Piece Us Together (Monstrous Survivors #3)

17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Maison

We wake up too hungry to continue our movie marathon. Hunter suggests frozen pizzas, since we could still watch the movie while we wait and just pause to grab the slices when they’re done. Nolan looked deeply offended and refused to entertain that idea, marching straight into the kitchen without even bothering to ask permission. Hunter had looked shocked, then amused, then very close to something I didn’t want to name.

That’s how we find ourselves sitting at the breakfast counter, a mug of coffee in front of each of us as we watch Nolan work. It’s a strange twist on the first time we came here, Nolan anxiously making grilled cheese, my heart threatening to pound right out of my chest, Hunter treating us with kid’s gloves. Now Nolan is bouncing around and giving Hunter shit for his lack of supplies and groceries, my heart feels settled in a way it hasn’t in a very long time, and Hunter is teasing Nolan and shooting me conspiring winks.

It should scare me, the way we’ve all changed.

It doesn’t.

Hunter and I have touched so much just in the last twenty-four hours. The way he’d guided me during the rope scene last night was just a preamble to today. The way we settled ourselves on the couch this morning, letting shoulders touch, letting hands overlap, was just a warm-up.

Before the nap, I could chalk it all up to us just getting a little more comfortable together. To us finding our groove within this dynamic.

But now…

I can’t stop thinking of the restlessness I’d felt, knowing he was in bed with me, Nolan the only one asleep. I didn’t have the emotional or physical exhaustion to lean on that I’d had the night before. It was impossible to close my eyes and just doze. Not when I could hear him breathing. Not when I could smell him in the air.

“You’re not tired,” he’d whispered.

“No,” I had admitted, and it had felt like I’d been admitting to so much more.

He had rolled onto his side then, looking over Nolan’s body at me. It felt like he was magnetic, pulling at me, yanking . I didn’t even think, rolling too, meeting his gaze. His eyes were hungry. Intense.

“He approved somnophilia on his packet.” He had paused, letting the words sit with me. Letting their meaning become clear. Then, “Want to tire yourself out?”

It’d been so easy, agreeing. So easy whispering with him as we arranged ourselves, as he quietly found lube, as he gave me instructions despite us not being in a scene, despite Nolan being asleep, despite me not being his sub.

“Can I touch you?” he’d asked, his voice rough with want. “Like last night?”

It’d been easy then, too. Easy to say, “Maybe a little more.”

His fingers had skimmed along my thighs and over my cock and past my balls as he moved and manipulated and controlled. His breath had puffed over Nolan’s shoulder as he leaned forward, so close, so close I could have kissed him. His cock had bumped against mine, slicking it with precum, as we took turns fucking into Nolan. His finger traced Nolan’s hole where it was stretched around my cock, skimming the root of it with every pass. My finger pressed between Nolan’s tight wall and Hunter’s throbbing cock, both of them hot and silky.

Our boy , we’d called him. Our good boy.

And I’d twisted my finger, pressing against something on his cock, something that had him shuddering and gasping my name. His eyes were so damn bright when he’d looked at me over Nolan’s shoulder. His lips were slick and open. Mine were too as I panted. “That feel good?”

“Yeah. Fuck, that’s—yeah. Keep doing that?”

“You gonna fill him up?”

“You keep doing that and I fucking will.”

Nolan had wanted to know what I was doing to unravel the man inside him, Hunter telling him it’s not his business, like he and I were doing something separate. Doing something that was just for us .

There isn’t supposed to be a just us . It’s supposed to be all about Nolan. But having Hunter look at me like that, nearly begging me to keep touching his cock inside our boy’s hole—it was fucking intoxicating. When Nolan started mindlessly babbling about all the want he has, I couldn’t help but agree. I want, too. I’m starting to want so fucking much it hurts.

I don’t know what to do. Will continuing this ruin us, or will ending it be worse? What does Nolan want? What does Hunter want?

What the fuck do I even want?

I can’t help but feel like the other shoe is going to drop. Instinct tells me to drop it myself before the universe gets the chance to. Instinct tells me to grab the man I love and run like hell before I lose him.

“What are you making?” Hunter asks Nolan, seeming perfectly calm and not at all caring that what we did only hours ago felt like so much more than just sex.

“A twist on tuna casserole, with only salt and pepper, sliced sandwich cheese, and Ritz crackers instead of breadcrumbs.” He gives Hunter a very pointed look. “No promises on what it’ll taste like.”

