Page 57 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Finally, I stood bare in front of him. I could do this. Romeo’s eyes followed me as I stepped into the shower next to him. Hot water pelted my skin, making my fingers sting as they regained feeling. I reached for the body wash and the cloth hanging on a hook suctioned to the tile, wetting the terrycloth fabric and squeezing a generous amount of gel into the center before rubbing the sides together to lather the soap.

Starting with his shoulders, I worked my way down Romeo’s chest and arms, quickly washing between his legs before crouching to wash those muscular tree trunks. He turned for me so I could wash his back, which I hoped was a sign he was coming out of shock. His butt muscles flexed when I ran the cloth over his tight ass, and I wondered if he was ticklish there.

I rinsed the cloth and found the shampoo bottle, figuring it couldn’t hurt to wash his hair, too. “Lean down for me.”

Romeo leaned back against the tile and slowly slid until he sat on the shower floor. It wasn’t exactly what I’d asked, but it would work. I ignored his face being so close to my center and ran my soapy hands through his hair, massaging his head and raking my nails gently across his scalp until his head rested against my thigh.

“You’re going to have to stand to rinse,” I directed, tapping him on the shoulder. He rose and stepped under the water, allowing me to wash the soap from his hair. I slicked a little conditioner through for good measure, rinsing until the water ran clear.

Since I was already soaked, I quickly washed my body and hair before stepping out of the shower and finding two towels. I dried myself, wrapped my hair in the towel, then shut the shower water off, helping Romeo onto the bath mat and toweling his body so he wouldn’t get cold.

“My dad used to tell me a shower always helps,” I said absently when the memory crossed my mind as I flipped my hair over and squeezed the excess water from the locks.

“When?” Romeo’s raspy voice cut through the air, startling me. I spun and collided with his chest, stilling when his hands gripped my hips. He frowned at me like he wasn’t sure what was happening.

“Sorry, what?”

“I heard he died. When?” he asked again.

“I was twelve,” I supplied, hanging the towels up so they could dry. “Do you have a brush?”

Romeo pointed to the top drawer of the vanity, and I reached inside, withdrawing the brush and detangling my hair from the bottom up. It would probably frizz out, but at least I wouldn’t have knots.

“You didn’t have much time with him.”

Apparently, we weren’t done talking about my loss. “I have fond memories. My father was quick to smile, and he taught me how to play pool.”

I laughed. “I still remember the first time I beat him. If I lost, I had to do the dishes without complaining. If he lost, he owed me ice cream. Dad missed, and I pocketed the last solid, then the eight ball. He was so happy for me he picked me up and spun around, then put me on his shoulders and did a victory lap around the pub.”

“He took you to O’Connor’s?” Romeo lifted a brow.

“Yeah, plenty of the kids hang around when it’s just regulars during the day,” I remembered Saturday mornings when the bar was closed, and my dad took me to shoot pool in the dim lighting. “You know, I still think he let me win that time.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “If you’d known him, you’d understand. My Dad was one of the best pool players in the O’Connor organization. He didn’t lose. Do you really think an eleven-year-old could best a thirty-five-year-old man with that kind of experience?”

“Probably not,” he answered, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t realize it until after he was gone,” I admitted. “And then I practiced until I could beat every man in the pub.”

“And fleece them out of all their money,” he added, a shadow of a smile gracing his features.

“That, too.” I shivered, and Romeo motioned for me to follow him into the bedroom.

He rummaged in the closet and tossed a plain white t-shirt at me. “Here. Sorry, I don’t have anything else that will fit you.”

I pulled it over my head, and the fabric dropped to mid-thigh. Enough to cover my ass as long as I didn’t bend over. Romeo tugged a pair of boxer briefs up his legs and stood by the window, staring out over the city. He looked lost.

“He must have been proud of you,” Romeo said, cutting through the silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tucked my legs under me. “My Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t shy about telling me he was proud.”

“My father hasn’t been proud of me for a single day in my life,” Romeo said flatly, his breath fogging the window as he exhaled. “I didn’t do much to make my mother proud, either. I’m the fuck-up of the family. Not a leader like Dante, not a killer like Cosimo, not married like Niccolò. I run a fucking gym where people pay exorbitant fees because they owe my family money.”

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