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I couldn't argue with that logic. "Shower's through there," I said, nodding toward the small bathroom attached to the room. "Towels are under the sink. Use whatever you need."
Matty nodded, then winced at the movement. "Thanks," he mumbled, gathering the clothes and shuffling toward the bathroom.
I heard the water start, and only then did I let out a long breath. The protective instinct I'd felt yesterday hadn't diminished, and should I be letting him go in the shower alone? What if he slipped or got dizzy? Decision made, I went back into the bathroom and sighed. Matty was sitting down in the shower, the jets pounding on his bent head. I tugged off my shirt and shucked down my jeans.
This was what I'd signed up for, I told myself. I stepped into the shower stall and knelt beside him. “Hey, little one,” I murmured softly, letting the warm water seep through my boxers.
“Let me help you.” Gently, I guided him to his feet, one reassuring hand holding him steady. Matty kept his head down, his neediness clear as the water cascaded over him. I reached for the shampoo and squeezed a bit into my palm.
“Tilt your head back just a little, sweetheart,” I instructed, my voice gentle yet firm. To my delight, he complied without hesitation, his head tilting obediently back. I worked the shampoo into his hair, my fingers massaging his scalp while he let out a tiny, contented sigh.
“That feels good,” he murmured, his eyes still closed in trusting surrender. I rinsed his hair carefully, shielding his eyes with one hand before reaching for the soap and washcloth. As I worked up a light lather, I hesitated for a moment, mindful not to overstep—but I was here as his Daddy, here to care for every Little part of him.
I tenderly washed his back, avoiding the bruises, then his arms and chest. His skin felt delicate and soft under my hands. I quietly skipped over his midsection and legs and placed the cloth in his trembling hands.
“You finish up, little one,” I said softly. “D—I'll be right here if you need me.”
Crap, I'd nearly called myself Daddy then. It was one thing thinking it in my head, but another giving it a name.
Maybe I should talk to Bolt? Bolt was one of our original brothers, but I'd seen him with his old lady and she called him Daddy and spent most of her time on his lap. He also was strict when it came to eating, drinking and what she did or didn't do. I couldn't say I'd ever seen her behave particularly childishly, but then I'd never really looked. I knew Daisy was very protective of her.
He accepted the cloth with shaky hands and finished washing himself while I hovered nearby, ready to catch him if he wavered. When he was done, I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his small shoulders.
“Better now?” I asked, gently helping him stand.
“A little,” he admitted, clutching the towel as if it were a lifeline. “My head still feels like it’s going to spin out of control.”
“Food will help, sweetheart,” I assured him, guiding him out of the shower. “Go get dressed, and I’ll get us some breakfast.”
I stepped out to give him a moment of privacy while I quickly changed my wet boxers. When Matty emerged from the bathroom, he looked a bit better—his damp hair combed neatly, and he was dressed in Cruise’s borrowed t-shirt and sweatpants that hung a little too large on his fragile frame.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, avoiding my gaze. “For…helping me.”
“That’s what I’m here for, baby,” I replied, the sincerity in my voice catching me by surprise. “Do you think you can handle going downstairs for food, or would you prefer that I bring something up to you?”
Matty paused, then squared his small shoulders. “Downstairs,” he decided softly. “I should probably say sorry to the ladies for last night.”
“You have nothing to apologize for, boy,” I insisted gently. “They really enjoyed spending time with you. And if anything, they should apologize for getting you drunk,” I added.
A faint blush colored his cheeks. “I’m not usually such a big drinker,” he murmured.
“I know,” I said, placing a hand on his lower back and guiding him toward the door. “Just take it slow, sweetheart—you’re doing just fine.”
The clubhouse kitchen area was busier than I expected at this hour. Daisy stood at the stove flipping pancakes while Ellie sat at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Tex and Cruise were there too, talking quietly in the corner.
"Well, look who's alive," Cruise called out when he spotted us. His eyes flickered with amusement as he took in Matty's disheveled appearance.
"Barely," Matty mumbled, wincing at Cruise's volume.
Daisy turned from the stove, spatula in hand. "How's the head, sweetie?"
"It's still attached," Matty replied, carefully lowering himself onto a chair. "Though I'm not sure that's a good thing right now."
Daisy laughed softly. "Hangover special coming right up. Greasy bacon, pancakes, and my secret remedy."
"I'm not sure I can—" Matty started, but Daisy waved the spatula dismissively.
"Trust me, honey. I've been fixing Diamond Kings hangovers for twenty years. My remedy hasn't failed yet."