The water was warm.
Her skin smelled like lavender.
And for the first time in weeks, Avery Rourke felt like herself again.
She lay back in the wide porcelain tub, bubbles clinging to her shoulders as the steam curled in the air. Her tablet balanced on a small stand near the edge, playing a comfort show she’d watched a dozen times before. Familiar voices. Predictable endings. Nothing loud.
Nothing cruel.
Just ease.
She sipped her tea slowly. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her body boneless in the heat. Outside the bathroom, the clubhouse moved on with its usual rhythm — boots in hallways, laughter near the bar, Colt’s voice deep and commanding behind his office door. She could hear it all.
But it didn’t pull her under like it used to.
Not tonight.
Tonight, she let herself