Hunter smirks. “I don’t enjoy grocery shopping.”

“Probably because you look at every food like you’re going to interrogate it,” I tease.

“Hey now, you saw me when I was trying to be more conscious about the ingredients in my food. My friend made me watch an awful documentary that had me paranoid that I was secretly poisoning myself with junk.” He shrugs, that smirk still in place. “I gave up a few days later. Junk is delicious .”

Nolan makes a disgusted sound, then freezes with a can of something yellow in his hand. “Wait, when did you see him shopping?”

My face burns, which makes Hunter laugh. “He didn’t tell you? He accosted me in the grocery store when he first came to me for help.”

“ Accosted is a little strong,” I argue.

“I’m fairly certain you growled.”

Nolan laughs, the sound awfully bright and weightless and beautiful. His blue eyes are full of it as he looks at me. “Aw, babe. You do tend to growl.”

“I don’t tend to,” I argue, trying very hard not to growl any of the words. Unfortunately, that makes me sound pouty instead. I cover my face with a groan. “I hate you both.”

They laugh together this time. I stare at them until my heart hurts. I’m just starting to tear my gaze away when my eyes lock with Hunter’s. They’re full of mirth, the green in them more prominent beneath the recessed lights.

“You love us,” Nolan teases.

Do I?

Hunter’s smile fades before he turns his focus back to Nolan. He clears his throat as his eyes settle on Nolan’s turned back. The urge to reach for him washes over me. I curl my hands into fists. What would I even do? Hold his fucking hand? Wrap him in a hug? And then what? Tell him I don’t love him while trying to make him feel better? Or worse, tell him I do love him, and shatter my whole world in the process?

Hands still fisted, I look at Nolan too. It’s much safer. When did I start forgetting that? If I’d never stopped focusing on him, maybe I would have been safe from all of this shit in my head now.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” Hunter asks.

Nolan’s shoulders pull in before he releases the tension with a slow breath. I feel Hunter still beside me, the man far too observant not to know he just stepped on something sensitive.

“My mom and grandma,” Nolan says without looking at us. “I always preferred helping in the kitchen over all the chaos of my cousins running around. And it got me out of having to go outside and throw around the football, which I liked.”

“Not a big sports fan?” Hunter asks tentatively.

“Uh—no. Not really.” He shifts on his feet, trying to decide how much more he wants to say. I’m curious myself. He’s already given more than I thought he would to someone who doesn’t know everything. But this is Hunter, a little voice in my head says, as if that means something, as if he’s different.

Because he is.

“I used to play football. Before…” Nolan turns, his eyes on me instead of Hunter. Instinct makes me shake my head. He can’t fucking tell him. It’s classified. It could put so many people in danger. It could put Nolan in danger. Carter in danger. That’s unacceptable.

But it’s Hunter.

That doesn’t matter.

Doesn’t it?

“Anyway,” Nolan murmurs, turning away again. I can feel Hunter looking at me now. I lock my jaw and keep my eyes forward. “I mostly learned from them. Then these last few months, I’ve gotten into it more. I’ve been practicing a lot and reading a great cooking book Maison bought me.”

Hunter’s gaze lingers on the side of my face for another second before he shifts away. I hadn’t realized our arms were touching before, but now I feel the absence dramatically. “That’s great. Do you have a favorite type of food to cook?”

“Um, it kind of depends on the mood, really. If I was forced to pick, though, it’d probably be Italian.”

I groan, the thought of his Italian food making the awkwardness from before fade away. “His meatballs are fucking amazing.”

“Yeah?” Hunter raises an eyebrow, smiling again. “I’ll have to have them sometime.”

“His pot roast too,” I add. “And his scalloped potatoes. Makes them just as good as my ma did.”

Hunter’s eyes flicker and I realize I just gave him information. I hold my breath, waiting for him to jump on it, but he just smiles and looks back at Nolan. “I suppose you’re going to have to cook a few more meals for me, then.”

“I can think of worse things, sir,” Nolan says with flushed cheeks and a shy smile.

“Maybe…” Hunter looks at me, the glance almost shy, then back at Nolan. “Maybe we could start doing whole weekends? Only if the two of you want to, of course. I don’t want to be greedy.”

Whole weekends.

I won’t survive that.

I want that very, very badly.

