Page 194 of Daddy's Pride
When he was finally satisfied he was clean again—he’d washed his hair three times—he toweled off, a little surprised he still had a clean towel. Then again, if one didn’t shower, one didn’t have dirty towels. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
When he walked back into his room, Brody was nowhere to be seen, but the windows had been opened and the half-eaten food from days, maybe even weeks, ago was gone. Where was Brody?
The clink of dishes came from the kitchen, and the aroma of garlic and onion wafted through the small apartment, promising nourishment and a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. Brody was making food for him. Josiah’s stomach rumbled, a testament to how he’d neglected himself, but his heart ached as much as his belly did—probably because it had been equally empty.
He found some clothes and put them on. A fashion statement they weren’t, but they were clean and fresh, and right now, that was progress. After slipping into some slippers, he padded into the kitchen, where Brody moved with quiet efficiency. His large hands, which could easily intimidate, were delicately handling porcelain plates, sliding them into the dishwasher.
He looked over his shoulder. “Have a seat. Your food is ready.”
Josiah hovered in the doorway. “I can take care of myself, Brody. I don’t need… this.” His voice was thin, trying to muster defiance but betraying vulnerability instead.
“Josiah,” Brody said, his tone leaving no room for argument, “sit down and eat. You’ll feel better.”
Josiah swallowed. “Yes, Sir.”
Brody’s expression softened as he switched his attention to the skillet, where an omelet was bubbling. “You don’t need to call me that now.”
Josiah shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
He sat, his legs shaky, and watched, almost in a daze, as Brody scooped a generous portion of fluffy omelet laden with colorful vegetables onto a plate.
Brody set the plate before him, along with a fork, and sat across from him with his own plate. “Eat,” he said again, softer this time but just as insistent.
He hesitantly took a bite, but as the flavors burst on his tongue—rich egg, the sweet tang of bell peppers, the sharpness of cheese—Josiah took another and another.
“Good, isn’t it?” Brody asked, a gentle tease in his voice as Josiah demolished the food with growing appetite.
“Better than I remembered food could taste,” Josiah said between bites. His cheeks flushed with warmth that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with Brody’s care.
“I’m glad. You needed this.”
Licking his lips, Josiah pushed back his empty plate, a sense of contentment seeping through the cracks of his fatigue. The meal had been more than just food. It had nourished his soul, while Brody’s presence was a balm to the raw edges of his spirit.
“I know we have things to talk about,” Brody said softly. “But you’re exhausted. Why don’t you get some sleep first, and we’ll talk after? You need rest, baby boy. Please.”
That last word stabbed straight through Josiah’s defenses. Tiredness wrapped around him like a thick blanket, heavy and inescapable. He should be angry, should be screaming and throwing Brody out. Instead, he experienced this bone-deep weariness and an ache for the care and concern Brody was showing. It wouldn’t last, but would it be so bad to soak it up for a little while?
“Will you be here when I wake up?” His voice broke near the end.
Much to his shock, Brody’s eyes grew misty. “Yes, baby boy. I’ll be here when you wake up today, tomorrow, and the day after. As long as you’ll let me.”
“Okay.”
Brody rose, walked over to Josiah, and kissed the top of his head. “Where do I find clean bed linens?”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Where, Josiah?”
“Right closet door, top shelf.”
“Stay here. I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
He nodded, then closed his eyes, reveling in the deep knowing of not being alone. What felt like seconds later, Brody gently shook him awake. “Don’t fall asleep here, baby boy.”
“So tired,” Josiah mumbled.
“I know.” Brody lifted Josiah as if he weighed nothing. “Time for bed.”