Page 99 of Feeding Hope
The water hit his shoulders first, darkening his hair, tracing the lines of old scars and fresh tension alike. Frost let out a slow breath, his head tipping forward as if his body had been holding itself together by sheer will until that moment.
“I’ve got you.”
Only then did she turn away. She shed her own clothes quickly, deliberately, leaving them in a small pile by the sink. When she stepped back under the spray with him, the water soaked them both, heat wrapping around them like a shield against everything outside the bathroom door.
She reached for the soap and worked it between her hands before smoothing it over his skin. Her touch was unhurried, reverent. She washed him the way you take care of someone you’ve worried about for too long—shoulders first, then his arms, easing the stiffness from muscles she knew were exhausted.
Frost stayed still for her, eyes closed, trusting her with the kind of vulnerability he never showed the world. When her fingers brushed along his jaw, tilting his face up so the water could rinse away a month’s worth of road and sweat and whatever else he’d carried back with him, his breath caught.
She felt it. The emotion he’d tried to bury. The need he hadn’t voiced out loud. She leaned in, pressing her forehead briefly to his chest, letting the water wash over them both. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
The water kept pouring over him, steady and relentless, and at first Frost stayed upright through it—muscle memory, discipline, the same way he’d held himself together for weeks on the road.
She moved around him washing his back, his legs, even his feet. Her hands lathered roamed over his aching tired muscles. His hands slid to the tile, palms braced as his head dropped forward. Just a fraction. Just enough.
Constance felt the shift immediately. The tension she’d been easing out of him didn’t release—it gave way. His shoulders bowed, breath shuddering once, sharp and uneven before he could stop it.
She stepped closer, pressing her body to his back, grounding him with her weight. One arm wrapped around his middle, the other splayed flat over his chest, right above his heart.
“Hey,” she murmured, low and steady. “I’m here. You’re here.”
Her words weren’t dramatic. They didn’t need to be. They were facts.
Frost swallowed hard, eyes still closed. “Didn’t think I was gonna get back to you,” he admitted quietly, the confession barely louder than the water. No details. No explanations. Just the truth he could manage.He didn’t explain it wasn’t the chapter or the business they’d tended too but his own demons that kept him away.
Her grip tightened—not restraining, just present. “You did,” she said. “You’re home.”
His breath broke again, deeper this time, chest expanding beneath her palm like he was relearning how to breathe. Heleaned back into her, trusting her to hold the weight he’d been carrying alone.
Constance shifted, turning him slightly so she could face him. She cupped his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes where exhaustion had carved itself deep. She didn’t wipe away tears—there weren’t any yet—but she stayed there, steady, until his breathing evened out.
“Look at me,” she whispered.
When he did, his eyes were glassy, raw in a way she’d never seen a man’s before. Not weak. Just open.
She rested her forehead against him, letting the water cascade around them. “You don’t have to say anything,” she told him. “You don’t have to be anything right now.”
Her hand slid back to his chest, grounding him again. One slow breath. Then another. And gradually, she felt him come back to her. Still tired. Still worn. But no longer lost.
Constance turned off the water and reached for the towel hanging from the rack. She dried them both, slow and thorough, as if she were afraid, he might slip away again if she rushed. She wrapped the towel around Frost’s waist before pulling her robe on, tying it loosely at her middle.
She kept an arm around him as they made their way to the bedroom, his weight heavy against her side. He barely managed to climb into the bed before exhaustion claimed him completely. One moment he was there, eyes half-open, and the next he was gone—breathing deep, body slack, finally letting go.
Constance tucked her lips inward, shaking her head softly. Of course he would crash now. Of course he’d held on just long enough to know he was safe. She pulled the covers over him, tucking them around his shoulders the way she would someone she loved more than they’d ever know. For a moment, she stood there watching him sleep, committing the sight to memory—proof that he was really here.
Then she turned away, heading back to get dressed. She’d leave a note on the counter, letting him know she’d gone into town, that she’d be back in a few hours. She hoped when he woke up, he’d stay and wait for her.
Chapter Sixteen.
Frost woke to an empty bed and a quiet house. The lack of sunlight coming through the window told him he’d slept all day. Rolling over he laid an arm over his eyes. Still exhausted continued to lay there listening to the silence of the house along with the gentle Texas wind as it twisted outside.
Constance must’ve gone into town, to work. He needed to contact Maddog and Undertaker, let them know he was back in town. Somewhere between that thought and the next Frost shut everything out of his head as he fell back asleep.
*****
The kitchen smelled faintly of garlic and tomato sauce, as she heated up the lasagna she’d picked up at the produce market in town. The day had turned out long as she and the other workers had helped people with their lists and boxes.
One of the ladies from the club had come by and dropped off boxes of cookies and cupcakes from her bakery. Her name was Hope, she was Jinx’s girlfriend. It had been nice to meet another one of the ladies.