“That could be nice,” Nolan answers for us. “We’ll have to talk about it.”

They both look at me.

I lean on my training, giving them an easy smile. “We’ll definitely talk about it.”

“But I’ll have to do the grocery shopping,” Nolan clarifies.

“That’s probably for the best,” Hunter agrees. “I’ll give you some money and let you go crazy.”

“A dom and a sugar daddy? Sign me up.”

Hunter chuckles. “You need a sugar daddy, darling?” His eyes settle on me, his lips still curved into a smile. “What about you, Maison? Need a sugar daddy?”

“You offering?” I ask in my best attempt at a teasing tone.

“I’d offer the two of you just about anything,” he says without looking away from me.

I forget how to breathe.

He leans in, his eyes staying locked with mine. “I’d take such good care of both of you, if you ever let me.”

Would you? Please?

I’m so tired of taking care of people.

I’m so tired of taking care of myself.

Would you really?

He leans back, looking away to shoot a wink at Nolan. “Not that I’m rich, of course. But I’ll send my coupons with you, don’t worry.”

Nolan laughs, the sound pulling me out of my head and even getting me to smile a little. He gives me a look that’s clearly meant to be a check-in. I widen my smile for him and add a little nod. He bounces, thrilled that I’m okay, before turning back to his dinner.

Hunter widens his arms on the counter, his right elbow bumping my left. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.

“The holidays are coming up,” he says to no one in particular. “Do either of you celebrate?”

“Yes! Christmas is my favorite, but I’m also excited for Thanksgiving. It’ll be my first time cooking the meal instead of just assisting someone.”

“When he says Christmas is his favorite, he means that he’s already secretly decorating our house and will probably be a walking Christmas commercial come December, just to warn you.”

“He doesn’t need warning,” Nolan argues with a roll of his eyes.

“Doesn’t he? I’m pretty sure you have a whole bag of decorations you wanted to bring here before you chickened out.”

Nolan’s cheeks flush, his eyes darting to Hunter. “Okay, way to throw me under the bus there.”

“Hey, your sir requires honesty, baby. I’m just being honest.”

“Decorating for Christmas before Thanksgiving?” Hunter asks, his nose wrinkling. “That’s a little soon.”

Nolan puts a hand to his chest like he’s been shot. I shake my head at Hunter. “You totally just got on his bad side.”

“Yeah?” Hunter smirks. “I’ll spank the attitude out of you later. See what side I’m on then.”

“You don’t have to spank me!” Nolan argues with a bright red face and a little whine in his voice. “I’m not a brat .”

“No, darling. You most certainly are not. You’re far too good of a boy for that, aren’t you?”

Nolan perks up. “I try to be, sir.”

“Careful,” I warn Hunter. “He’s about to make you melt, then follow it with an adorable plea to decorate, and all of a sudden you’ll have fake candy canes hanging above your fucking toilet.”

“Oof. Thanks for the warning. Turn around, darling. Keep cooking. No heart-eyes, please.”

Nolan dramatically rolls his eyes with a sigh, but he’s smiling when he turns back to his casserole that surely should be ready for the oven soon. Does tuna casserole even go in the oven? I don’t think I’ve ever even had it.

“What do you do for the holidays?” I ask Hunter, not because I’m curious but because it’s only polite.

“Well, my parents retired to Florida a few years ago and my sister and her family live just an hour from here. My sister is big on having her kids at home for Christmas, waking up at the house for Santa, doing all their traditions, you know—so my parents come this way every year for Christmas and we all usually go to Florida for Thanksgiving.”

“So, you’ll be heading to Florida?”

“Not this year, actually. I’m teaching an extra course this semester and don’t have a TA, so I’ll be spending my Thanksgiving break grading papers and preparing finals.”

Nolan frowns. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Hunter just shrugs. “I’ll see everyone a month later at Christmas, so I’m not too worried about it. I’ll miss the pie, though. I’ll have to grab one from the—”

“Don’t finish that,” Nolan warns, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at him. “You will not be grabbing a random pie from the grocery store. I’ll make you one.”

“You bake, too?”

“He’s the whole package,” I tell Hunter.

“It seems so.” He grins. “Nolan’s pumpkin pie it is.”

