“Juss likka.” My words slur, letting me know just how much I’ve unintentionally imbibed. My whole body shivers from what my brain can’t shake.
“Don’t worry. We killed them all,” he assures me. “Let me help you.”
I probably could walk, but he doesn’t give me the chance to even stand. Pulling me into his arms and then settling me in the clawfoot tub he installed when I was sixteen, and told him I wanted not just showers but baths now that I was older.
The scent of vanilla-rose wafts around me as he nestles me among the suds. “Let me help you get this shit out of your hair.” He’s already lathering his hands with my shampoo.
Firm fingers spear into my hair, gently massaging the cleanser through my locs from scalp to end.
Closing my eyes, I relax into the sensation of his hands in my hair. It feels so lovely as he takes his time washing my hair. After rinsing, he washes my locs again and then moves on to the conditioner. When he’d done, he rinses my hair, making me sit while he runs fresh water.
The sumptuous warmth of the water laps at me. I grab my net sponge, feeling a little more like myself now that I’ve washed the various liquors from my body.
“You good?” His tone holds an edge.
“Yeah.” My voice sounds small and dejected in my own ears as I hear him walking away.
His phone rings. “I need to take this.” I hear him say, disappearing into the shadows of the house.
Seconds later I hear him having a conversation with Angel or maybe one of the other head guys.
“Angel and Easy are at Dr. Everything’s getting him patched up.” His voice is rawer than before. His eyes look haunted. He stands out of my line of sight, giving me privacy now that my faculties are back.
“Is he going to be okay? Is Ezekiel-Jane okay?” I ask, remembering how out of it she seemed.
“Yeah, Padre used some smelling salts to bring her around, and Angel’s too much of a mean motherfucker to allow anything so pedestrian as a stabbing to bring him down. He may be out of commission for a minute.” I know what it means before he even says anything more. He’s going to be gone handling club business.
I nod, making myself focus on the task of getting myself clean.
Once I’m done with my bath, I take care of my skin and face routine. My cami and pants are already laid on my bed. I try to ignore what that does to my heart, and I slip on the soft material, reveling in the thick fluffiness of the pajama pants and the frilly top.
Padding into the living room, I see he’s placed two mugs of cocoa on the table in front of the sofa.
“My favorite.” I manage a smile, drinking him in. We haven’t done this since I stopped homeschooling. I never went to formal school. We didn’t need the questions that would arrive with a Haitian little girl living with a nearly twenty-year-old Colombian man who wasn’t related to her.
We always ended the evening with cocoa — until we didn’t. Pushing down how much that hurt, I pad over to the sofa, sitting opposite him in the farthest corner of the couch.
It’s loaded with marshmallows topped with whipped cream, just the way I love.
“Good?” I look up into his trouble eyes.
“Umhm,” I practically moan, taking a deep sip of my comfort drink.
“Saban —” he stops when I look up.
“Here, let me get that.” Reaching out, he swipes my foam-stache with his thumb. Innocent enough just as him licking the sweetness from his thumb like he’s done a thousand times before. That doesn’t stop my stare or the squeeze of mysugarcake watching the way his tongue swipes over his thumb. Nor does it stop the memory of him kissing me the first night Easy showed up from crashing into my brain like a train.
“Ahem,” he says. I don’t miss the way he rubs his thumb before tucking it into a fist. “Angel said before he took care of Rudy — the motherfucker said he—” cut off swearing viciously, “fuck.” He shoots up from the sofa, stepping away to pace back and forth.
His muscles ripple as he swipes his hand over his close-cropped hair. I frown, scrambling to figure out in my still slightly inebriated state what has him so upset. They beat them, killed Rudy. Then it dawns on me.
“Do you need to? I can take you over to Dr. Mimi’s if you need her to take care of anything for you.” His face is flushed. Pain etched like a scar across his countenance. His eyes plead, but it’s like he’s lost.
“No.” Abandoning my cocoa, I say clearly, standing in front of him to stop his pacing.
He cups my face, searching for the truth he thinks I’m trying to keep from him.
“Did he hurt you, penqueña amenaza?” Covering his tense hands, I shake my head.
