Page 77 of One for the Money
I strip out of my sweat-soaked clothing and toss it onto the floor. They’ll need to be burned at this point, with all the distress pheromones soaked into them. I doubt even the most industrial of scent removers could salvage them now.
The shower is hot, even if the water pressure leaves something to be desired. Looks like my trailer isn’t the only one with a spray that feels like a watering can.
Jude, thankfully, has scent-cancelling bodywash, and I scrub myself thoroughly with my hands, because no way in hell am I sharing that man’s loofah. He seems like a clean enough dude, but he’s so fucking hairy, and I do not want to get a wayward pube in my armpit.
What is not a surprise is the plethora of hair products, including a few gels and creams, on the corner shelf.
Not having to use a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner on my abused hair is a small victory.
“Did you know Dario means possessing goodness?” The Alpha asks, startling me with his smooth voice. I didn’t hear him come in and nearly dropped the shampoo bottle. “Or upholder of the good, depending on the translation.”
“I didn’t,” I comment, regaining my cool as I massage my scalp. “It’s a cool name.”
“It’s Italian and Portuguese in origin. I know, my heritagesoobvious, right? What with the blond hair andall.” He snorts. “Dexter insisted we bleach our hair to distance ourselves from our father. His parents were from Brazil, and we both look like him. The dark hair was easier to get rid of than our noses.”
I poke my head out of the shower. “I couldn’t tell it wasn’t natural.”
He smiles cheekily. “That’s because we’re always doing our roots.” I go to wash my hair a second time, and he continues. “Dexter is Latin in origin. But based on who you ask, it means right-handed, or, what my mom clung to, favorable.”
The warm water runs down my back as I rinse my hair, my eyes slipping closed as I listen to Dario’s soothing voice.
“Upholder of the good and favorable. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that favorable can mean good in certain contexts. From the moment I was born, I was tasked with propping up my brother. After he got diagnosed with Autism at five, my mom was always looking to me to protect him. I was the one who kept him on track. Who protected his peace. I have never once resented it.”
I turn off the shower and grab the towel left hanging on the rod. When I’m wrapped up and I step out, Dario is staring at me with sadness in his eyes.
“Never once have I resented him, Doc. Not until now.”
I freeze in place, unable to rip my eyes away from his intense gaze. “Why would you resent him now, and not then? It couldn’t have been easy growing up like that.”
A heavy sadness pulls his boyish features down. “It wasn’t. I put him first every time. I was happy to do it, because he’s had his struggles, and I love my brother. I want him to have a good life and make it easier, in whatever way I can. And he says he’s going to get to know you, going to try to let go of his prejudices and fears, but what if he doesn’t?” His voice is barely above a whisper. Hestares pleadingly at me from his place on the floor, his eyes shiny. “What if he doesn’t, and he can’t be with you, and I have to leave you too?”
“You don’t even know me,” I say, though the words feel hollow. “You’d get over me eventually.”
Dario’s chuckle is sarcastic and breathy. “No, I don’t think I would. I don’t know you that well… yet. But I know enough to know that walking away from you would fucking ruin me.” He pushes to his feet and hands me a neatly folded bundle of clothing. “If you could find it in your heart, please give him a little leeway as he gets his bearings. Treat him like a wounded animal, because that’s what he is. I don’t want him to run off and take me with him.”
I swallow and accept the clothing. I can’t make eye contact with Dario, his words spinning in my head.
“Like calls to like,” I whisper, involuntarily pulling the clothes to my face and inhaling.
Kettle corn and fried dough.
Matteo and Quinton.
Dario’s strained voice interrupts my embarrassing sniffing of the clothing. “What do you mean?”
It takes a lot of effort, but I pull my head up so he can see the sincerity on my face. “I’m wounded, too. Maybe that’s all he needs to see, that I’m just as broken as he is, and I’m not going to force him into something he’s not ready for.”
“Maybe.” Hope lines Dario’s voice, and it nearly breaks my heart.
How am I going to leave these men in a few months when my contract is up? Staying around isn’t an option, is it? I was never supposed to stay here long term, and yet here is Dario proclaiming his need for me, and I have trouble denying that I long for him, too.
But I can’t think about that right now. Right now, I have to focus on surviving with my health and heart intact.
Dario leaves the bathroom so I can get dressed, and since Matteo and I aren’t too far off in height, the pants don’t fit me that badly. My thighs are thick enough to keep them up, even though the waist is a little baggy. Quinton’s shirt is big, but I love an oversized shirt.
Especially one that smells like powdered sugar.
In the main area of the trailer, crowded around the table and reclining on the couch, are the five men I was never supposed to meet.