For just a moment, I consider inviting him to our Thanksgiving. That would be ridiculous, though. He’s the guy we have sex with every weekend. How would we even explain that to our friends? How could we ask them to trust a man they don’t even know to come to the one safe place they have in the entire world? How would we explain the living arrangement to him? Would we have to make everyone lie about their pasts? It’d be a fucking mess. A mess that a sex-partner isn’t worth.

We’ll bring him Nolan’s pie. That’s it.

Maybe some leftovers.

It seems Nolan is having the same thoughts as me because he asks, “You’re really going to be all alone for Thanksgiving?”

Before I can give him a warning look, Hunter shakes his head. “On the actual day, yes, but Saturday, my friends and I do something. It’s my turn to host, actually.”

“Oh god. You’re not going to cook, are you?” Nolan asks before immediately covering his mouth and widening his eyes. “I’m so sorry, that was rude, sir.”

Hunter is already laughing though. “I thought the pancakes were good.”

“Pancakes and Thanksgiving dinner are two entirely different levels,” I argue, since Nolan still looks like he might pass out from offending his dom.

“Okay, true.” Hunter leans forward, a hand out to Nolan. “Hey, I’m not mad. I like you teasing me. And you’re right, it would be a disaster if I made dinner. They all bring dishes with them. The host is responsible for the turkey, but my best friend has a pet that can cook pretty well, so they’ll come over early and help.”

I frown. “His pet can cook?”

“His submissive.” Hunter gestures vaguely. “All of my friends are involved in kink. Wells, my best friend since college, calls his submissive, Jaxon, pet most of the time. Or pup when he’s overexcited.”

“Kinda like you, Nol,” I tease, trying not to think about Hunter spending all his time around other submissives—even taken ones. Are there single submissives in his friend group? Does he play with them? Does he play with anyone other than us? How have we never fucking discussed that?

He’s supposed to be ours .

“Oh, I like that. You are quite puppy-like sometimes, aren’t you, darling?” Hunter teases, completely oblivious to the panic he just opened inside of me. “All excited and eager to please. So obedient.”

Nolan squirms, his cheeks colored again. “I like being called darling, though…”

“Can’t you be both?” Hunter asks with a tilt of his head and a smirk.

“I could be, yeah.” Nolan overcomes his shyness suddenly, his posture shifting and his eyes going to me. I know a second before he speaks that he’s about to turn the tables. “If I’m a puppy, then what is Maison?”

I frown, ready to tell them I’m not fucking anything, but Hunter’s grin stops me short. There’s something different in that grin. Something mischievous. A little evil. It’s a grin that reminds me that this man is a self-proclaimed sadist.

I swallow hard.

His grin widens.

“Maison is a kitten.” I narrow my eyes, but he continues before I can argue. “The sassy kind. You know, the ones that make eye contact with you as they slap your mug off the table. The ones that pretend they hate you and your attention but secretly love cuddles and pets.”

Nolan’s laugh is sharp, like he tried to cut it off but failed. I turn my glare on him. “Don’t you dare ever call me kitten.” I look back at Hunter. “Either of you.”

“Aww, you don’t want to be our kitten?” Hunter asks teasingly. “We’d spoil you silly.”

“I don’t need to be spoiled.” Now I’m the one blushing, Nolan having turned around to put the casserole in the oven. I stare at his back to keep from looking at Hunter again. He’s too dangerous. He sees right through me. “I’m nothing like that. I don’t need a pet name, either.”

Hunter leans harder against me, making us touch from shoulder to elbow now. I shiver. I think I hear him chuckle, low and deep. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, meant just for me. “Don’t worry, kitten. I won’t tell anyone you want things you don’t need.”

I breathe heavily, feeling winded and unsteady.

I don’t want those things either. I say the words in my head, over and over, but no matter how hard I try, the words don’t make it past my lips. I can’t even get my fucking mouth to open.

Hunter’s arm moves, his pinky overlapping mine.

It feels like the world is spinning.

“We’ve got about fifteen minutes while that cooks,” Nolan says, turning around with all the excitement of the puppy he was just accused of being. His gaze falls to our hands. The sight pulls a smile from him, blue eyes bright when he looks up at me.

It doesn’t mean anything, I want to tell him. Don’t look like that. Don’t be so excited. None of this means anything.

Those words don’t come out either.

The urge to get up and run is nearly overwhelming all of a sudden. All I manage is to pull my hand away. I can’t look at either of them as I do it. I can hear my fucking heart beating wild in my chest.

