Page 173 of Piece Us Together

After all of our breathing has synchronized and their bodies are lax, I say, “It was good, until it wasn’t.”

Maison shudders. “Y-yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Last spring, someone found my identity. My real one. I don’t know how, for sure. They didn’t find out about the operation or about the others, which was always strange to me. I think they were following me or something. Carter got hurt, at college. I went to see him. I was careful. Fuck, Hunter, I promise I was careful. But just days later he was—was gone. He was fuckinggoneand there was—there was a picture in an email—” His voice breaks, his shoulders curling forward.

I don’t like where this is going.

God, I don’t like where this is going at all.

He’s breathless, his chest heaving, as he tries to continue. “They—they had—he was—”

“Shh.” I stroke his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It’s okay. He’s safe now. You both are.”

“Don’t make me—I can’t do this,” Maison gasps, trying to pull away from us. Nolan slides off of me, giving me room as I turn fully toward Maison. He’s halfway sitting up. I grab his throat and push him back into the bed, keeping my hand there once he’s flat. He tilts his chin away, eyes slamming shut.

“I won’t make you tell me more if you’re not ready. This was enough. This was proof you guys are willing to let me in, even if it takes time. I needed that.” I give his throat a little squeeze before stroking my thumb beneath his jaw. “And now I understand better. It’s enough, okay? For now, it’s enough. You don’t have to tell me more if you’re not ready.”

“Never ready,” he whispers. “Never—can’t—I can’t tell you.”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“I’mbad, Hunter.” His hands scrabble frantically at my shirt, clinging and pulling hard enough to make the fabric stretch uncomfortably against my back. “I’m a bad person. I’m bad.”

“Stop that.” I give his throat a squeeze. “You arenotbad.”

“I am. Iam. You’re going to find out. Oh god, you’re going to find out.” He starts to cry, the only indication the silent tears sliding down his cheeks. “You’ll leave. Once you know, you’ll leave.”

I move until I’m straddling his left thigh, adding pressure to his throat and keeping it there longer than I usually would. He doesn’t move for the first few seconds. Then another few. Then he realizes I’m not going to let up and his eyes snap to mine. They’re wide. Desperate. Terrified and hopeful.

“You know what?” I ask as his mouth drops open for air I’m not going to let him suck in. Not yet. “Maybe you are bad. Maybe you’re the villain of this whole story.” I lean down, hovering over him until I can hear the rasp of his attempted inhales. “I’m going to love you anyway. There’s not a doubt in my fucking mind that I won’t stop loving you.”

He whimpers, low and needy.

I loosen my hold and he sucks in a heaving breath, his whole body shuddering with the rush of oxygen. He blinks rapidly as more tears spill down his cheeks. It’s only now that I notice Nolan has his hand fisted in my shirt just above where Maison is holding. His other hand is on Maison’s waistband, clinging just as hard.

“You don’t have to tell me now,” I say again. “But the weight won’t lift until you do, sweetheart. This won’t go away until you do.”

He sniffles before slowly nodding.

I start to pull my hand away, ready to return to our earlier positions. He stops me with a hand clamped on my wrist. “Don’t leave.”

“Okay.” I shift, getting more comfortable. Then I look at Nolan and nod my head toward Maison. “Cuddle up the best you can.”

Nolan curls against Maison’s side, one leg overlapping Maison’s, his stomach pressing into my hip, his head tucked in the curve between Maison’s shoulder and throat. When I move my thumb, I can brush his cheek.

“He said I couldn’t save Carter. The man in charge, whoever the fuck he is. He—he wouldn’t take the risk. I tried. I tried sohard, Hunter.” His forehead wrinkles, eyes slitting. “I was going to defect. It would have been a life on the run—for both of us—but it was better than—Lord knows it would have been better than what he had to endure. The man in charge said he’d have Carter killed, if I didn’t stay in line.”

“So, you couldn’t save him. It wasn’t possible,” I say, more for him to hear it than for myself.

“I could have—”

“It sounds like you couldn’t have,” I argue. “So, what did you do instead? Because I know you. I know you didn’t do nothing. You’re a good man. What did you do?”

His bottom lip trembles. “I called Travis.”

I nod, a picture starting to form. An awful picture.

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