Page 61 of Wrath

He covers his face again, looking down, and he rasps, “In the shower. Dickface.” His lips twitch, and he moves his hand off his eyes, giving me the most exhausted fuck-off look I’ve ever seen in my life. I feel giddy—like some drug just hit me hard.

I hear myself laugh. “Okay, twinky winky. Lemme get you up. I’ll sling you over my shoulder like one of those bags of feed we lift at practice.”

I’m just messing with him. I get into a good crouch and then wrap my arms under his arms, leaning him forward like I’m gonna put him over my shoulder, but there’s no need to. He gets onto his knees, and I’m able to help him stand. Then he’s leaning on me. He’s trying to get his balance as I hold him, but he’s still shaking.

Shower water hits him in the face, and his grip on me tightens.

“Turn your head away from it so you don’t get it in your mouth.”

“Really?” The word is groaned, but I can feel the smart-ass attitude behind it. And then he’s gulping the steam, panting in a way that makes me think maybe he’s freaked out.

“It’s okay, Mills. Let me wash you off, okay? Just hold onto me. I’m not skinny anymore. You notice that? I’m on the gain train now. I’ve gotcha.”

He seems mostly clean, but I wash his shoulder and his side and neck again. I run my palm over one of his hard hipbones. It feels wrong touching his dick, so I’m not going to, but I rub my hand over his abs. If they’re messy, that’s my fault for smearing cum all over them.

When I’m pretty sure he’s clean, I brave a glance back up at his face. He looks like someone in a dark room when the lights just got turned on.

“You think you can step over the side of the tub?”

He nods, looking wide-eyed and dazed.

“I can help you.”

I do, and we make it. He left a clean towel draped over the shower’s rod, so I’ve got that to help him dry with. Only I don’t know if I can dry him. He’s like…reallyshaking.

Jesus.

I wrap the thing around his shoulders as well as I can without letting go of his arm. “Let’s walk to my bed, okay? Or your bed?”

Why the fuck am I asking him questions?

“My bed,” I decide.

Dammit, I wish I could pick him up, but he’s a big guy. I could do it, but it would be a rough ride for him because it’d be a strain on me, so I just walk him into my room…lead him to the bed. I try to ease him down, but it’s a fail. He falls face-first, landing with a bounce. He draws his shoulders in and scoots so that he’s vertical on the bed, and I climb up beside him.

Jesus, DG.

I lay the towel over him and pull my sheet up…then the duvet, until he’s covered to his shoulders. I drag my pillow to him, thumb his temple gently. “Lift your head up, Mills. I’ve got a pillow for ya.”

He does, and I wiggle the pillow under his cheek. I brush the wet hair off his forehead again.

“I’m gonna call my dad. Do you feel okay right now?” He nods, even though he’s got his eyes shut. “Hang in there, DG.”

I’m too afraid to leave the room, so I call from the armchair by the door.

My dad sounds alarmed when I tell him, and he hands the phone to Suzanne.

“What happened?” she asks, and I tell her that I heard him choking from my room. That he was in the shower.

“Oh no,” she says softly. She sounds pretty devastated, which makes my throat feel tight all over again.

“I don’t know how long it went for,” I say. “I got in there and it stopped, and he got sick, like choking up some water, I think. And then I got him out and walked him to my bed.”

She asks if he’s coherent.

“Yeah. He knew who I was and he tried to make a joke.”

“Oh, poor Joshua. We thought we were over this, but evidently not…”

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