Page 12 of Collision of Winters
Had I said too much?
Honestly, I wished I’d admitted this to him before, because the topic was much easier than discussing my broken brain.
He had hesitation written all over him. “Are you a masochist?”
“Bigly,” I said. Although, that wasn’t necessarily correct. “Maybe more of a primal prey. It’s the adrenaline for me more than pain. Pain is the tool.”
His mouth twitched with a hint of humor, and he took a sip of his coffee. “You make good coffee.”
I beamed at him. “Thank you.”
He took another sip, then glanced out the window for a moment. He was studying the angry clouds rolling in, it looked like.
“Being forced, huh?” He didn’t face me.
“Yeah.”
“So…” He scratched his forehead. “You’re a submissive into consensual non-con.”
I might as well spell it out with the last one too. “And a Middle.”
“I see.”
I hoped I hadn’t made things awkward now.
He cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to the kitchen. “I’m gonna mull over what you said earlier, about the need for D/s. In the meantime, we should get started on dinner, and I’m gonna feed the dogs and take them out once more before I bring them in here.”
“Okay—I can cook,” I offered. “We could use the rest of the bread and make sandwiches.”
He flashed me a quick smile. “That sounds great.”
The edges of the storm reached us around eight o’clock that night.
The winds were so loud, at the same time as everything was incredibly peaceful in here.
It took half an hour for the ground outside to be blanketed in snow.
The dogs were sprawled out on the floor, Atlas and Cat by the door, and Tundra and Prince by the fireplace.
I was cozied up on my half of the sectional, with blankets, cocoa, and zero freaking anger in my body. It was the weirdest feeling. I felt lighter, unburdened, but also…melancholic in a way. Because I realized I needed more of this in my life, and I had no way of obtaining it. Nobody listened to me like Wade did. No ex had been as patient with me.
I’d felt misunderstood most of my life, and at some point, it simply became easier to push people away than to try to explain to them.
Unfortunately—if I were completely honest—I hadn’t been fair to the Winters family, since I’d arrived to them angry. Even at nine years old, I’d had it with the accusations and assumptions about me. And I didn’t know how to undo my reactions to their wanting to help me.
These days, Quinlan was Dad because he’d more than earned the title, but I hadn’t told him the truth. I hadn’t been honest about why I’d failed in school, why I’d left basic training, and why I couldn’t keep a job. I’d taken his last name without committing to the family properly.
The Winters family was one of strong and proud traditions—but also with a lot of tragedy. Yaya’s older brothers—and their wives—had been murdered a few years apart. Arthur, the eldest son, was Quin’s father. Ares was Wade and Chris’s. Their little sister had died too.
For years, Yaya had kept the family together with those traditions. Supper every Sunday was practically law. Cooking was supposed to be an activity that brought people together, she always said. Strength was also important. Being able to defend yourself. And helping out. Helping was a huge deal. Being there for each other, offering aid to anyone who needed it in a community.
If I could barely help myself, how could I help others?
I didn’t want there to be something wrong with me.
A loud crack went off not too far from here, and I sat up straighter and looked at Wade. It sounded like a tree snapping in half.
My heart drummed faster.
