Page 176 of Piece Us Together

He hurts himself and denies himself and ruins things. He fights. Claws. Screams. Every second of the day, he sits under the weight. Every second of the day, he’s willing to let it be the end of him.

It’s penance for a sin he never committed.

I cup his face. His eyes widen, locking on to mine. His hands fall to my chest where his fingers curl into my shirt again. I stroke his cheek, taking in the sight of this beautiful, brave martyr of a man. “You must be so tired.”

He sucks in a sharp breath.

And then he starts to sob.

I pull him back against me, letting him scratch at my back out of desperation to cling to me. Nolan wraps himself around us, his head on my shoulder, his hand stroking Maison’s back.

“It’s time to rest now, Maison. Your time carrying the weight of the world is over. Do you understand?” I guide him back, ignoring his wounded sounds and shaking hands, and grab his chin. I force him to look at me through his tears. “I’m takingit, alright? Hand it over. Give it all to me. You’ve done enough, sweetheart. You get to stop now. You get to stop.”

I expect him to fight.

I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong when he collapses back in my arms and breathes, “Thank you.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Maison

I feel fucking hollowed out. Raw and open and empty. My eyes are sore, the skin around them chapped. My chest has a near-permanent burn inside it. My throat aches from fighting off tears.

Not to mention the graze on my arm that oscillates from dull throbs to sharp zings.

Hunter barely leaves my side all day. He keeps me in bed, settled in the middle. There’s a TV in his room that I never noticed. We don’t talk about what to watch. He chooses, putting on a competitive baking show. Nolan curls up beside me, sometimes just watching the show, sometimes turning his face to look at me. I try to stroke his hair, but my arm doesn’t let me reach around like that. He does it to me instead. It feels unbelievably nice.

I’m never left alone, the two of them taking turns when they need to use the bathroom or get food. Nolan forces me to eat protein bars and take sips of juice. They kiss me a lot. Not muchon the mouth, but on my cheeks and forehead, my jaw, my throat, my chest, my shoulders, my fingers, and my good arm.

The sun is setting when Hunter speaks, not about food or the bathroom or pain meds. He says, “Where were you?”

It’s suddenly very easy to be honest with him. “Baltimore.”

“Why?”

“A friend of mine asked me to help him do a rescue. Two brothers. We retrieved them and the others at the brothel they were being kept at.”

I don’t say we killed the men keeping them there. I don’t think I need to. It’s not like the survivors shot me, and it’s not like we would have left until the threats were handled. He’s smart.

“It wasn’t related to the operation?”

“No. That’s over. Completely. As completely as it will be, on my end, at least. The major loose ends are tied up. The rest were given to task forces around the world to handle.”

“Are you in a contract still? With the man in charge?”

I hesitate. Then, “No. This wasn’t for him. My friend—he doesn’t work for him. He’s separate. Doesn’t even know about my operation or any of that.”

“So, you can stop.”

There it is.

I close my eyes. “Not exactly.”

“Why?”

“I—I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just—I don’t know.” I wince before forcing myself to look at him. “I promise, I really don’t know. It’s like this panic wells up inside me thinking I’ll never do another rescue, but then when Keats told me about this mission I felt just as anxious. I just kept thinking I didn’t want to go. I was desperate not to go. But then, thinking this was the last rescue, that I’ll never do it again—that’s—it’s awful, Hunter.”

He hums softly, thoughtfully, his hand brushing locks of hair off my forehead. “Have you ever thought of talking to someone about that? About any of this?”

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