70
Paul's pov
The steam still clung to my skin as I stepped out of the shower, the cool air biting against the heat of my body. I dried myself quickly, scrubbing the towel over my face and chest in an attempt to shake off the mess in my head. I wasn't sure how long I'd stood under the hot spray, hoping the water could rinse away everything I was feeling. It hadn't worked.
When I finally walked back into the bedroom, the sight before me made the guilt hit me like a sledgehammer.
Pate was already asleep.
She lay on her side, curled up in the blankets, her hair still damp and spread across the pillow like dark silk. Her breathing was soft and even, the kind of peace only someone with a good heart and a clear conscience could have despite everything she had done. I stood there, frozen, the towel still draped around my shoulders as I stared at her.
What the hell is wrong with you, Paul?
