Page 98 of Hold Him Like Gravity

It would be silly to be upset about someone else killing him. And after having been at his beck and call for many years, I knew better than anyone that the world would be a better place without him walking around.

I also couldn’t bring myself to have any issues with that attempted rapist getting a swift trip to hell either.

And after learning my brother was working with my ex, well, any remaining feelings of familial affection or obligation just evaporated.

I didn’t want him dead.

But I did want him gone.

I never wanted to see him again.

I wanted to put my faith to rest in the words of Primo Esposito.

Found family can be better than blood.

Because, damn, they certainly couldn’t be any worse, that was for sure.

I’d already gotten to know Rico, Bastian, and Saff. All of them cared more than my own flesh and blood did about me.

Saff was already inviting me to book club.

Rico was talking about condos with extra rooms.

Even Primo Esposito had mentioned wanting to come to the wedding.

It was scary to hope, but I was praying that I could fit in here, that I could eventually call all these people my own. That I wouldn’t have to know lonely holidays again or always only have myself to lean on.

“You don’t have to stay,” I told Saff as she nodded off for the fourth time in ten minutes, each time snapping awake to stare blearily at the silly comedy movie we’d put on to lighten the mood as hours slipped away. As the sky went from the darkest part of night to the lightest parts of dawn.

“I’m fine,” Saff insisted.

“There are guards outside,” I reminded her. “I’m safe here.”

“I’m gonna st…” she started, but was cut off by her phone beeping on her thigh. “Prince Charming is on his way home,” she said, finally getting up off the couch, stretching like a cat, and rolling cricks out of her neck. “So I am going to get going. Don’t forget to look for the book,” she said as she grabbed her purse. “It should be here in the morning.”

With that, we said our goodbyes and I waited anxiously to hear Rico’s key in the door.

In a few minutes, the door was pushing open.

And there he was.

He had a black hoodie on over his usual clothes, but I could still see a splash of blood on his neck.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, rushing forward, arms raised, ready to pull his shirt out of the way so I could see.

“Don’t,” he said, tone a little sharp. “Don’t touch me,” he added, voice softer. “I need to change and shower,” he told me. “And I need you not to touch me or the clothes, okay?”

This was a forensics type of thing, I realized. He was trying to protect me.

“Okay,” I agreed, but I did follow behind him as he moved through the apartment, making me realize his shoes were already missing when he’d come inside.

He toed out of his socks, grabbing them, and tossing them into the tub. Next went his hoodie, his blood-soaked shirt, his pants, underwear. Then he was completely naked and walking into the shower niche, turning the water on with his elbow, then stepping inside.

I stood there, watching as he soaped and scrubbed. Once. Twice. Under his nails, in his hair. Every inch of him must have been squeaking by the time he finally stopped soaping up.

I didn’t hesitate then.

I slipped out of my clothes, leaving them in the bedroom, then stepping across the bathroom and into the niche.

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