“Let me do those,” I say, lightly pushing Green out of the way from the sink with my hip.

He chuckles, “Baby, you want to do dishes, go for it.”

It’s not that I want to do dishes, it’s that I need to. Green has been wonderful, but he does everything and that needs to stop. Not that I don’t like it, but I need to be doing more around here.

Therapy isn’t what I envisioned. I thought I’d be sitting in a sterile room, laying on a couch, and a woman dressed in all black, stylish glasses, with a clipboard would judge every single move I made. That she would critique me and be on my ass when I said something she didn’t agree with. Overall, I thought I’d hate it. Really hate it.

Surprisingly, it’s not bad. It’s not my favorite thing to do, but I’m learning and that’s what matters. One major step, my therapist says, is taking control of my life in simple things like doing the dishes, folding the laundry or cleaning the house. She says once I do that, then we move on to bigger things.

That means I’m standing here doing the dishes. It’s something so damn simple and before I did it all the time. But it makes me feel in control as weird as that sounds.

I yank my sleeves up past my elbows and dip my hands into the sudsy water. It feels good on my hands as I wash all the grime away from the dishes leaving them clean, exactly what I want to be—clean.

After finishing, I grab a towel and dry off my hands and arms, feeling accomplished. It’s not much, don’t get me wrong, but it’s something and I’ll take it. When I turn, Green is standing there with intense eyes. I follow his gaze and that’s when I notice what I did.

My arms are exposed, revealing some small scars and some larger ones. I move to pull my shirt down, but he grabs my arm gently and pulls it to his lips. They fall on one of the scars, and he kisses it. Inside, my chest constricts as he continues to kiss my arm in every place they touched me. When he’s done with that hand and arm, he moves to the other.

All the while silent cleansing tears fall from my eyes. He doesn’t see me as dirty. If he did, he wouldn’t be kissing my skin. I watch in avid fascination as he takes his time relishing each scar and making my entire body tingle.

He kisses the inside of my palm, holds it and gets inches away from me. “Scars mean you survived and, baby, you did. There’s no need to hide from me. I’ll kiss every part of your body if it makes you have that look in your eyes you have right now. Please don’t hide from me, baby.” His voice is down to a whisper. My heart beats rapidly, thumping in my ears. I grasp him behind the neck and pull his lips down to mine. He needs no more invitation and quickly kisses me back.

We part and press our foreheads together. “Don’t hide from me,” he pleads.

“I’m trying.”

“Damn right you are. And I’ll kiss every single one of those all over you, over and over again until you realize for yourself how beautiful you are.”

With everything going on, it kind of slipped my mind that Green and I were actually starting something. Or had started something. I’ve been too wrapped up in my pain to see it, but my eyes are opening wider and Green is a wonderful man.

I’m not sure what I did to deserve him; who the hell am I kidding because I don’t, but I’m thankful. I’m thankful I’m alive, in his arms with him looking at me like I’m the best thing on the planet. Having that look directed at me is enough of a reason to keep pushing through. Not only for him, but for myself.

* * *

“What the hell are you doin’?” Green asks, coming out of the bathroom while I sit on the floor, eyes closed, legs and arms in all different directions.

“Yoga. It’s supposed to calm and soothe, but all I’ve got so far is a strained muscle.”

He chuckles as I watch the woman on my laptop lay on her stomach and touch her head to her feet. Yeah, I’m not that limber. There’s going to be a hell of a lot more stretching before I’m doing anything like that.

“Need me to rub it?”

A blush creeps into my cheeks. For weeks, this man has been so patient with me, there is no way I’ll ever be able to repay him. Not that he’d take it anyway. I don’t answer and try the movement getting nowhere.

“This is gonna be fun to watch,” he says, taking a seat on the couch, full attention on me.

“You staring at me is not going to make me calm and soothe.”

He grins that sexy side one that squints his eye. “And turning yourself into a tortured pretzel is going to do it?”

No, it totally isn’t. My therapist, Anne, told me it would help me focus and gain control over my body. Me, I’m thinking I need kickboxing or something where I move to get my control back. But I’m trying it, there’s nothing that says I have to stick with it.

“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ on the end with emphasis even though I have no idea if it will.

“Then keep at it.”

He links his hands behind his head with his elbows sticking out on either side of his head. His legs are out and crossed at the ankle. Yes, he is settling in for the show.

Each move I make, I feel his hot gaze. Insecurity sets in, and for a moment I think of giving up and saying to hell with it. That’s the moment I close my eyes and remember why I’m doing this. I remember Green kissing my scars and telling me I’m beautiful. It gives me the extra push to keep going.

I’m relieved when the ‘session’ is over and lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling. That wasn’t bad, but my muscles are going to kick my ass later. Part of me just wants to give up and say screw it. The other part is telling me to keep at it. It’s like a war inside my head. One side wanting one thing while the other wants another.

I feel him before I see him as he sits on the floor and takes my foot into his hand. Even with the sock covering it, his warmth penetrates through it as he begins to rub. A flit of panic comes in a rush, and I try to jerk my leg back and move to sit up.

“Breathe, Leah. It’s me.” His calm eyes will my body to lay back down, but I can’t release the tension. “You’re just fine. I want you to keep your eyes on me so you remember who’s touching you.”

Everything trembles, and I can hear my teeth clattering.

We’ve laid in bed together wrapped up in each other’s arms. He’s kissed my scars telling me they were beautiful. Green has been with me every step of the way.

This is Green.

It’s not them.

It’s not him.

It’s Green.

It’s Green.

It’s Green.

Looking down my body at him, he meets my gaze with a reassuring smile as he continues to rub the instep of my foot. My stomach flips and flops all over the place.

“You know I did this in the hospital for you.” he says, pulling me out of my thoughts and on to him fully.

“You did?”

His smile is gorgeous and makes my heart constrict.

“Yep. The doctors said you needed to keep the blood flow going in your legs and keep moving them or you’d have a hard time gettin’ back to walking.” He shakes his head like a memory is funny, making me very curious.

“Tell me.”

“There was this physical therapist guy who came in and started to touch you. Let’s just say he and I got to an understanding.”

My inquiring mind needs to know. “How’s that?” His fingers dig into my foot and a moan escapes me.

“You know the man I am, Leah,” he says pointedly. “No one touches you unless it’s necessary. Him touching you wasn’t necessary.”

“From the sound of it, it was necessary.”

He switches to the other foot, and I fight to keep my eyes open at the pleasure of having those muscles kneaded. “That’s why he taught me what to do.”

“And they just let you do therapy on a woman who was unconscious.”

He smirks. “Like I said, we had an understanding.”

The calm feeling begins to wane when Green stops talking, and my eyes eagerly stay on him.

This is Green.

This is Green.

This is Green.

I chant this over and over in my head.

“Baby,” he calls softly. “I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

It’s taken me a while, but this time I really do believe it.