Page 36 of Brood
“Yeah. I’m okay. I’m almost done.”
“I told you to take your time.”
“I thought I was.”
“Okay.”
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the clinic?” He was still bleeding when he helped me into the shower.
“I went to get some bandages and antibiotic salve.”
“Oh, good.” I turn off the shower, finding a burst of energy from focusing on him.
When I open the door, he hands me a clean towel.
He’s standing there watching as I dry off and wind the towel around my head to get my wet hair out of the way. He got clean panties and a camisole for me, so I put them on hurriedly and then gesture him toward the toilet. “Sit down and let me check to make sure you really don’t need the doctor.”
“I said?—”
“I know what you said, but I’ll worry unless I check. I’m already anxious enough, and this will make me feel better.”
He peers at me closely but then must decide I’m telling him the truth. He sits on the closed lid of the toilet while I wet a washcloth and clean the dried blood off his face and beard.
He’s got scratches on his forehead and on one cheek. One of them is scarily close to his eye. “He really clawed at you.”
“He did. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Yeah.” Once I assure myself the cuts on his face are superficial, I wipe the washcloth down his neck. He’s got marks from where Gus’s fingers squeezed. They’re probably going to bruise.
The sight of them upsets me, so I move on, tugging on his shoulders until he stands and then opening his shirt so I can find the source of the blood there.
Some of the blood must have been Gus’s because he’s only got one long scratch on his chest near the neckline of his shirt.
“I told you,” Will says, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual. “It’s all superficial.”
“The bruises aren’t superficial.” There’s a deep red mark on his side where he must have been kneed in the struggle. “And you could have a broken rib or damaged organ or something.”
“I don’t. I promise.”
“Okay.” I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to make myself relax. “You take your shower now. I’m going to work on my hair.”
He knows from experience how long it takes to deal with my hair after washing it, so he doesn’t object to this plan. He shucks his clothes quickly and steps into the shower.
Even now, I like the look of his naked body. It’s not the same as when we have sex. I don’t feel all tense and hot at the sight of his bare butt and the muscle development of his arms and legs. His coarse, dark body hair.
Instead, it gives me an odd, warm, twisty feeling. Down deep. Below my belly.
Before he turns on the shower, he catches me looking at him. He frowns questioningly.
I manage a smile, which must reassure him. He closes the door and turns the water on.
While he showers, I brush out my hair and dry it partway. If I don’t dry it at all, it will frizz and look messy, even pulled back. When most of the moisture is out, I fix it in two tight braids.
I’m finishing the second braid when the water turns off. Will steps out, completely naked and dripping. “You should go lie down.”
“I’ve got work soon.”
“No. I got us both an exemption for the afternoon. You shouldn’t have to work after what happened.”
