“I need to strip off if I’m going to wash properly.”
She turned her back on me. “Get on with it then. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
I was tempted to just sink to my backside in the shower tray and sit there until she went away—she couldn’t stand there forever—but deep down, I knew she was right. I’d been paralysed by my grief for so long, and while I knew there was no time limit on grieving, that niggling worry in the back of my mind about my late period gave me a reason to do as she said.
With a sigh, I turned to face the shower spray, and peeled off my now wet PJs. I dropped them into the stall to deal with later. I’d tackle my hair first. The scent of the shampoo lifted my mood a fraction, and scrubbing the suds into my scalp felt good, too. My head had been itchy for some time now, and I was relieved that it wouldn’t feel that way anymore. I rinsed the shampoo and then used some conditioner. Without rinsing it out, I used my Denman brush on the numerous knots. Parts of my hair were like dreadlocks, and I wasn’t sure I’d have the energy to work them out, but I kept going, knowing that if I didn’t, I’d have to cut big chunks off my hair.
I rinsed the conditioner out and then turned my attention to my body. Using a good dollop of a citrus-scented gel, I washed my skin.
My hand brushed over my tender breasts and down to my belly. Could I really have a new life growing in there? A life that was half Jayden Wynter. I closed my eyes, bracing myself against the fresh wave of pain washing over me. I didn’t know how to process the possibility. It was better not to think about it.
As I switched off the shower, Mara grabbed a towel from the heated rail and handed it over to me. I wrapped it around my body, and then she gave me a second, smaller one for my hair, which I knotted on top of my head.
“See,” she said, eyeing me up. “Better already.”
“I think it’s going to take a lot more than a shower, Mara.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. I’m only doing it because I care about you.”
Tears threatened again. They always seemed to be close these days.
“I know.”
She was the only one who cared about me. Other than at Bruno’s funeral—which had been a private affair, with only family present, and the crematorium paid off—I’d barely seen my father or Aiden. Neither of them had bothered to visit to see how I was.
My remaining family hated me now. I knew they blamed me, at least in part, for Bruno’s death. I’d brought Jayden into our lives, and if I hadn’t been seeing him, Bruno would still be alive. They were right, too. I blamed myself.
Still, I found myself going back over those moments after I’d found Bruno’s body.
Jay had tried to talk to me afterwards. He’d said that Bruno had been the one to attack him and he’d only been defending himself, but that didn’t change the outcome. Bruno probably did go and confront Jay about us, but would he have killed him? I didn’t know. I didn’t want to believe my brother would try to murder the man I loved, but it wasn’t as though they weren’t capable of killing.
Wasn’t that why I’d been so afraid of them finding out in the first place?
I dressed in the loosest, most comfortable clothes I had—an oversized t-shirt and hoody and a pair of sweatpants, and added a pair of fluffy socks. I blow-dried the worst of the wetness out of my hair and then tied it back to keep it out of my face. I didn’t bother with makeup—I didn’t care how I looked, and I hoped no one would see me anyway. At least I was clean.
The effort of showering and getting dressed had sucked all the energy from me, and I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed again, my hands in my lap, my head hanging. I knew I was depressed, but it wasn’t something that pills could fix. Therapy would probably have been a better bet, but how could I possibly go and talk to someone about what had happened? For one, I’d be admitting that Jay had murdered Bruno and I couldn’t say that out loud to anyone. As much as I wanted to trust the people we had on our payroll, there was nothing stopping someone from using that information against me. Or against Jayden.
“I hate this life, Mara,” I said. “I hate this city. I want to leave, but I’m frightened of being on my own, and I don’t know where I should go. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”
She sat beside me. “There’s a whole world out there. You’re young and free. You could go anywhere.”
“I’m afraid of being lonely.”
“It’s okay to be lonely sometimes. That’s often when we learn who we truly are as people.”
I sniffed. “Maybe that’s what I’m most worried about—finding out who I am. What if I don’t like that person?”
“Why would you not?”
“Because I got my brother killed, and the man I loved was forced to kill him.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She covered my hand with hers. “You’re not responsible for the things men do.”
“I miss him. I miss them both, and I feel terrible for that.”
“You loved him?”
“I still do, and what kind of person does that make me?”