Page 43 of My Family

I find a spot under a showerhead in the corner, let the hot water run over me, and close my eyes. The mud sluices off in brown rivers, swirling around the drain.

When I open my eyes, Ethan is at the showerhead next to mine. He's facing the wall, water running down his back, and the muscles there are shifting and flexing as he scrubs mud from his hair. I watch a drop of water trace the line of his spine, down over the ridge of his hip, disappearing into the steam, and my mouth goes dry. Fuck, if I could touch him…

He glances over his shoulder, catches me staring, and raises one eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitches. He doesn't say anything, just turns back to the wall and tilts his head under the spray, letting the water run down his face, his neck, his chest. He knows exactly what he's doing. He always does.

The shower block is too crowded for anything, and besides, Jack is two showerheads down, still going, and three kids are harmonizing on the "Galileo" part.

I scrub the last of the mud from behind my ears and turn off the water. Grab my towel from the hook, wrap it around my waist. The tile is slippery and warm, and the air is so thick with steam it's like breathing through a wet cloth.

Ethan finishes a minute after me. He wraps his towel low on his hips, deliberately low, the bastard, and walks past me toward the changing area. His shoulder brushes mine as he passes, and his hand grazes the small of my back. Just his fingertips. My skin burns where he touched me. My cock stands at attention, absolutely humiliating.

I get dressed. Clean shorts, a fresh t-shirt that smells like industrial detergent. My hair is dripping onto my collar, but I don't care.

Back in the corridor, the mood is electric. Guys are talking over each other, replaying the highlights, arguing about who got the muddiest, who screamed the loudest, who managed to get Griff with that one lucky splash. The walls echo with it.

I find Jack waiting by our door, his hair sticking up in seven different directions. "I totally got Patterson better than you got Griff."

"In your dreams, Perry."

"In my reality, Marsal. I had that man drenched."

"You had that man in a headlock dragging you across the yard."

He laughs. We're still arguing when we get back to the room. Miles is already there, sitting on his bunk, changed into dry clothes. His hair is combed flat.

Harry is on his bed, writing something, looking thoroughly unbothered. He didn't participate in the water fight.

"Fun day at summer camp?" he says without looking up.

"You missed out," Jack says, flopping onto his bunk. "Griff went full Vietnam."

"I saw from the window. Looked undignified."

"It was glorious."

Harry huffs and keeps writing.

I climb onto my lower bunk and lie back. My body is heavy with the good kind of tired, the kind that comes from laughing too hard and running too fast.

Ethan comes in last. He closes the door behind him, checks the room with that quick, automatic sweep, everyone present, everything in order, and then sits on his bed.

"Lunch soon," he directs, authoritative as ever. I love it. Best day we’ve ever had here. I mean, with him, almost every day is the best day, even behind bars.

Chapter 17. Liam

Ever since I got here, I’ve started noticing people care about me, which is something I never really had before. It's good and bad. Good because it's nice being taken care of. Bad because now I can't fucking disappoint them by hurting myself! Annoying.

Lu taped a fucking calendar on the wall in the kitchen just for me. There's a date circled with Liam M., Dr. Herrera, August 14th. Just so she won't forget it! Like she was my mom!

Which is so damn nice that I'd be a fool to complain. I’m only a fool sometimes.

Now my appointments are monthly. It used to be weekly, those sessions, me sitting in the beige office with the fake plant and the tissue box, trying to explain what it feels like to hate the thing that keeps you alive. Dr. Herrera never rushed me, never flinched, just sat there with her reading glasses pushed up into her dark hair and let me talk myself into circles. Monthly feels like a promotion. Like someone, somewhere, stamped a form that says I'm not actively trying to die anymore. Yay, me!

I'm not. Most days. I can't imagine dying and leaving Ethan behind. And Lu. Margarete, Dora, Jack, Miles, even Griff… how pathetic.

Jack's laugh is back to full volume, like he temporarily made peace with his reality. Miles has started reading in the common areas instead of hiding in the library. There have been fewer lockdowns. Fewer fights. The hole hasn't had a resident in three weeks, which might be a record. Part of it is the season, that primal mammalian lift when the sun finally stays up past five.

Morning roll call. Griff stands at the front of the yard.