Page 33 of Hush, Little Baby

“No.”

His throat works, and then, very softly, “Why do you care what books I read?”

“Because you care about them.”

He has no answer for that.

I rinse the last of the shampoo from his hair, taking my time because the repetition seems to soothe him despite his determination to resent it. His breathing settles. Not fully calm, but no longer frantic.

“Romance,” I prompt. “I remind you of certain characters in your books?”

He sighs, defeated. “Well, it’s… The dark romance ones.”

Ah.

I smile before I can stop myself.

Charlie catches it and glares, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the water clinging to his lashes and the soft, shampooed mess of his hair. “Stop it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You smiled.”

“I’m allowed to smile.”

“Not like that.”

“How did I smile?”

“Like you’re about to be awful.”

I laugh, and he looks scandalized by the sound.

“Dark romance,” I say. “And you think I sound like one of the characters?”

“Not—not in a good way!”

“Of course not.”

“I’m serious,” he says, the words gathering strength around a sudden spike of humiliation. “That’s not a compliment. Those guys are insane.”

“Mm.”

“And controlling.”

“I bet.”

“And they kidnap people.”

I lift an eyebrow.

He stares at me, then his face twists, and he looks away so quickly I know he is fighting tears again. “I don’t want this to be real,” he whispers brokenly.

The humor leaves me.

I set the pitcher aside and rest my wet hand gently against the back of his head. His hair lies heavy and clean against my palm.

“I know.”