Mirth swallows. I feel the history between her and Sully yawn open. So much love and consideration. Acceptance.
“So … the title is nothing,” Sully whispers. “The money is nothing. Except for what it might help secure. Because you mean everything. You and Armin …” His voice cracks. “And even fucking Bolan are my entire fucking world. You took my hand, literally. Do you remember that first day, moving into the dorms? When I was a seven-year-old with an obscene expense account and a hired driver dropping me off with only the clothing on my back? My own mother’s blood on the cuffs of those jeans? And you and Armin had all the books and boxes and guards, all the hushed whispers following you around. You took my hand. And Armin figured out the way to the dining hall. Remember?”
Mirth nods.
“I say the wrong things. I don’t process information like other people. I —”
“I know, Sully.”
He takes a shaky breath. “I … saw Rian yesterday.”
Mirth steps away from the door, and all the tension in the room — good and bad — snaps into nothing. “What? When?”
“I went to him, to Rian. In Dublin. And now I’m pissed. Or I was pissed. Now I’m just … numb. But I’m also still pissed, mostly at myself, because … maybe … maybe I shouldn’t have gone.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to talk about it with you, Mirth. But I think … I probably need to talk about it, don’t I? Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been … but it shouldn’t be with you. Because what if I misunderstood? Or I’m just overwhelmed about everything else? I don’t want to fuck up anything. Between us or in the bond group. Or with you and Rian.”
The rush of words stops, and Sully takes another shaky breath. His right hand smooths down his suit jacket, pausing at each button.
“Me,” I say after waiting a moment so I don’t interrupt him if he wishes to continue. “You’ll talk to me, Sully. And I’ll help you sort through your reactions. Then we take to Mirth whatever needs to be taken.”
Sully opens his eyes, raises his head, and looks directly at me. “All right.”
Mirth glances between us, reluctantly nodding though she looks as though she wants to protest.
“Good.” I reach for my phone. “I’ll order lunch in. While we’re waiting for it to be delivered, we’ll go over the bond group contracts, make any amendments needed, and sign them. If Bolan and Sully are still amenable. And whenever you want, we’ll discuss Rian.”
We all level our attention on Mirth. She presses her lips together, clearly wanting to push — though what subject still needs clarification, I’m not certain. Instead, she steps away from the door, crossing to thread her fingers through Bolan’s hair.
I suppress a moan of relief.
“Please order enough for Roz and Greg, Elias.” Mirth slides an arch look my way. “And Lia, of course.”
“Lia,” I say steadily, “doesn’t need to be here today. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the rest of the week off.”
“Find her a better placement,” Sully demands.
Mirth frowns at him. Bolan seems to have slipped into some sort of meditative state, likely from Mirth combing her fingers through his hair. He’s still on his knees, but not touching her in return.
“Do you have a personal issue with Lia, Salvatore?” Mirth asks.
Sully turns his sharp gray eyes on me, still riled despite his awareness that he’s taking it out where he doesn’t intend to. Though he honestly might be as pissed about Lia as he seems. “I do. No one fucks around outside the bond group. Not on Mirth … and not on me.”
“Fine,” I say, cutting off any possible extension of the argument. “Most bond groups are faithful to each other, whether or not that includes a sexual component. But I’ll add it to the bond group contract.” I look pointedly at Sully. “Just for your comfort, Salvatore.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“I’m thinking …” Bolan drawls, eyes still closed. “Pizza. With lots of meat and cheese.”
Mirth shakes her head and sighs. Then she twists her fingers through the back of Bolan’s hair, tugs his head back with a fair bit of force, and brushes a kiss across his lips. If that’s supposedto be a punishment on her part, I’ll gladly be naughty enough to require it. And I’ve never liked anyone’s fingers in my hair. In fact, I barely tolerate kissing.
“I don’t like it when you’re upset, Mirth,” Bolan murmurs. “I don’t like it when you’ve been crying. But if you need to do or be either of those things, let me at least be there with you? No more going off on your own.”
“Bolan …”
“Mirth,” he growls, “how many more trips with the ashes are you planning?”
“One more stop.”
