Page 200 of Piece Us Together

There’s no arguing with that. Especially with knives nearby.

It’s time to start cooking anyway.

It’s a lot, being in the house again after so much time in our happy bubble. I forgot just how noisy we all can be. Add in the cats and Matt’s tablet and a mini food-fight and I’m pretty wiped out by the time dessert is over.

The final straw is when Keats shows up, though. He breezes in with a too-loud greeting and a cut on his cheek that wasn’t there before and a present for me wrapped in SpongeBob wrapping paper. The thing is, I had forgotten all about SpongeBob. It used to be my favorite. Not just as a child, either. I was adamant that SpongeBob was the pinnacle of television. I spent a whole summer once trying to figure out what the secret formula was for the krabby patties.

The reminder is out of nowhere. It feels like I had been missing an arm and hadn’t even noticed until someone said, “Hey, dude, where the fuck is your arm?” It’s disillusioning. Startling. It makes it hard to breathe.

My hands are shaking as I do the polite thing and open the present. As I do, Maison asks Keats, “What happened to your face?”

Keats huffs. “A disagreement.”

“Something big?” Travis asks.

“I’ve got this one handled. Don’t worry, I won’t forget you boys for next time.”

I stare at the present—an immersion blender—asnext time, next time, next timerings in my ears. Hunter puts a hand on the small of my back and quietly says, “Nolan?”

I swallow. I look up at Keats and smile. I say, “Thank you. I love it.”

I don’t really remember what happens in the few minutes after that. It feels like I’m under water. I think about how I’m under water like SpongeBob and have to stop myself from breaking down in hysterical laughter. Hunter leads me out of the room while I hear Maison say something about it being a long week. He drags me onto the alcove in the hall and presses our foreheads together.

“Breathe, darling. We’re going to leave, okay? We’re going back to our bubble. But you’ve gotta breathe for me first.Breathe.”

By the time Maison finds us, I’m breathing evenly, the world back to normal. I’m tired. Weary. I’m so fucking ready to go home.

“We don’t have to say goodbye,” Maison tells me when I give the door a longing look. “They all understand. I’ve got your presents already packed up.”

Hunter smiles, putting a hand on Maison’s cheek. “You take such good care of him, kitten.”

Maison blushes furiously, which makes things better. I hope he never figures out how to stop doing that so easily. Or if hedoes, I hope Hunter is good at figuring out new and exciting ways to earn the reaction.

The three of us are getting our coats on when someone says, “Hey, Nolan?”

I somehow manage not to startle, turning slowly to face the man whose voice I still know so well. Travis is standing a few feet away, shoulders low, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks as unassuming as they come, a man who has tucked his dominance away for a moment.

I feel Hunter stiffen beside me. I remember for the first time that before tonight, Hunter hadn’t seen Travis since finding out the truth. Undercover or not, Travis was the monster in my life for years. I don’t know why I never considered what that’d do to them.

“I have something for you.” He clears his throat, his eyes finding Maison standing beside me. “For both of you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything. None of you did.”

“It’s not really a gift. Or maybe it is, but it’s—” He shakes his head, his eyebrows pulling in. “It’s yours. Always was. Both of yours.”

I don’t understand, but Maison must. His breath catches in his throat.

Travis nods like maybe he expected that. He reaches over to the coat rack. A leather messenger bag is hanging from it. He flips it open without removing it from the hook it’s on. Then he pulls out a white box with a black ribbon tied around it. He hesitates, halfway to handing it to me. Our eyes lock.

“I’m sorry for being your monster,” he says, his voice thick. “I’m glad you found your hero.” His eyes go to Hunter beside me, his lips quirking just a touch. “Heroes.”

“I think sometimes monsters can be heroes too,” I tell him as tears well up in my eyes.

His eyes aren’t doing much better. He blinks a few times, then sort of thrusts the gift at me. I take it with trembling hands. His laugh is thick before he warns, “Don’t go dropping it.”

I don’t realize the joke until I open the box.

It’s a plate. Twelve white pieces, some large, others merely slivers. They’re all joined together with gold.

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