Piece Us Together (Monstrous Survivors #3)

34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nolan

I wake up to find only Hunter in bed, the man seeming to have finally managed to pass out after hours of doting on us so intensely I thought I was going to have to kick him out. I hold my breath as I carefully slip out and grab the shirt he was wearing earlier, pulling it on as I tiptoe out of the room.

I see the shadows from the fire first, flickering on the wall. Then I turn the corner and see him.

It’s funny, the way people see themselves. He’s having such a hard time believing he’s worthy of us loving him, worthy of forgiveness—forgiveness I don’t believe he should even need in the first place. He sees himself as a bad man. Maybe even a monster. He sees himself as someone who ruins everything and everyone he touches.

But this is how I see him. A strong back and broad shoulders, covered in scars that show just how hard he had to fight to survive. A boyish mess of hair that can be as wild as he is on a good day. A soft orange glow radiating around him like he’s everything that’s good in my world. Like he’s the light at the end of my very dark tunnel.

My throat aches with how badly I love him.

“Hey you,” I whisper, knowing better than to sneak up on him without notice.

He doesn’t look away from the flames, even as I drag a blanket over and sit down by his side.

The notebook Hunter gave him earlier is in his lap, the pen clenched tightly in his hand. He has the numbers one, two, and three written. There’s nothing else.

I rest my head on his shoulder, glad I gravitated to his good side. The fire is warm. It smells familiar.

“Nightmare?” I ask.

“Never fell asleep. Just had to pretend long enough for Hunter to finally pass out.”

“He was on another level tonight. Talk about a fucking mother hen.”

He chuckles, leaning his head to the side to rest it against mine. “I love him so goddamn much, Nol. I love both of you.”

“We love you, too.”

“Even when you have to come get me off of my therapist’s floor?”

“Maybe especially then.”

He laughs again, but it’s not light this time, not amused. “You like your men broken, baby?”

“Beautiful even though it’s broken, right?”

“What if there’s not enough gold in the world for how many pieces I’m split into?”

“Then we make more. Or we use fucking glue. Gold isn’t everything. Glue works too, okay?” I move my head out from under his and turn to look at him. His cheeks are wet, but no tears are currently falling. “I want the both of you, any way I can have you. But people want the people they love to be safe and healthy and happy. I— we— want you to be safe and healthy and happy.”

He looks back at the notebook. “I’m trying to decide if I’m allowed to make Carter one of these.”

“A goal?” He nods. “What about him?”

“I…don’t know, I guess. Forgiveness? A relationship again?” Before I can give my opinion, he continues. “Singh asked me something tonight. He asked if I’d forgive myself, once Carter forgives me. If it would really matter.”

“What’d you say?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I said, I mean. I don’t know if it would matter.” He turns his chin, looking into the fire again. “He said maybe I’m not ready to forgive myself.”

“What would you be waiting for, other than Carter?”

“I don’t know,” he says in frustration. “I feel this unbearable obligation to fucking—to earn forgiveness and I don’t even know if it’s forgiveness from Carter anymore or forgiveness from myself or fucking forgiveness from God. I don’t know when I’ve earned it. I don’t know when it stops. I need it to fucking stop, Nol, and I don’t know how.”

I put my head back on his shoulder, curling an arm around him. Mostly to comfort him. A little to hide that I’m starting to cry. “I think that should be a goal then. Not Carter—or not just Carter—but forgiving yourself. Working on your relationship with Carter could be a separate thing.”

“Yeah.” He exhales shakily. “Yeah. Okay.”

It takes him a while before he writes them down, though. The first is Carter. The second is forgiveness. I try not to look too far into that.

He starts tapping his pen against his foot.

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to try to stop hurting myself. I might need help, but I’m going to try, okay?”

It scares me, that it’s just try . I trust Dr. Singh, though. I trust Hunter. I even trust myself. We won’t stop until he’s okay. Until he’s safe, even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Okay?” he asks again.

“Yeah, Mais. Okay.”

He’s quiet for a while, the two of us sinking into a sort of lull as the fire crackles and flickers. I think I drift a little, the peace carrying my sleepy brain off for a bit. That’s why I jolt upright when he says, “I want him to fuck me.”

My elbow hits him in the ribs, my toe kicking the brick of the fireplace. “Fuck. Ow. Goddamnit.”

He laughs, all husky and low and fond as hell. He helps me steady myself with a shake of his head. The firelight is dancing in the blue of his eyes. “Falling asleep on me, baby?”

“Maybe just a little.” I wipe at my face, trying to feel more awake. Then what he said sinks in. Oh . “Wait—you want him to fuck you? Like, with you bottoming, you mean?”

“Yeah.” I just get the chance to see his smile slip before he looks back at the notebook. “I was a switch, before. I liked it. Sometimes I just—I needed to be fucked, you know?” He chuckles then, winking at me. “Yeah, you know.”

“Oh, shut up,” I tease, poking him in the cheek.

