Page 195 of Daddy's Pride
Josiah had expected Brody to put him on the bed, but he carried him to the bathroom. “Brush your teeth.”
Oops. Probably not a bad idea, since he couldn’t even remember when he’d last brushed them. His movements were slow as he took care of that, but he managed.
“Good boy. Now, use the bathroom so you don’t wake up because of a full bladder.”
Right. Somewhere deep inside, Josiah felt like he should protest against this level of micromanaging, but he lacked the energy. Going along was so much easier right now.
When he was done and had washed his hands, Brody gently guided him to the bed, which he had made with Josiah’s favorite sheets—a worn-out Star Wars set Denali had given for his birthday years ago. God, it smelled so fresh. Josiah moaned when he slipped between the sheets, already half-asleep.
To his surprise, Brody stripped down to a t-shirt and underwear and slid next to him. He held out his arm. “Come here,” Brody murmured. It wasn’t a command but an invitation.
Josiah allowed himself to be drawn into the circle of Brody’s arms, the solid warmth of his body saying all the things they couldn’t talk about now. As Brody held him close, Josiah’s body uncoiled, tension seeping out of him drop by drop. Comforted by the steady heartbeat against his ear, he closed his eyes, breathing in Brody’s scent.
“Sleep, Josiah. I’ve got you,” Brody whispered, his breath ruffling through Josiah’s hair.
“Stay…” It was barely audible, a plea laced with vulnerability. Josiah fisted Brody’s shirt, holding on as if he might float away into the darkness. “Please stay.”
“I promise.” Brody pressed a tender kiss to Josiah’s temple.
In the sanctuary of Brody’s arms, Josiah succumbed to slumber, and he drifted off to the rhythm of Brody’s heart—a metronome of security and comfort and the promise of a tomorrow when he wouldn’t have to face the world alone.
If Brody kept his word.
Chapter Seven
Brody’s eyes fluttered open to the gray light of dawn sneaking through the blinds. Beside him, Josiah lay in a tangle of sheets, his blond hair splayed across the pillow, a serene expression smoothing the usual playful spark from his features—not that he’d seen much of that spark last night. Brody propped himself on one elbow, taking in the sight of Josiah’s peaceful slumber. A wave of tenderness washed over him, mingling with an undercurrent of worry that tightened his chest.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from Josiah’s forehead. The quietness of the moment felt almost sacred, a stark contrast to the chaos from the night before. Elya’s message that Josiah was heartbroken had been an understatement, and the guilt was real.
Brody had caused this. His abrupt decision had impacted Josiah in ways Brody had never expected, and his boy had suffered. Now, all Brody wanted to do was make it up to him. Because Josiah was his. If nothing else, that truth had hit home the night before when he’d seen him again. Even with his pretty blue eyes clouded with distress, his makeup smeared, and the disheveled clothing clinging to his slim figure, he’d been the most beautiful sight Brody had ever seen.
But if they wanted a future together, Brody needed to be honest with Josiah. He couldn’t tell him much, but the boy deserved to know the truth, if only because it would help him understand why Brody had thought it better to walk away.
As he watched Josiah, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic and reassuring, the protective instincts of his inner Dom stirred. It wasn’t just about control or guidance for him. It was the innate desire to nurture, mend what was broken, and bolster what was weak until strength returned. Josiah might be a flirty, outgoing soul who could command any room with his charm, but beneath that veneer of confidence lay a fragility that resonated with Brody’s concealed scars.
The quiet hum of the city waking up filtered through the window, but in the cocoon of Josiah’s bedroom, none of that mattered. This was their sanctuary, a place where Brody could care for Josiah without the outside world interfering with its relentless demands. And he knew where to start. Josiah’s roommate had already left—the unfamiliar sound of the door clicking shut had awoken Brody—and Brody’s hands itched to create order in the chaos he’d found.
Brody slid from the bed, his gaze lingering on Josiah’s serene expression for an instant longer as he got dressed. The sunlight spilled across the boy’s tousled hair and painted a warm glow on Josiah’s delicate features. A deep warmth filled Brody. He’d take care of Josiah. He’d help the boy find his way back again. And he’d damn well make sure Josiah would never question his self-worth again.
By the time Josiah padded into the kitchen, looking adorably crumpled, Brody had unpacked and loaded the dishwasher, thrown out all the expired food from the fridge, cleaned the kitchen, and had breakfast ready for his boy. Unfortunately, it was another omelet, but since the fridge was empty aside from some eggs, a few tomatoes, and a bag of half-wilted spinach, he’d had little choice. In the back, he’d found some cheddar cheese, so at least the result would have some flavor.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Josiah murmured, eyes wide as he took in the clean kitchen.
“Good morning, baby boy.” Brody ignored Josiah’s remark. “Can I get a kiss?”
Josiah rushed over and offered his mouth. Brody kissed him softly. “Did you sleep well?”
“I was out like a light.”
“Good. It looked like you needed it.” Like you needed me, he wanted to add but didn’t. No matter how much he wanted to help or even take over, he had to take things one step at a time.
“Sit down. Eat up.” Brody gestured to the chair. “You need a good start to the day.”
They settled into their seats, the clink of cutlery against plates filling the silence. The coffee machine purred as Brody made them both a fresh cup. “I used whatever I could find in the fridge, so it may have been your roommate’s.”
Josiah shook his head. “He doesn’t eat here. He works at a diner and always brings food home for himself.”
The expired food had been Josiah’s, then. It all added to the picture that was forming, one that spoke of complete disarray.