Page 235 of Vicious Temptation

Thiago steps into the tub and lowers himself into the water. I kneel beside him as he stares straight ahead, barely seeming to register the heat surrounding him. I reach for a washcloth, squeeze body wash onto it, dip it beneath the water, and wring it out. Starting with his hands, I gently wipe away the dried blood caked into the lines of his skin.

It isn’t his. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

The water clouds pink for a moment before carrying it away. I rinse the cloth and move to his forearms, then his shoulders, making sure I clean every trace.

When I reach to dip the cloth again, his hand wraps around my wrist.

“I...I couldn’t save him.” His voice cracks. “He was only three.”

His chest starts shaking before another sound leaves him. He bows his head, fighting back the sobs until his entire body trembles beneath the effort. Watching him fight this hard to hold himself together makes my heart ache. My baby is hurting, and I want to take whatever it is he’s carrying, but I don’t know how. That’s when I step into the tub fully clothed and pull him into my arms.

His head drops against my chest, right over my heart.

“It’s okay,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes and my fingers slide through his wet curls. “Let it out, baby. I’m here.”

His cries finally come, echoing off the bathroom walls as his arms wrap around me. I hold him tighter, wishing there was something more I could do than sit here and feel every sob tear through him.

“I was right there,” he chokes out. “Right there.”

“I know you were. I know.”

“I-I couldn’t...”

Somehow, I know this isn't just about today. It's about the little boy who couldn't save his father, like he's reliving it. So I hold him tighter, my arms around him as he falls apart, giving him the one thing he came here for. A place where he doesn't have to be strong.

Eventually, his cries begin to slow. I cup his face and press a kiss to his tear-streaked cheek.

“Turn around.”

He leans into me for one more kiss, resting his forehead against mine for a moment, then he does as I ask.

I shift onto the edge of the tub, and he settles between my knees with his back to me as I work shampoo into his curls, massaging his scalp in slow circles. “Lean back.”

He does, surrendering his weight to me as I tip his head beneath the stream of warm water and rinse the shampoo from his hair. I’m working conditioner through his curls when he draws a shaky breath.

“I could hear him crying.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Then I couldn’t.”

My hands stop in his hair.

“Maybe if I’d moved faster...” Thiago lifts his pruned hands from the water and stares at them as though they’re stained with something no amount of scrubbing will ever wash away. “If I’d gotten there thirty seconds earlier.”

“You did everything you could,” I tell him softly.

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t enough.”

Fresh tears sting my eyes. I’ve never seen him like this.

“He kept asking me why,” he mutters.

“Why what, baby?”

Thiago swallows hard.

“Why his little boy wasn’t waking up.” His voice breaks. “And I had to tell him.”

I close my eyes for a moment, fighting back my tears as I finish rinsing his hair.

When I step out of the tub, water streams from my clothes and pools around my feet. I grab a towel for Thiago and another for myself, draping mine around my shoulders, then kneel beside him again.