He playfully nips at my finger before nuzzling his nose against my palm. I tilt my hand until I’m cupping his cheek, making him sigh happily, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Think Dr. Singh will judge me if I put getting fucked in the ass as a goal?”

I burst out laughing. I think I even snort, not that I admit it when he points it out with a booming laugh of his own.

“I think you absolutely have to put that as a goal. I think it’s entirely unfair I don’t get to be there to see his face when he reads it.”

“How about I let you be there to see Hunter’s face, the day I tell him I’m ready to try it?”

I grin. “Fuck, okay, that’s way better. I’ll take that.”

“What in the world are you two doing down here?” We whirl around in unison, Maison making a soft, pained sound from the movement. Hunter frowns. “Be careful, kitten."

“I am. Sorry.” He rights himself, looking back at the fire. Hunter can’t see the way he squeezes his eyes shut. I can almost read his mind by now—he’s hating himself for upsetting Hunter, for hurting himself when he just said he’s going to try not to, for ruining things, always ruining things.

Hunter doesn’t even have to see his face to know the same. He strides over to us, scoots the notebook out of the way with his foot, and settles on the other side of Maison. His fingers have Maison’s chin in their grip before he even seems to have registered Hunter has sat down. “You were surprised. I didn’t tell you to be careful as an admonishment. I told you to be careful because I care about you. It was just a soft reminder.”

“Okay…”

“Maison, when I’m scolding you for something, I will tell you. If I’m upset, if I’m mad, if I want you doing something different, if I want an apology, I will always tell you. Do you trust me to do that?”

Maison sounds much more sure when he answers this time. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good boy.” He uses the hold on his chin to tilt his face up before pressing his lips to Maison’s. The firelight falls over their faces. I realize Hunter is illuminated more than Maison. Whereas Maison’s face is mostly shadowed, Hunter’s is glowing. Golden, almost.

I smile.

I think we’re going to be okay.

We go to the house for Maison to meet with Dr. Singh. It’s only Bryce and Matt at home. Max and Casey went out with Carter, Travis has an evening art class, and Jake is with Casey’s dad at his place building furniture.

Of course, our friend group lives to be shitheads, so Bryce lures us into the kitchen with the pretense of getting us drinks, then immediately begins to grill Hunter. Matt sits with his tablet and just grins at my misery.

It starts easily enough. Bryce places the glass of lemonade in front of Hunter, makes eye contact, and asks, “What are your intentions with my friends?”

I make a mental note to tell Maison that Bryce counts him as a friend. Then Hunter says, “To love the absolute shit out of them for as long as they’ll let me. Probably after that too, honestly.”

Bryce’s eyes narrow. “That was a good answer.”

“Thank you.” Hunter takes a drink of lemonade. “Bryce, right?”

His eyes narrow even more. I’m not even sure how he sees Hunter like that. “Yes.”

“And Matt,” Hunter says, nodding to Matt.

Matt nods and does his name sign. I go to explain, but Hunter is already repeating the hand movement and saying, “That’s your sign? Awesome.”

Swoon.

Motherfucking swoon .

“And you’re a professor?” Bryce asks skeptically.

“I am. I teach history.” He grins then, eyes turning to me. “Nolan is thinking of taking some classes. Cooking, right, darling?”

Bryce forgets to be intimidating, lighting up in excitement. “Really? Finally! You’ve been talking about that since—” He stops then, making a sound like he’s going to choke on his tongue.

“It’s okay. He knows. Not everything, but the basics. He knows about the safehouse.”

“Oh.” Bryce eyes him. “Maison seriously let you tell him?”

“Maison’s the one who told him.”

Bryce’s eyebrows rise so high that I worry they’ll disappear. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Wow.” He shakes his head. Then shakes it some more. “Well, shit. Culinary school, huh?”

“Just some classes,” I correct, my face burning.

“It’s still big, Nol. Don’t downplay it.”

I just shrug.

Which is my mistake. Bryce takes this as a dire need to be cheered up. He does this, for some ungodly reason, by announcing, “We have to celebrate!”

“Oh. Um. No. Probably not.”

“A party!” Matt’s tablet says in an accent that’s either an awful take on Russian or a subtle German. “We’ll throw a party.”

And I can’t say no, now that Matt wants to. One day that’s going to stop working, but that day is definitely not today.

“I think a party would be great,” Hunter adds, which is the nail in the coffin.

“Fine. Okay.” I frown. “But I’m making the food.”

Bryce rolls his eyes. “No! You’ll relax .”

“Non-negotiable. I’m cooking.”

“Great. I’ll text the group chat now.”

“Oh, not tonight!” I say, slightly panicked. There’s no way after his session with Dr. Singh that Maison will be up for that tonight. “We can’t tonight.”

“Tomorrow?” he asks, his thumbs paused.

I look at Hunter, not even sure what fucking day it is. I don’t have his schedule memorized yet even if I did. He only gave it once, earlier in the week.

He nods. “Tomorrow works, sure.”

“Does Carter know about the three of you yet?” Bryce asks as he types away without looking up. “Does Travis?”