“You got anything to drink here?”

There’s a weighty moment of silence. “Of course. We can’t play tonight, though. Not if you drink.”

“One drink?” I roll my eyes. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Maison…” Nolan whispers. I don’t have to look at him to know he’s worried. “It’s—it’s the rules.”

The rules.

Hunter’s rules.

“I’m not your sub,” I say yet again. It feels like my fucking motto these days. “You don’t make my rules.”

“Look at me.” Hunter says it softly. Not an order, not exactly, but not a request either. I take a breath. I don’t know why I feel so fucking afraid of looking at him or disappointing him or being touched by him. I don’t know why he fucks my head up so badly. All I know is I have to get my shit together and I have to do it right fucking now before he sees straight through me.

I’ve trained for this. I’m very fucking good at this. I will not let Hunter Meridian be the one that breaks me.

Only after I’ve stuffed everything down and put up my walls do I lift my chin and look at him. His eyes search my face for a moment, looking for something I’m not sure I want him to ever find. He smiles, but it’s sad. Almost resigned. “You can have a drink. We all can. And then we can sit and watch the movies and enjoy our night until it’s time for us all to go to sleep. I’m okay with that. I’m not saying you can’t drink. I am saying we can’t do anything kink-related or sexual tonight if you do. That’s the rule. My sub or not, you will respect it.”

Something prickles in me, wanting to fight against that, wanting to argue. I want to hit something—not him, god, never him, but just something , over and over again, until I bleed, until I can fucking breathe again.

“I’ve fucked him drunk before.”

“Good for you. You will not do so under my roof.”

“Maison,” Nolan says again, his voice soft, scared.

He’s worried I’m going to ruin this.

I ruin everything I fucking touch.

“Whatever.” I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want him looking at me. Either of them. I want to go to my office and lock the door, drown myself in whiskey while I make myself look at all the open files, all the people I’m failing to save. I want to punch things until I bleed. Or be punched until I bleed.

Sometimes I think I should be put on that metal rack again. The one Travis used. Sometimes I think that night wasn’t punishment enough.

What the fuck am I doing here? Having sex? Watching Marvel movies? Taking motherfucking naps?

How many people were hurt today while I enjoyed myself?

How many were killed?

“Nolan, keep an eye on the food.” A hand settles on the back of my neck. I jerk away, but it follows. It’s warm and firm. Not quite squeezing, but not just resting there either. “Maison, can you help me shovel the driveway? I’d like to get ahead of it before everything freezes tonight.”

I blink down at the counter where my hands are clenched into fists.

He wants me to fucking shovel?

“We can clear your car off, too.”

Ah.

He wants me to fucking leave .

Fine.

Good.

Great, really.

I’ll leave and never fucking come back.

I can be a dom for Nolan now. I’ve watched Hunter enough. I can pretend. It’s my job, after all—becoming someone else, hiding behind a mask. I’ll be Nolan’s boyfriend and his dom, and I’ll throw myself into every mission Keats has available for me. Hunter will become a ghost. Just another person to haunt me. Just another person outside the locked house of my nightmares, just another person that I can’t reach, that I don’t deserve to have at all.

Maybe a mission will kill me.

Carter would have Travis and Nolan could come to Hunter. Maybe I’m the problem.

I walk outside, only stopping for my jacket because my gun is in it. He follows silently. Nolan just watches us go.

There’s a shovel leaning up against the side of the house, mostly protected by the awning of the front porch. I grab it and head down to solid ground. He remains quiet, but I can sense him behind me, watching me.

“Ten minutes, tops,” I say as I stab the shovel into the snow. It’s the wet, heavy shit that makes great snowmen and awful driving conditions. “Then I’ll be out of your fucking hair.”

“See, I don’t believe I made that an option.”

I throw a shovel full of snow to the side and turn to glare at him. “What?”

“I said you could have a drink and we watch movies until bed, with no sex. Or you don’t drink, and we can play some more.” He shrugs, his arms hanging loose and casual at his sides. He didn’t grab his jacket. It’s fucking freezing out. What the fuck is he trying to do, get himself sick? “I didn’t say leaving was a choice.”

I grin at him. It feels angry and a little unhinged. He just blinks at me. “Whether I stay here or leave is never your choice. You think you can fucking keep me here?”

