I need to call Elira.Fuck.
No. Absolutely not. I’m not doing that over the phone. I’ll go to her tomorrow, tell her in person, and pray to whatever higher power might be listening that I can be strong enough for both of us. Thank God she has Maximo now. He’ll be able to hold her together when I can’t.
After breaking the news to my sister, I’ll have to start making arrangements for the funeral. Talk with the men. Contact the priest. Work on the fucking guest list.
Goddamn it.
I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly stars burst behind my lids.
My throat burns like I’ve swallowed fire, and everything inside my chest is twisting and breaking, but I can’t fall apart. Not yet.
A small, wet hand slides into my hair, lifting my head gently. Blinking through a watery blur, I see Katie standing in front of me, wrapped in one of my towels. Her skin is flushed a healthy pink from the heat of the bath. Her eyes are softer than I expect, tired and red from crying, but so incredibly soft it makes my heart ache.
“You should’ve stayed in the bath at least ten minutes to get the cold out of your bones,” I murmur, my breathing still harsh and uneven.
She doesn’t answer, just stands there, dripping wet, herfingers threading through my hair like she’s trying to hold me together. Like she somehow knows I’m mere seconds away from falling apart and doesn’t want to let that happen. At least not without her presence.
Her other hand comes up, her thumb cool as it swipes over my cheek, brushing away tears I didn’t even realize had fallen. The sensation of her skin against my face, combined with the tender, understanding way she’s watching me, makes something deep inside me finally crack wide open—like I’ve been trying to hold back a tidal wave with my bare hands and she just pressed whatever fucking button that opens the floodgates.
More tears fall helplessly from my eyes now as we stare at each other.
“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers, her voice splintering with emotion, her chest rising and falling as tears of her own begin rolling down her face. “Afrim was such a good man. I only knew him for a few weeks, but—but—” She breaks off with a sob, her shoulders shaking as she fights to get the rest out.
But I can’t speak. Can’t force a single fucking word past the raw, burning pain lodged in my throat, past the tightness compressing my chest and lungs.
My chest feels like it’s being crushed repeatedly under an impossibly heavy fist, and I don’t have space left inside me to comfort anyone else right now. Don’t have the emotional tools or resources to process this loss. All I know is thatAtë’s gone. My father’s gone forever.
My last anchor to this world is fucking gone, and I didn’t get to say goodbye even though I was just down the fucking hallway. Just steps away. Was he aware of what was happening? Did he feel fear when his heart started failing? Pain? The thought makes my throat constrict even tighter.
I stare at her tear-stained face, focusing on her genuine grief, on the way she’s openly crying for a man she barely knew—her supposed enemy. And it hits me differently somehow,makes me wonder if maybe not everything about her has been an elaborate lie. Maybe some of it was real.
Or maybe I just need something to hold on to so I don’t lose my goddamn mind.
Her face twists with guilt and grief and something else she doesn’t want me to see, and her voice shakes like it’s taking everything in her not to fall apart in front of me. “I’m so, so sorry,” she repeats brokenly. “I know my words are useless against your pain, but I want you to know… you’re not alone. I’m here. I’m here and I?—”
The last word catches in her throat, and her whole body shudders with the sob she’s trying to swallow down. Tears roll down her cheeks rapidly now, and something sharp stabs into my chest, heavy and deep and impossible to ignore.
I don’t move at first. Just continue staring up at her, jaw clenched, throat burning, every part of me wound tight with the things I want to scream but can’t allow myself to release.
Then I grab her.
I hook my fingers into the edge of the towel and yank her body into me. The knot holding the towel gives and the fabric drops fast, slipping right off her damp skin like it wanted to fall. She gasps sharply as she suddenly stands there bare and trembling in front of me.
I don’t look away. I can’t.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I lean forward, slowly, waiting for her to step back or tell me to stop, but she doesn’t move. When I rest my head between her breasts, everything chaotic inside me goes quiet for half a precious second, and I close my eyes in relief.
Her skin is damp and wonderfully warm. She smells like my soap mixed with that flushed feminine warmth, and her heart is thudding so frantically I can feel every beat pulsing against my cheek.
But she doesn’t pull back.
She lets out a shaky breath, wraps her arms around my shoulders, and holds me there against her, her fingers threading through my hair in slow, soft strokes. The gesture should calm me, but it doesn’t—instead it lights something volatile in my chest, something hot and dangerous that shoots straight through me and sends blood rushing straight to my cock.
The way her body is pressed so tightly against mine—her damp, bare skin against my still-clothed body—makes my clothes stick to me where they touch her, the fabric going wet and clingy. Warmth permeates through every layer, raising my awareness of her to unbearable levels. Her breath brushing my neck. The curve of her waist under my palm. The incredible softness of her breasts pressed against my face.
My cock hardens, straining urgently against my pants, and I don’t even try to hide it.
I’m not thinking straight.