“Travis has his suspicions. I’m not sure if he would have shared them with Carter.”

“He probably did. He’s not big on keeping secrets from him anymore.”

Bryce winces. “So, we have that incoming.”

“Yup.”

“I’m sorry, what is incoming, exactly?” Hunter asks, leaning forward with his hands clasped.

“Carter throwing some sort of fit,” Bryce grumbles. “ He was my friend first, how dare you? He’s fucked me, how gross could you be? Oh my god, Maison, can’t you just let me have one thing myself? I hate you. You suck. Blah, blah. ”

“I have not fucked Carter. Jesus Christ—does Maison think I’ve fucked Carter?” he asks, turning to me with a deep frown. “Nolan?”

“Um. Well. To be honest…we figured it was a fifty-fifty chance? We never wanted to ask.”

Hunter shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. It’s a rare showing of vulnerability. It leaves his brown locks mussed, like they look after he fucks me. I suppress a shiver, looking anywhere but at him. Matt chokes on a laugh, the asshole.

“That’s—okay, we’ll deal with that later. Does Carter truly speak to Maison like that?”

“I mean, I was being dramatic, but sort of. If there’s any chance to blame Maison, he jumps on it.” Bryce shrugs before continuing. “I try to respect everyone’s journey or whatever. I know he’s gotten better. It’s their fight to have. I think maybe I’m biased. I probably always will be. It’s more of a Travis thing than anything.”

Hunter gets that look on his face, the open and warm one that makes you want to tell him everything. “I can’t imagine.”

Bryce—the man so rarely affected by anything—blinks a little too hard. He clears his throat. Twice. “So. Uh. Right. A party.” He seems to regain his composure when he wrinkles his nose and asks the room at large, “Does this mean we have to invite Keats?”

“I mean, he’s in the group chat,” I argue.

“Yeah, I noticed. Who the fuck added him?”

Matt knocks on the counter twice, his sign to let us know he wants us to wait for his contribution. He starts to sign before growling in frustration and grabbing his tablet instead. It’s rare these days that he doesn’t know a sign for something, but it still happens. Sometimes his brain feels too full for him to pull them out of his memory. He said once that it feels like quicksand, like he’s flailing to grab them and they just keep slipping through his fingers.

Sometimes I think he and Maison would get along so well.

“Travis added him while they were on this past mission,” his tablet’s half-Russian, half-German abomination tells us. “It made Ace all grumpy because Travis shouldn’t have been able to do that. Travis told him maybe he’s better at technology than Ace is.” Matt grins at us before pressing enter one last time to finish. “Ace stayed awake all night making a new encryption code.”

We all enjoy that, even Hunter chuckling.

“What’s up with Keats anyway?” Hunter asks, taking a chance. He puts his hands up to show he’s fully aware of what kind of chance it is. “Feel free to tell me it’s not my business.”

Bryce sighs heavily. “No one really knows what’s up with Keats, other than he was an operative for his own mission a while ago.”

“Oh, and he’s obsessed with Bryce,” I add. Bryce glares at me. I give him a cheeky grin. “What? Two can play this game, dude.”

He flips me off. “Listen here, you little shit—”

Maison appears in the entryway to the kitchen, causing Bryce to stop mid-sentence. He looks like half a person, his shoulders hunched and his hands hidden in the front pocket of Hunter’s sweatshirt that he stole for the second day in a row. He has the hood up this time. With his head ducked, it’s impossible to see his face.

Dr. Singh stands behind him, his eyes on Hunter. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Hunter?”

“Of course.” Hunter goes to Maison first, ducking his head so he can look at him. I can’t see Maison’s face, but I can see Hunter smile. “There you are, kitten. You okay?”

Maison nods before saying something I can’t quite make out. Whatever it is has Hunter nodding in return. Then he kisses the top of his head and moves around him to Dr. Singh. I don’t let myself wonder about what’s going on, trusting that someone will tell me. For now, I give my friends a pointed look that sends them out of the room without a word, and sit Maison down next to my lemonade. He manages a shaky smile when I nudge it closer to his hand. “It’ll help,” I argue.

He takes a drink, but I don’t think it actually helps at all.

My eyes drift toward the last place I saw Hunter and Dr. Singh, but my attention is brought back when Maison puts his head on the counter, cheek pressed to the marble, and peers up at me to say, “He’s talking to him about the self-harm stuff. He wanted me to pick someone who would check in with me every day. He said he could help give me guidance on it, too. Like as a dom, I guess? But he said he wanted to talk to him alone so he doesn’t feel pressured to agree to stuff in front of me.”

“As if Hunter won’t die and go to Heaven with an offer like that.”

He grins, his cheeks flushing. “Yeah. Yeah, I think he’ll like it a lot.”

"We're pretty lucky we found him, hey?"

His grin softens into something lovesick and beautiful. "Yeah. We really are."

"We're going to have to tell him he's not going anywhere, whether he likes it or not."

"Oh, definitely." Maison winks at me before closing his eyes and sighing. "I've got a gun after all."