He tilts his head, not at all afraid of me. “I think maybe I could, yes. If you trusted me enough.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

“If you trusted me enough to believe me when I tell you that you should stay. When I tell you that being here is where you need to be. Where Nolan and I want you to be.”

I look away from him, my throat feeling impossibly tight. I jab at the snow. “I could hurt you.”

“You could,” he says easily. “But you won’t.”

“I hurt people.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve killed people.”

“I thought maybe you had.”

I snap my eyes to him, feeling scared and relieved all at once. How’d he figure that out? Has he really played with me knowing that?

“I’ve done worse,” I tell him, not letting myself look away even as the fear starts to crawl through my veins. “There are worse things than killing. I’ve done them.”

“Okay.”

I squeeze the handle of the shovel until my fingers ache. “It’s not fucking okay . I’m a bad man. I ruin things . Why the fuck don’t you get that?”

“Is that what you’re trying to do? You want to ruin this?” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to let you.”

“I already did, right? That’s why I’m out here? Clearing shit away so I can leave?”

He shakes his head. “No, Maison. You’re out here because you’re on the brink of lashing out and I’m not going to let you do it in there. Not in front of him. You asked me for help, remember? You asked me not to let you ruin this. So let it out. Beat the shit out of the snowbank or shovel until you can’t feel your muscles or scream at me or cry or come here and let me fucking hug you. Whatever you need to do. Then we will go back inside and you can decide what happens next.”

He’s the one without a jacket on, but I’m the one shivering.

I don’t think it’s because I’m cold.

“You really want me here?” I whisper.

“Yes, Maison.” He smiles. It’s soft. Warm. “I really want you here. Whatever you choose for our night, sex or no sex, alcohol or no alcohol, I still want you here. If you decide you don’t want to stay, I will respect that, but the wanting won’t change.”

I swallow hard as my eyes settle on the house behind him. “He’s going to be upset.”

“Upset about what? That you asked a few questions about the rules and we came out here to talk?” He tilts his head, eyes searching mine. “Upset you wanted to drink?”

I duck my head before immediately lifting it again, silently cursing myself for showing a reaction. This man can read me like a fucking book. I should be better at this. I am better at this.

Hunter nods slowly. He’s working it out, trying to navigate all the pieces of me and how they fit together. I wish him luck because even I don’t know where some of the pieces are, let alone how any of them would fit together. I think I left a lot of them in that fucking compound. One or two more at the party that ended it all. Maybe a few scattered at the auction house where Carter was first sold and raped. Can your broken pieces land somewhere you never physically set foot? Can the heartbreak be so intense in a location that it magnetizes, pulling all the pieces in?

“Are you going to drink?” he asks. When I don’t answer—don’t fucking know the answer—he asks, “Would it help if I told you some details of the other option for this evening?”

Warmth pools in my gut. I already know whatever he has in store is going to be good. So fucking good. “Maybe…”

“We’d go back inside and eat. Then we’d bring Nolan to the couch and have him practice warming two cocks at once.” He steps closer to me, his breath puffing fog into the air. “And then, when we’re ready, we’ll take him to your room and reward him for his hard work. We’ll take him apart until he flies.”

I feel suddenly wobbly inside. Off-kilter. I want to drink or fight or run. That’s what I always do when things get to be too much. When it feels like my thoughts and emotions are steam inside of me, building and building, just waiting to blow. And what’s happening here, this thing with Hunter—it’s getting to be way too fucking much.

Hunter can’t fix that. He can’t release the internal pressure for me. The hot sex might take the edge off, but it won’t be enough in the long run. Nothing but self-destruction is ever enough.

But…what if he could? What if I let him take over? What if he’s what I’ve needed all along?

I’d have to let him dominate me.

Talk about risking everything…

I look at him. I look at the snow. My buried car. My hands on the shovel. The house. Him, again. I look and look at him. His cheeks are flushed pink. So is the tip of his nose. He’s brought his hands out of hiding in order to cross his arms over his chest. He’s freezing. This man is freezing and I have no doubt he’d stand there for hours if he thought I needed him to.

I don’t deserve him.

I don’t deserve either of them.

But I’m a selfish fucking bastard, aren’t I?

“I’ll have lemonade,” I tell him.

His smile settles the chaos inside of me. A Band-Aid fix, but one I’m glad to take. “Lemonade it is.”

