Page 73 of The Loves We Lost

With care, I lead him one slow step at a time until he’s fully beneath it.

The sharp bark of a cry ricochets around the bathroom, and Miles grips his hands into fists. His face turns into a grimace as he lifts it to the spray. Bloodstained water sluices around my feet into the drain. He was right; the shower was the only place we could have cleaned him up properly.

“I don’t think we can use soap yet,” I say.

Miles turns to me; his left eye is marginally more open than his very swollen right. “You need to ... just ... get it done.”

So I do, my heart clenching every time he winces. I wash his hair and clean his face tenderly with the soft cloths I used on Avery as a baby and never felt I could throw away. I clean the dirt from his body. At some point, Miles places his fists against the wall, holding himself together while I hurry though what needs to be done.

When I’m finished, Miles puts his forehead to the tiles.

“Just give me a minute to clean up,” I say.

I swoosh though my own shower. I’m not sure the shampoo or conditioner stay on my hair long enough to be much use, but I also don’t want to scare Avery when she gets home.

And if I’m honest, I need to settle how shaken I feel. Like a can of soda that’s been tossed around.

Once done, I grab a couple of clean towels. One I wrap around Miles’s waist. The other I wrap over his shoulders.

I throw my hair into a towel on top of my head and quickly dry off before slipping on a robe. “Let’s get you to bed,” I say. He’s going to bleed onto my sheets, but I can’t care about that. “I’m going to have to go buy supplies to fix you up. I’m pretty certain the princess Band-Aids I have for Avery just aren’t going to cut it.”

“No need. Switch is ... on his way.”

“Oh, thank God.”

His lips twitch in the fixing of a smile. “That bad, huh?”

I take the towel from around his shoulders and gently dry off his hair, face, and arms.

“You don’t look as pretty as usual,” I say.

“Don’t feel it.”

We get to my room, and I help Miles lower to the bed. “I’m gonna get you some painkillers,” I say, but he grabs my wrist.

“Don’t,” he says. “Switch is bringing ... the good stuff.”

“Of course he is.”

“Get dressed. Don’t want him ... to see you like that.”

He tips his chin at me, and I look down at my body, confused. “Like what?”

“Practically naked. That’s only for me.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Does that mean ‘close to puking’?”

I shake my head but touch his forehead tenderly, the way I do with Avery when she’s sick. “You need a trash can, just in case?”

He nods. “I think I do. And perhaps ... my pack of clothes from ... the back of my bike so I can pull some shorts on.”

“I’ll go get them.” I head to the door.

“Hey, Vi?”

With my hand on the door handle, I pause and turn to face him. “Yeah?”