Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,87

his demeanor changes. “What’s going on?” He takes a dominant tone with me, demanding an answer, pulling one reluctantly from my body.

But this isn’t sex.

I’m not in that headspace right now.

My entire body convulses as I shove him away. Once I’m in the shower, the first sob wracks my body. My mother is dying, and I’m not there.

I’m not there. I’m not there!

I’m not there because I spent last night with Brody instead of going home like I should have.

I’m a mess, a complete, horrible, no good mess. I try to wash my body and my hair, but I can’t get my limbs to work. I keep dropping everything.

Brody steps into the shower, and I seethe with resentment that he dares to invade my space.

“Go away!” I squirt shampoo into my hand, only to realize it’s conditioner instead. With a shriek, I rinse it off and growl with frustration. I blindly search for the shampoo. Strong arms wrap around me, and I fight. I hiss and twist and kick at him. “Let me go,” I sob.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Red. Red. Red.

The word flashes in my head, but I don’t say it. I can’t. I need someone to take control because I’m losing my ever-loving mind.

“I just want to go home.” I slap at him, ineffectually, as he tightens his grip around my shoulders, pinning my arms inside his protective embrace.

“Stop.” He pulls me back, nearly lifting me off my feet. “Take a breath and tell me what happened? Who was that on the phone?”

My mother is dying. It’s a fact, one I’ve lived with for months, but I’m not ready for this. I won’t survive her death. I still need her for so many things. My sobs turn agonized. The beginnings of soul-sundering howls build in my throat.

“Tell me,” Brody’s voice firms, growing stronger, more demanding.

“Mom…” A low, keening wail escapes me as I draw a knee to my chest.

Brody’s grip on me doesn’t falter. If not for him, I’d be huddled on the floor. I’m breaking inside, battling fear, abandonment, and loss. My vision blurs as my strength fades.

I break.

I fall apart.

“I’m here. I’m with you. And I’ll get you home.” Brody manhandles me until the spray of the water shoots between us. It’s in his face and sprays down on my head. He’s some kind of magician because he manages to wet my hair, lather in shampoo, rinse it, and wash the rest of my body clean from our amorous activities. He even conditions my hair.

Strong fingers massage my scalp and work the conditioner through to the ends. I’m a weeping, howling mess. Somehow, he manages to wash his body as well.

The water turns off and I shake, but before I know it, he wraps me in a plush cotton towel. I hold it around my body, completely useless and unable to dry myself, as he quickly combs through the tangles of my hair and secures everything in a ponytail at the base of my neck. Then his hands are on me, drying me off. Brody sweeps me off my feet and carries me to the bed.

“Stay there. I’m going to find you something to wear.” His hand runs through his wet hair. He heads to the massive walk-in closet and disappears while I huddle on the bed. When he returns, he’s dressed in loose-fitting jeans and a green and black shirt. “Let’s get you dressed.”

“In what?” All I have is the red, silky dress from last night. I’m going to go home, doing the walk of shame, in last night’s dress?

No!

Another whimper escapes me.

Brody pulls me off the bed and shoves one of his shirts over my head.

“It’s the best I could find.” He kneels before me and feeds first one foot and then the other into a pair of black running pants. The stretchy fabric hangs loosely on my much smaller frame. “Stand up.”

The only reason I find my feet is because he pulls me to them and leaves me there to wobble. Disappearing into the kitchen, he returns with two large clips. Back to his knees, he burrows under the oversized shirt and gathers the loose fabric at my waist. He places a clip on either side of my waist and draws the pants tight enough so that they won’t slip down.

“No shoes, but I can carry you.” He stands and his heavy gaze settles on me, full of concern and worry.

“I can walk.” I sniff and wipe at my nose.