It feels strange when we leave Hunter’s house the next day. We were only there an extra day and night—well, and another morning and early afternoon because none of us were really in much of a hurry today—but no amount of denial can cover the way things changed over that time.

Something has shifted with the three of us. I don’t know what or how, or what it means. I don’t know if it’s going to end in the best thing of our lives or if it’s going to end up ruining everything. I don’t know a goddamn thing, really. It scares the hell out of me. Funnily enough, that fear makes me want to dig my heels in and stay at Hunter’s for as long as he’ll let us. Almost like it’s the real world that’ll turn things bad. As long as we stay in the house, stay with Hunter, I’m not supposed to worry. If things were in threat of being ruined, he’d handle it.

That’s not reality, though.

So I give him a forced smile and a quiet goodbye, letting him rest a hand on my shoulder for a few seconds longer than necessary, and then I take Nolan’s hand and bring him out to where my car is no longer buried and already warm. Hunter’s doing, of course. Taking care of us even after we’re out from under his roof.

Nolan isn’t feeling off like me, chattering away about the movie marathon and the food we ate and “Did you see Hunter’s face when—” and, “Can you believe he said—” and, “Wasn’t it great?”

I nod and smile and hum and murmur a few words when necessary. By the time we’ve reached the winding road that leads to the house, he’s caught on to my mood and quieted down.

“Did you not enjoy yourself?” he asks in a tiny voice when I park the car.

I look over at him, releasing a long sigh through my nose. “I enjoyed every fucking second, baby.”

“Then why…this?” he asks, gesturing toward me as his eyebrows pull together in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” I pause, a laugh bubbling out of me. It’s the only thing left to do at this point. “I didn’t want to leave.”

His face softens with relief. “I didn’t either.”

“It’s like the world goes on pause when we’re there, you know? It’s not anything to do with him, even. It’s just that nothing else matters but us when we’re there. It’s nice.”

“Right…” Nolan looks away then, his teeth working at his bottom lip. I replay what I said, trying to figure out what he didn’t like about it. Was he hoping I was struggling with leaving Hunter instead of just leaving the freedom of being at his house? Is Hunter why he didn’t want to leave?

Is Hunter why I didn’t want to leave, if I’m being honest with myself?

“Maybe it was Hunter a little too,” I admit without even thinking.

“Yeah?” He perks up, his blue eyes wide with hope. Fuck, he actually was sad about Hunter.

Fuck, was I actually sad about Hunter?

“He’s a good guy,” I argue. I don’t even know who with or why I’m arguing.

“He takes good care of us,” Nolan adds.

“You.”

“Us,” he says a little harder, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not blind, Mais. He takes care of us .”

My face burns. I look out the windshield, my heart hammering in my chest. “I don’t need to be taken care of. I—I let him, when we’re there, but it’s not something I need or anything.”

“It could be.”

“But it’s not.”

“Do you think I’m weak for needing it?” he asks.

I look at him so fast I get a little dizzy. Or is that just the impending panic? “You know I don’t think that. Hell, you’re fucking strong for asking me for what you needed, and for letting me bring you to Hunter and give this whole thing a try. You’re one of the strongest men I’ve ever fucking met, Nolan.”

“But you’re weak for needing it?”

It’s only then that I realize his previous question hadn’t been asked with hurt in his voice. It was asked as a challenge. I had missed it.

Good play, baby. Good fucking play.

“It’s not about that. I just—I don’t need it.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t.”

He smirks. “Sure. Okay.”

“ Nolan .”

“ Maison .”

I laugh, letting my head thud back against my headrest. “I don’t need it, but I like it, alright? It’s fucking nice . Is that what you wanted to hear?”

He flashes me a cheeky grin. “It’s a start.”

“Get out of the car, you goof.” I playfully tug the hem of his hat over his eyes before turning the car off and getting out.

We’re laughing softly, flushed and happy and stupidly in love, when we enter the house.

I should’ve known better.

I used to fucking know better.

From one breath to the next, I have Nolan pressed behind me against the door, my gun pulled from its holster and aimed at the stranger standing in the hall. “Who the fuck are you?”

He puts his hands up, eyes wide. “Woah there. I’m—”

“Dad? Oh, shit! Wait, Maison!” Casey comes running, skidding to a stop in front of my gun. I angle it so it’s no longer pointed at him and make a mental note to give him a strict talking-to later about doing something stupid like throwing himself in front of a fucking gun. “He’s my dad. Maison. Stop. He’s my dad.”

