Page 63 of What We May Be

Pain pierced his chest and stole his breath at the remembered taste of the peaty scotch on her and Trevor’s lips that night a month ago. From there, a cascade of other memories assaulted him—the salt and cocoa butter taste of her skin, Trevor’s firm muscles under his hands, her sure hands running over his chest as Trevor’s wove through his hair, her legs clamped tight on either side of his hips, her muscles clenched tight around his dick, his mouth full of Trevor’s.

“Sentimental favorite,” she said softly.

He met her gaze in the mirror over the sink, and black diamonds glittered back at him. He was seconds away from dropping the supplies in the sink and sprinting the ten feet to her, but then she broke the heated staredown. “You still know your way around.”

Letting her have that play, he carried the wraps and first aid supplies to the bench and crouched in front of her. “Your family doesn’t change much when it comes to police business.” She jerked her face to the side and swallowed hard, and Sean’s chest clenched for a different reason. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask about Alice—why else would she react so strongly at the mention of her family’s history at the station?—but then Charlie swerved again. “You and Marsh seem close.”

“I’ve only known him a few years. Since he was assigned to our legat office. But we’ve been through some shit together, and he was there for me when I needed a friend.” He chuckled. “I ran away from all those cowboys in Kansas City only to end up with one as my closest friend.”

Charlie’s hand jerked in his, and Sean’s gaze shot to her face, catching the hurt expression there before she wiped it away. Only she couldn’t completely hide her curiosity. “Go ahead and ask,” he said, figuring he knew the question that would answer for both her reactions. He did not, however, figure the question would come from behind them.

“Were the two of you ever together?” Trevor’s question—the one Charlie was too polite to ask—was punctuated by the locker room door banging closed.

Sean shifted from his crouch to the bench beside Charlie, wanting to see them both and wanting both of them to see him, to read the sincerity and truth in his account of past events and his hope for the present direction. “Once,” he said. “The night our boss was killed in a terrorist attack. An attack that may have been averted if political bickering hadn’t tied up our funding. We were frustrated, angry, and most of all sad we’d lost a colleague and friend. We got drunk and both needed more comfort than the bottle could provide that night. That was the one and only time.”

He was surprised when Charlie pushed back her hair and asked, “Do you want there to be more? Do we need to figure out how to make that work too?”

“We will,” Trevor added, “if that’s what it takes to make this”—he gestured among them—“work.”

“Do you mean that?” Sean could barely keep his seat, hope surging out to his fingers and toes, coloring his voice as well.

Trevor’s “Yes” nearly tripped over Charlie’s, and Sean nearly tripped over himself in his haste to reach out to them. Trevor saved him the broken limbs, closing the distance and kneeling in front of him and Charlie. “We’ve got a shot here. I think we should take it, however that looks.”

“It looks like the three of us,” Sean said. “I love Marsh, but only as a friend. Plus, he’s gay and not poly.”

“You and he can still have a relationship,” Trevor said, proving yet again he got it and also how big his heart was. “Separate and apart from ours.”

“If that’s what you need,” Charlie added. “This past week, having you here”—she glanced at him, then at Trevor—“feeling the connection between us again.” She swung her gaze back to Sean, her words back to their earlier conversation. “I don’t want to lose this either.”

“We need you with us, Sean,” Trevor said. “That’s how this”—he gestured between them again—“works best.”

“Marsh doesn’t work that way, and he deserves to be the center of someone’s world.” He notched a hand in the crook of Trevor’s neck and laid the other on Charlie’s thigh. “Like you two are of mine.”

Trevor’s pulse kicked beneath his hand, Charlie’s thigh slid closer, and that was all the go-ahead signal Sean needed. He floored it on the next beat of their hearts, leaning to the side and slamming his mouth onto Charlie’s. All that existed, all that mattered in that moment was Charlie’s lips against his—her taste, her moan, her tongue as it dueled with his—and Trevor’s breathy moan beside them, his hand covering Sean’s on Charlie’s thigh and inching it higher. She shifted forward, her legs opening to their touch and arms opening to Trevor. Sean broke their kiss, then with his hand around Trevor’s neck, drew him to Charlie. The sigh of relief that always accompanied their first kisses found its way into Sean’s soul and settled right where it belonged. The sense of peace and belonging like nothing else he’d ever found with anyone.

The peace, however, was snatched away too soon by footsteps in the hallway, headed in their direction. “We’ve got company,” Sean said, and Trevor and Charlie broke apart just in time to avoid another uncomfortable run-in with Rachel.

“Charlie, you in here?” the receptionist called from the door.

“Yeah, here.” Sean hung back with Trevor as Charlie straightened her top and poked her head around the end of the row, not that Rachel couldn’t see them over the top of the lockers, her gaze bouncing over them. “What’s up?” Charlie said, bringing Rachel’s gaze back to her.

“Beth Martin’s in custody. Abel’s called for a victory lap at Pearl’s.” Charlie glanced over her shoulder at them, and Sean could read in her expression the same thing he was thinking. A victory lap was premature, a jinx if he were superstitious.

“Wallace wants to celebrate being off jackass duty,” Rachel said with a smile. “Abel’s gonna have ’em shut the place down—police only—so we can relax.”

Caution, disappointment, and duty all sped across Charlie’s face, all of which Sean felt too. He gave a reluctant nod. “Sure,” Charlie said. “We’ll meet you there.”

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