Page 14 of Brood (After the End #5)

“I’m not falling apart.” The words don’t sound convincing—even to my own ears.

“I’ve got to make sure they don’t let him get away again. And talk to Brody. I won’t be long.”

“You don’t have to come back. I’m fine.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be back.”

Will strides out, and I shiver on the bed for a minute. Then I summon enough energy to get up, switch the lighting to gold, and go to the bathroom to pee and wash my hands and face.

I’m back in bed, feeling not the slightest bit recovered, when Will returns several minutes later.

He stops in the entrance for a moment, glancing around the room as if he suspects someone might be lurking. Then he comes over to my bed and kneels beside it.

I lift my head. I’m still trembling, but at least my teeth aren’t chattering anymore. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. They’ve sedated and restrained him. He won’t be going anywhere. Are you okay to get up? I got them to turn our shower back on. You’ll feel better if you can really wash up.”

“I can take another shower?” My voice breaks three times in the short sentence.

“Yeah. Come on.” He reaches down to haul me to my feet.

I’m capable of walking. I know because I got up on my own earlier.

But it still feels like I need to lean on him as we limp into the bathroom.

My thigh muscle strains painfully when I move it wrong, and I’m starting to get a headache.

I can’t stop shaking. I want to go to bed and start the day over again.

As Will turns on the shower, I work on unbuttoning my shirt. When I’m too slow, he takes over for me, stripping off my top, my camisole, and my pants. I shimmy out of my panties, and then he guides me to the shower.

“I can do it,” I tell him when it looks like he’s going to step into the shower with me. Fully clothed.

I might be weak, but I don’t want him to bathe me like I’m a child. I already feel younger and less competent than I’d prefer to seem around him.

“Okay. You can take your time. They’re not going to turn it off.” His eyes run up and down my body, but the gesture feels instinctive rather than purposeful. He’s not aroused. He’s not going to expect sex from me right now.

Never in my life have I taken a shower without a time limit. It’s strange. Disorienting. To stand under the spray and simply feel it. To not have to rush through soaping, scrubbing, and rinsing off—and twice a week even shampooing my long hair.

It’s not my hair-washing day, but I get it wet anyway because I want to feel the water everywhere. It’s almost too hot—since I’m used to the preset lukewarm temperatures.

After a few minutes, I find the energy to shampoo my hair and rinse it out. Then I soap up my entire body and stand under the water again.

“You okay in there?” Will’s voice comes from right outside the foggy glass door.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m almost done.”

“I told you to take your time.”

“I thought I was.”

“Okay.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the clinic?” He was still bleeding when he helped me into the shower.

“I went to get some bandages and antibiotic salve.”

“Oh, good.” I turn off the shower, finding a burst of energy from focusing on him.

When I open the door, he hands me a clean towel.

He’s standing there watching as I dry off and wind the towel around my head to get my wet hair out of the way. He got clean panties and a camisole for me, so I put them on hurriedly and then gesture him toward the toilet. “Sit down and let me check to make sure you really don’t need the doctor.”

“I said—”

“I know what you said, but I’ll worry unless I check. I’m already anxious enough, and this will make me feel better.”

He peers at me closely but then must decide I’m telling him the truth. He sits on the closed lid of the toilet while I wet a washcloth and clean the dried blood off his face and beard.

He’s got scratches on his forehead and on one cheek. One of them is scarily close to his eye. “He really clawed at you.”

“He did. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Yeah.” Once I assure myself the cuts on his face are superficial, I wipe the washcloth down his neck. He’s got marks from where Gus’s fingers squeezed. They’re probably going to bruise.

The sight of them upsets me, so I move on, tugging on his shoulders until he stands and then opening his shirt so I can find the source of the blood there.

Some of the blood must have been Gus’s because he’s only got one long scratch on his chest near the neckline of his shirt.

“I told you,” Will says, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual. “It’s all superficial.”

“The bruises aren’t superficial.” There’s a deep red mark on his side where he must have been kneed in the struggle. “And you could have a broken rib or damaged organ or something.”

“I don’t. I promise.”

“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to make myself relax. “You take your shower now. I’m going to work on my hair.”

He knows from experience how long it takes to deal with my hair after washing it, so he doesn’t object to this plan. He shucks his clothes quickly and steps into the shower.