I blink at him, my mind spinning the information. The first conclusion has my gut sinking. “Casey, you can’t do that. What did you do? Fuck . Fucking hell—does Jake know—the head will—”

“Jesus Christ, put the fucking gun down, Beckett!” Jake barks, the man suddenly appearing from around the corner, one hand in the air toward me like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “He’s safe. It’s good. Put the damn gun away and I’ll explain.”

I hesitate, mostly just to give myself a second to gather myself, then lower my gun and give the man—Casey’s fucking dad, apparently—a small nod. “I would apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

He smirks. “You must be Maison. Can I shake your hand, or will that get the gun involved again?”

“I’ll allow it,” I say as lightheartedly as I can after pointing my gun at someone I would have shot in a heartbeat. Just to clear things up, I settle my gun back in the holster before offering the man my hand. Now that I’m calm, I remember the profile for Casey. His dad is former military and is—well, was most likely, if he’s here now—the town’s sheriff. He deserves some respect, even if he really, really, really shouldn’t fucking be here. “I actually am sorry.”

“I’m not. A guy like you protecting my son is exactly what I want. Not to mention, you quite literally saved his life. That earns you a near-shooting moment or two.”

“It was a joint effort. If he wasn’t as strong as he was on his own, we wouldn’t have been able to rescue him.” I give Casey a soft smile. He’ll always have a little place in my heart next to Carter’s bigger one. “He also gave my brother something to fight for when he felt like he had nothing. I’ll appreciate that forever.”

“This is getting sappy,” Casey mumbles. “Can it stop?”

Jake chuckles. “Yes, it can. I don’t know what the two of you have been up to these past few days, but I’ve got two warnings for you. Carter is asking questions and Keats is acting fucking weird.”

My gut sinks. Not just because I remember how anxious I had been about Keats before we left two nights ago, but because of the man standing here with us.

“Does he know about…?” I gesture at Casey’s dad, figuring I should probably ask for his name soon.

“That’s the thing…” Jake eyes Casey, then Nolan, then nods toward the stairs. “We need to talk.”

That’s never fucking good.

Nolan looks just as uneasy as I leave him behind to properly meet Casey’s dad.

We don’t make it more than two steps past the landing at the top of the stairs before Jake whirls around, looking wild and a little panicked, and says, “Somehow, some fucking way—Keats did this for us.”

I blink at him. “Casey’s dad?”

“Yeah. Like—he—he pulled strings? Maybe?” He looks around like Keats might jump out of nowhere at us. Then he steps forward and whispers, “Or like he’s the fucking head.”

I laugh.

It’s the most absurd thing I’ve heard in a long time, and Hunter has said some fucked up shit to me lately.

Jake is not laughing with me.

My body goes numb.

“No,” I say. “No, that’s not—” I shake my head. “No.” I laugh. “No, Keats wouldn’t—” I take a step away from him, wishing I could turn back the clock. “The head didn’t let me save Carter.”

Jake won’t look at me.

Bile burns my throat.

“I’m not saying he is. I—I asked him, sort of, and he looked offended. I just—it’s weird, right? The stuff he said at the bonfire a while back, about us hating the head, and the way he got so upset when he found out Casey almost killed himself, and now this…”

“He must know him. The head. He must—they know each other. Maybe even friends. He probably feels guilty for that, but—but he’s using it to help us. To help Casey.” I want to believe my own words. I nod as I say them, like that can make them truer. “He’s a good friend. He’s—he’s practically one of us. He’s not the head. He’s an operative. He’s one of us. He’s not the head.”

Jake exhales, looking almost weak with his relief. “You’re right. You’re right. Keats wouldn’t—you’re right.”

“The head didn’t let me save Carter,” I say again. Because that’s it. That will always be it for me.

The head didn’t let me save Carter.

And I allowed that. I didn’t go against orders. I was a good little soldier. I obeyed. I sat with the knowledge of the time and location of where my baby brother would be sold—where he’d be fucking raped, it turned out, the first time of many—and I did nothing.

Keats would have never made me do that, even if we hadn’t known each other then. He’s one of us.

He has to be.

He has to be.

I walk away. I go to my room. Collapse at the edge of the bed. Put my face in my hands.

I feel cold. Scared. I’m shaking.

I want to go back to Hunter’s.

I want Hunter .