had to admit that Bryant’s words had a way of weaving magic, a sweetness that made me momentarily wish I could forget everything that had happened between us. But some wounds were too deep to heal, leaving a acer unmoved.
Like when he didn’te home all night, I never doubted him. I understood he was busy with work for the Ferguson Group. But after everything that had happened, trust didn’te ensy anymore. Love couldn’t be unconditional or without hesitation. There were always reservations, defensiveness, doubts, and uneasiness.N?velDrama.Org owns all ? content.
Even if things seemed to mend, this pattem, if left unchecked, would <b>lead </b>to a breaking point. So, perhaps it was better to cut our
losses.
“Bryant, let’s not do this. Let’s think this through,” I pleaded.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I’ll prove it,” he said with a conviction almost like a vow.
I looked away, handing him another document to change the subject. “Here, take a look at this. I go get a nurse to check <b>your </b>temperature.”
“Kevin,” he called out firmly. “Get me some Amica cream.”
Kevin hurried off.
I was puzzled<b>. </b>“Didn’t you have your bandages changed<b>? </b>And Amica? That’s for bruises, not for what you have.”
He reached to touch a spot on my lower back, pressing gently. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
I winced. “You know I hurt myself there, and still, you pressed it?”
Soon enough, Kevin returned with the cream.
I took it, but Bryant watched me closely. “Give it here.”
I refused, “I can apply it myself.”
“Do you have eyes on the back of your head?” Without waiting for a rebuttal, he took the cream, lifted the hem of my shirt, and gently nubbed it on the bruise. “You’re all bruised up but didn’t say a word. Do you think you don’t have a husband to care for you?”
He had <b>never </b>been so attentive. Before, even if I were all in cuts and bruises, he would remain detached.
The pain from the bruise and the bitter memories tangled together. I suppressed my emotions, a habit formed over three years, “Tve been managing on my own all this time.”
Bryant was usually low–maintenance, and after his heartfelt words, he became even more cooperative, especially at meal times when he Insisted on being fed, iming his hand hurt too much. But it was at night that he yed his trump card.
“I need a shower,” he <b>said</b>, looking straight at me.
g a shower was understandable for someone as particr as him.
After being unconscious for two nights, missing
he doctor said your wounds can’t get wet”
But I remembered the doctor’s advice and shook my head. “The
His chest and arm had the worst injuries, and there were also some scrapes <b>on </b>his legs.
He pleaded, hope in his voice, “But I feel ufortable, honey.”
I was at a loss, no longer bothering to correct his endearment, merely suggesting, “How about Kevin help you with a <b>sponge </b>bath?” Kevin, waiting to discuss significant matters from thepany with Bryant, seemed horrified at the suggestion,ughing awkwardly. “Mrs. Ferguson, please. You’re joking, right? If I dare touch Mr. Ferguson, I’ll be out of a job tomorrow. It is a task only you can <b>do</b><b>!</b>” With that, Kevin made a hasty exit, not even stopping to finish his work discussion.
Bryant looked at me, clearly liking the suggestion. “Sounds good to me.”
I knew what he was implying. With Kevin gone, it was just the two of us.
Bryant raised an eyebrow. “Or do you still harbor ill intentions toward me, too scared to even touch me?”
I frowned. “Get over yourself.”
the pul
He challenged, “Then why the guilt?”
“Shut up.” I had to admit that Bryant’s provocation worked. I got up, went to the bathroom, prepared warm water, and got a disposable washcloth ready to clean him. We had gotten physical and seen each other naked. It should be nothing <b>to </b>give him a sponge bath