28. Holden

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

HOLDEN

I caught sight of Mylo in the kitchen that morning, his hand instinctively moving to the small of his back. He tried to hide it—like he always did—putting on that brave front of his. But I knew better. The way he shifted his weight, the crease in his brow when he thought no one was looking—those told me everything. Mylo was hurting, and it made me feel helpless.

I couldn't exactly take the pain away, no matter how much I wanted to, but I could do something about it. At least, I could try.

The idea hit me as I watched him stir a pot of something delicious—like always—his lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes focused.

Great goddess, he was perfect, even when he was trying so hard not to complain about the pain.

When he turned and caught me staring, I grinned, leaning against the doorway. "Hey, chef extraordinaire. What's cooking?"

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched up. "Just some pasta for lunch. You hungry already, or are you just here to steal bites?"

"A little bit of both," I admitted, pushing off the wall to close the distance between us. I wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "How's the back today?"

Mylo's shoulders tensed for a second, then he let out a sigh, leaning into me. "It's fine," he said, but there was a tightness to his voice that made my heart ache.

"You sure?" I asked, my thumb rubbing gentle circles on his hip. "Because I've got an idea. Something that might help."

He tilted his head back, looking up at me with a raised brow. "Oh? And what's that?"

"You'll see," I said, giving him a quick peck on the lips before stepping back. "Finish up here, and then come with me. Trust me, okay?"

He eyed me suspiciously, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes that made me smile. "Alright," he said, drawing the word out. "But if this is some kind of prank…"

"It's not a prank," I promised, holding my hands up in surrender. "Just... let me take care of you for once, alright?"

Mylo sighed, but there was a softness to it, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Fine. But you're doing the dishes after lunch."

"Deal," I said, my heart giving a little flutter.

After lunch, I led Mylo to our room, his hand resting in mine, his fingers squeezing just enough to let me know he trusted me—even if he was still skeptical. I had the room set up already—candles lit, soft music playing, the scent of lavender hanging in the air. I'd moved the bed to the side, laid out a thick, plush mat on the floor, and set out some warm towels.

"Holden," Mylo whispered, his voice soft as his eyes scanned the room, lips parting in surprise. "What…"

"I know your back's been hurting," I said, my thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "And I've never done this before, but… I thought maybe I could help. You know, with a massage."

He blinked, his eyes wide, then let out a soft, disbelieving laugh—so damn beautiful it made my chest ache. "You did all this? For me?"

"Of course, for you," I said, tugging him closer, my other hand coming up to cup his cheek. "You deserve it, Mylo. You deserve everything. And if this helps even a little bit, then it's worth it."

He swallowed, his eyes glistening, and then he nodded, leaning into my touch. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay, yeah. Let's do it."

I helped him settle onto the mat, his back resting against a few pillows, legs stretched out in front of him. I grabbed the bottle of massage oil I'd picked up in town—the lady at the store swore it was the best—and poured some into my hands, rubbing them together to warm it up.

"You comfortable?" I asked, and Mylo nodded, his eyes half-lidded as he watched me.

"Yeah. More than comfortable," he murmured, his voice soft. "I still can't believe you did all this, Holden. You're…" He trailed off, searching my gaze, and my heart squeezed in my chest.

"I'm what?" I asked, my hands finding his shoulders, kneading gently into the tight muscles there. He let out a soft groan, his eyes fluttering shut as he relaxed under my touch.

"You're amazing," he whispered, barely audible, and warmth spread through me, filling every corner of my heart.

"Only because you make me want to be," I said, my voice thick. "Now relax. Let me take care of you, love."

He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, and I focused on the task at hand—making him feel good, easing the tension from his body. My fingers worked over his shoulders, down his back, slowly loosening the knots that had built up. His breathing grew even, and every now and then, he let out a soft sigh, the sound going straight to my heart.

"You're really good at this," he mumbled after a while, his voice heavy with sleepiness. "I think you missed your calling, Holden. Should've been a masseuse."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Nah. This is just for you. No one else gets this kind of treatment."

His eyes opened, meeting mine, and the look in them made my breath catch—soft, vulnerable, full of trust. "I love you," he whispered, and I thought my heart might burst out of my chest.

"I love you too," I whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Always."

He smiled, his eyes drifting shut again, and I stayed there for a moment, watching him, my heart so full it ached.

This was everything I'd ever wanted—to love and be loved by this man, to make him feel cherished, to remind him that he mattered.

And as I continued to work the tension from his muscles, his body relaxing under my touch, I knew one thing for certain:

Whatever it took, Mylo was my everything. And I was never letting him go.