive, and soon I would also be sparkling clean.

I swiped water from the eyes and found the body wash dispenser mounted to the wall. After pumping some of the pale-yellow gel into my palm, I lathered it over my skin and breathed in the citrus aroma. It wasn’t my usual shower gel, but I’d smelled worse. I could smell like a lemon for a night.

For some reason, my mind went to Roc, who would shower after me. The thought of him smelling like a lemon—a big green lemon—made a giggle bubble up in my throat. The guy had such a distinctive, spicy scent that it was hard to think of him being fruit-scented.

I turned under the water and twisted my neck from side to side, letting the jets pound on my knotted muscles. It had been a shock to see my dad’s orc friend on my doorstep, but that moment now seemed like years ago. So much had happened between the time I’d realized that my dad had assigned my former crush to be my bodyguard and now that my head almost spun.

I’d thought that my feeling awkward was going to be the worst part of the day. I barked out a laugh. “Boy, did I call that one wrong.”

It had been awkward at first, but that seemed like a faint memory when I thought about the plane malfunctioning and making an emergency landing in a field. I’d truly thought we might die, even with Roc shielding me with his large body.

Closing my eyes, I was back in the plane and engulfed by the screeching, rattling, shaking. Roc’s body curled over mine had muffled some of the sound, and when I’d closed my eyes I’d been able to focus on the heat of him pulsing into me. His distinctly male scent had distracted me as I’d taken shallow breaths and finally surrendered to the possibility that I was going to die.

I shook my head hard as I pivoted and let the water hit my face, the jets sharp and stinging. But I hadn’t died. I hadn’t even been injured. Roc had protected me with his own body.

I almost didn’t notice that I was crying until my shoulders started to tremble. I didn’t know if it was reliving the accident or realizing just what a sacrifice Roc had made for me, but once the tears started, they wouldn’t stop.

I didn’t try to stop. I put my hands over my face and sobbed as the water poured over me, the saltiness of my tears mixing with the stream coursing down my body and swirling around my feet. I’d been pushing so hard for the past year that I hadn’t had a moment to stop and feel anything. And now I was feeling everything.

I felt the barbs from social-media trolls. I felt the fear of fans who were so obsessed with me that they’d forgotten I was a person. I felt the pain from being body shamed, even though I was thin. I felt the anger that I was cast as the villain when I’d broken up with Zander, even though he’d been the asshole.

None of the people who claimed to have my best interests at heart had protected me. The show runners only cared about ratings, and my agent only cared about his cut. My co-stars were too busy with their own fledgling careers to think about anyone but themselves, and Zander had only ever cared about being liked more than me. My parents tried to help, but they weren’t even aware of most of it. I hadn’t wanted them to know.

But my dad had hired Roc. He’d known that he could trust him over all people—and he’d been right. Roc, who I hadn’t seen for a decade, had taken better care of me than any of my employees or so-called friends. That made me cry even harder.

Hard enough that I didn’t hear the door to the motel room swing open.

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