Piece Us Together (Monstrous Survivors #3)

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Nolan

We don’t talk about the night at Hunter’s. We don’t talk about the packets he sent us home with. We don’t talk about the looming deadline of Saturday, where—if all goes okay—he’ll play with us for the first time.

It’s two days after Hunter’s that I catch Maison entering his office, the white packet in his hands. It’s as good a time as any for me to work on mine, but the thought makes me itchy with anxiety. There’s something so significant about the packet. It makes this real. It makes the hope and possibility so much larger. It’ll hurt if that gets ripped away, and I’ll be left with a paper and ink reminder of the loss.

I hide my packet in a notebook and pace around the house with it pressed to my chest, trying to find somewhere that feels safe. I can’t do it in our room, that feels wrong. I can’t do it where anyone might come up behind me and see what’s on the paper though, either. I’d consider sitting outside, but the weather isn’t great out there at the moment and I’d hate to give Hunter a packet that’s all wrinkled and smudged.

I end up on the window seat in one of the alcoves, my side pressed against the cool glass and my back to the wall. My nerves get worse now that I have a spot and have no more excuses to put the task off. I suck it up. It’s just a packet. There are going to be so many other things that will deserve my nerves. I can’t waste them on this.

The new attitude carries me through the first portion of the packet, though I do have to skip the section asking for my name and medical history, as well as the emergency contact information. I’ll have to ask Maison what we should do about the names and history. As for the emergency contact, I have no idea who I’ll pick. No one knows about the arrangement other than me and Maison right now. I could tell Matt, but it’s not like he can answer a phone and if there’s really an emergency the last thing I want is him scrambling to try to get a way of communicating. He doesn’t need that stress.

I put all of that off as I work my way through the rest of the packet. It’s thankfully pretty easy to fill out from there. I’ve spent years thinking about what I would want in a perfect dom and sub relationship. Sure, I have to consider what I’m willing to put out there for Maison to know, but that’s easy enough.

I’m on the last page of the packet, trying not to think about the front page that’s still not filled out, when I hear Bryce’s voice from deeper into the house.

I realize with a jolt that he’s the perfect contact. Bryce wouldn’t judge me, not after the day we spent sitting in the grass at the safehouse when I admitted to him what my safe place was.

If I have to choose someone other than Matt, Bryce is absolutely the man for the job.

As if summoned, the man himself comes around the corner twirling a pocketknife in his right hand. He flashes me a smile, strained and weak. I don’t take it personally. Bryce is never one to sugarcoat his feelings, so if there was a problem between us, I’d be aware. It’s just a bad day. We all have them.

Of course, my bad days don’t have me carrying knives around, but we don’t judge in this makeshift family.

“Hey,” he says, not bothering to try to fake a cheery tone. “Whatcha doing?”

I make a split decision not to ask him right now. Not with how he is. So, I lie. “Just…a crossword.”

“A crossword?”

“Yup.”

His eyes flicker to the paper squished between my notebook and chest, lips quirking into something more genuine this time. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shit liar, Nol?”

I slump. “Once or twice.”

“Don’t forget it.” He settles down beside me, nudging my arm. “You don’t have to tell me what it is. Are you okay, though?”

“I think I am, actually. What about you? Bad day?”

He blows out hard, his lips vibrating. “A…day.”

I rest my head on his shoulders and sigh. Then, because I need to, and also because Bryce is a sucker for gossip and I know it’ll cheer him up, I say, “Maison and I found a dom. Like a guy to be my dom. While Maison watches.”

He chokes on air, his body heaving so violently I’m forced to remove my head from his shoulder and inch away. His face is red when he turns wide eyes on me. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Nope. I’d say I wish I was, but despite how fucked up it sounds, I—fuck, Bryce, I’m so relieved.” I close my eyes, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t be. If it doesn’t work, I’ll be fucking crushed. I should try to manage the hope a little, but…”

“But your safe place is with a dom,” he says quietly, an echo of my confession to him that day in the grass.

“Yeah…”

“Nolan? Hey, look at me.” I open my eyes. He’s smiling. I can’t place if it’s sad or happy, the expression riding the line between the two. It tips into happy when our gazes meet. “You deserve this. Let yourself hope. Sometimes good things happen, you know?”

“Maison is good.”

“You can’t have more than one?” He arches an unimpressed eyebrow. “What about this house? Our friends? Freedom? I’m not saying that to make you feel bad or ungrateful, because I know you’re grateful. Just open your eyes a little. This is our happy ending. You want a dom? Then you get one. Sounds like Maison already agrees. If this guy doesn’t work out, there are others. If the plan doesn’t work out, you’ll find something else. You get to hope, Nol. Maybe don’t put all of your faith into this specific guy, this specific plan, but let yourself believe that at some point, you’ll get to have it all.”

They’re pretty words. I want to believe them. I think if I try hard enough, remind myself enough, maybe I can.

“What’s your happy ending?” I ask before immediately flinching. “Sorry, that’s—wow. I shouldn’t have just asked that. Talk about personal.”

He gives me a look. One that says, buddy, we are way past personal . “If I don’t want to answer, I won’t. You can always ask me anything.”

“Okay—have you noticed that Keats, like… watches you like a man dying of thirst and you’re an entire pool of water?”

Bryce narrows his eyes. “Tell me about your dom. Have you met him?”

I stick my tongue out at him, which gets me a real smile. I want to tell him, though. Even without the need for an emergency contact. I want to share the excitement, the fear, the hope, with someone who isn’t going to be affected by it the way Maison will be.

“You can’t tell anyone, okay? It’s not—I’m not ready for that.”

“Of course,” he promises, all serious now. I trust him. He might be a gossip queen when it comes to gathering information, but I’ve never once heard him spilling that information to others.

I take a deep breath.

Then I tell him.

I tell him everything. I admit it’s the dom Carter tried to play with when he and Travis were taking a break. I tell him Maison tried to fill the role first and how disastrous that ended up being. I explain what it was like seeing Hunter for the first time. I tell him the things we discussed and the way I felt. I tell him most of my hopes and a lot of my fears.

I tell him I’m afraid it won’t work.

I tell him I’m more afraid that it will.

He hugs me when I finish. It’s a fierce hug. Protective. It feels good. Solid. We both seem to exhale in relief.

“I need an emergency contact,” I croak, my voice hoarse from talking with my throat so tight. “Will you…?”

“Sign me the fuck up.”