Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(52)

“I won’t,” he said knowing full well that he was making fishy lips. “Promise.”

“Now say it again.”

“I won’t. Promise.”

“Again.”

“Okay. Now you’re just enjoying this.”

She laughed, patting him on the cheeks. “Wondered when you’d figure it out.” She stepped back and gestured toward the loft bedroom. “Are you sure you want to care for her?”

“I need to, and I think it’s what she’d want,” he said softly, knowing Row would understand. “She’s mine. My responsibility.”

“Okay. I already set out her clothes, and there’s a small bag of her toiletries. You want me to swing by after I change and help you get her to the cemetery?”

“I’ve got her. We’ll meet you there.” He walked Row out onto the porch. “Hopkins,” he said to the BCI guy hanging out on his porch swing. “See that she gets home.”

“Ms. McNeal, it would be my pleasure to be your escort this fine morning.” Hopkins held his arm out to Row like she was a fancy lady, causing her to giggle like a girl. Xander was going to have to thank the dude later for being exactly what Row needed at that moment.

Back in the house, Xander went upstairs to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, adjusted to the temperature until it was perfect, then set out the clothes Row had brought for Isleen.

Something had to change with Isleen. Row was right. Isleen’s body couldn’t handle losing any more weight. He went into the bedroom and sat next to his girl.

“Baby.” She didn’t look at him. He threw back the covers. She still wore the blue sundress she’d been wearing the day everything went to shit. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. “You’re going to take a shower. You’re going to get dressed. And then I’m going to take you to your grandmother’s funeral.” His voice was firmer than he intended.

Gently, he settled her on her feet, keeping hold of her until he felt that she was steady and then stepped back. “Now, get in the shower, wash, and get dressed.”

She didn’t move or give any indication she understood his words. Maybe she just needed a little direction. By the hand, he guided her closer to the glass-enclosed shower. Without hesitation, she followed him, but that was it. She wasn’t going to be able to do this on her own.

“Okay, we’ll do this together.” He shucked his boots and shirt, then opened the glass door and stepped inside. The water soaked his jeans, sucking them against his legs like sodden weights, but he’d deal. “Come on, baby.” He held out his hand to her. All she had to do was reach out a few inches and… She stepped toward him. “Yes. Come on.”

The first pellets of water splashed against the side of her face and arm. She flinched away from them, but he pulled her in tight, shielding her, protecting her from something as simple as water. “It’s okay. It’s just the shower.”

She leaned into him, her arms sneaking around his waist. Everywhere their skin met was a miracle. Her touch perfectly comfortable in a way he’d never experienced. It soothed something inside him. Hopefully, something in her too.

While she clung to him, he reached for the shampoo bottle. “Close your eyes. I’m going to wash your hair.” He checked to make certain she was listening, then squirted the shampoo on the top of her head. It’d been only a week, and her hair was already past her shoulders. He massaged the suds into her scalp. “Row brought your shampoo, but I forgot to get it. I guess you’re going to smell like me.” Not that he minded.

He rinsed her hair, then just stood there under the spray with her. Jesus. Just fucking do it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before. “I’m going to take off your sundress now and get you cleaned up. You tell me if you’ve got any problems with this and I’ll stop.”

Slowly, he reached down behind her and gathered her dress up, then pulled it up over her waist to her arms. “Baby, raise your arms for me.” She did, and he slipped the material over her head and tossed it in a soggy pile on the shower floor. With even more care, he slid her panties down her thighs until they fell and caught on her ankles. Throughout the entire process, she full-body leaned against him, shifting herself in response to his movements. At least she was aware of him, comfortable with him, and responsive to him—to a certain extent anyway.

He squirted his body wash on a rag and began at her shoulders, rubbing the cloth over her skin. Scars and cuts and still-fading yellow bruises marred her flesh. The sight of her skin reinforced his conviction never to allow anyone to control her life. Or hurt her ever again. If there was anything—anything at all—he could do to take away the pain of her grandmother’s death, he’d do it. He’d happily carry the burden for her.

After the shower, he toweled her off, dressed her, and helped her lie down on the bed so he could get his own shower and get dressed for what was to come.

Twenty minutes later, he led her down the stairs and out his front door. Her grip on his hand was firm, too firm to be normal, but it was something.

A bruised sky hung over them. A low rumble of thunder sounded from the west, threatening to rip open the clouds and pour grief over them. Xander’s guts began trembling. He fucking hated storms. But for her, to give her the opportunity to be at Gale’s funeral, he would suck it up.