Even now, I like the look of his naked body. It’s not the same as when we have sex. I don’t feel all tense and hot at the sight of his bare butt and the muscle development of his arms and legs. His coarse, dark body hair.

Instead, it gives me an odd, warm, twisty feeling. Down deep. Below my belly.

Before he turns on the shower, he catches me looking at him. He frowns questioningly.

I manage a smile, which must reassure him. He closes the door and turns the water on.

While he showers, I brush out my hair and dry it partway. If I don’t dry it at all, it will frizz and look messy, even pulled back. When most of the moisture is out, I fix it in two tight braids.

I’m finishing the second braid when the water turns off. Will steps out, completely naked and dripping. “You should go lie down.”

“I’ve got work soon.”

“No. I got us both an exemption for the afternoon. You shouldn’t have to work after what happened.”

I gape. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to work either?”

“No. I’m going to stay with you.”

My throat closes. My eyes burn. I don’t know where the surge of emotion even comes from, but I have to fight against tears.

“Please get in bed,” he murmurs thickly, dropping the towel he’s been drying himself with and pulling on a clean pair of white briefs. “I’ll be in as soon as I get the bandages on.”

“I can do that for you.”

“You don’t have—”

“I’m doing it.” I manage my best stern expression, standing and waving at him to sit down. “You’re the stubbornest man I’ve ever known.”

He sits down with a little quiver of his lips. “You’re calling me stubborn?”

“Yes. I’m not nearly as stubborn as you.” I sort through the bandages to find one the right size.

“No. You’re not. The word for you is—”

“Don’t say it.”

He smiles for real. “I don’t need to say it. We both know what it is.”

I make a growly sound as I rub antibiotic salve on the scratches on his face. They’ve already stopped bleeding, which is a relief.

I’m hit with an unexpected tug of tenderness as I bandage his injuries. It creates more of that deep, clenching sensation inside me.

I’ve never felt anything like it before.

When I finish, Will stands up. Very close to me. He gazes down, quiet and intense. It actually feels like the air between us is shuddering for a moment.

Then he clears his throat. “Now you can lie down.”

My knees are getting weak, so lying down is a good idea. I climb under my covers and watch as Will goes to dim the lighting.

He’s still wearing only his underwear. I wonder if he’s going to get dressed.

I don’t want him to.

I start shivering again and turn over onto my other side so I’m facing the wall. It feels like I’m going to cry, and I don’t want Will to know.

He doesn’t like it when I cry.

No one does.

I hear him moving and then feel my bed adjusting. I suck in a sharp breath as he gets under the covers with me. He turns on his side and fits himself against my shape, spooning me from behind.

A gurgle of emotion escapes my throat. I struggle to hold back the sound.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs against my ear.

“I’m…okay.” I’m crying for real now. I thought I was okay, but I’m not.

“I’m sorry he went after you. That shouldn’t have happened.” He’s edged one of his arms beneath me so he can wrap both of them around me.

He’s warm. And strong.

Safe.

I need him more than I ever imagined I could.

“He almost…killed you.” I grab for his forearms. Hold them tightly.

“He didn’t. I’m okay. So are you. You’re okay now.” He nuzzles the back of my head. “I’ve got you.”

I cry for a few more minutes. Then I feel better for real. Still weak and clingy, but not like I’m going to collapse emotionally. I sniff and blink away the last of my tears. “I’m not falling apart.”

“I know you aren’t.”

It sounds like he means it.

We lie together like that for a long time until I’ve fully relaxed. It’s only then that his body softens too.

“Why did he go after you?” I ask into the silence. “It seemed like it was personal. Was he mad at you for some reason?”

“No. Not that I’ve ever known. I never had any trouble with him. I never had to discipline or correct him. When someone goes feral, they often have a target, but most of the time, there’s no reason for it. I guess I just happened to be his.”

“I wish we knew what caused it.”

“Yeah. The doctors and geneticists and social psychologists keep working on it. But so far there’s no biological or behavioral warning signs.

They have no clue of the cause, so there’s no way to find a preventative or treatment.

” He blows out a long breath. “At least nothing they’ve ever admitted to the rest of us. ”

I stiffen. “What do you mean? They wouldn’t keep something like that from us.” I pause. When he doesn’t reply, I add softly, “Would they?”

He still doesn’t respond.

His silence—and what it signifies—upsets me as much as anything else that’s happened today.

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