Page 120 of Stolen Faith

“So what do you think of L.A.?” Brennon asked nervously. Their future living situation hadn’t come up in conversation, which made sense, since all three of them were still trying to overcome their immediate past.

“Considering all we’ve seen of it—with the exception of the therapist’s office—is your house, I think I’m going to wait until I’ve gathered more data,” Izabel joked.

Brennon sighed. “Fair. It’s just…” He stopped, uncertain this was the right time to bring up the subject.

“You need to live here.” Izabel never shied away from the tough topics.

Brennon nodded. “At least a fair amount of the year.”

Izabel didn’t respond to that, so Brennon—nervous—turned his attention to Rowan, who shrugged. He’d admitted that since leaving the military, he’d been struggling to figure out what came next. “I’m not tied to any city, so I’ll let you two battle it out.”

Izabel shook her head. “Not a battle. A discussion.”

“One we can have later.” Brennon regretted bringing it up. They still had time.

Izabel smiled. “Okay. Later.”

As they ate, they dove deeper into each other’s pasts, about their childhoods, their upbringings—Rowan’s father was strict, Brennon’s parents straitlaced, but loving, Izabel’s downright indulgent.

Rowan reached across the table to playfully ruffle her hair, calling her princess, and teasing her about being spoiled. Brennon half-expected his joke to provoke another spat, but Izabel merely shrugged, then tossed the joke back at Rowan.

“How did you know Dad’s nickname for me?”

Brennon chuckled, reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Your dad can keep princess. I prefer Iza.”

She leaned into him, encouraging Brennon to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes when he stroked the soft skin on her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Izabel turned her face, placing a kiss on the palm of his hand.

Rowan grumbled, “Fucking cracked ribs.”

Brennon chuckled, turning his attention to Rowan. His cock had gotten hard the second he’d heard Rowan moan after taking a bite of his quesadilla.

Apparently, they’d turned another corner today.

Sex hadn’t been a blip on any of their radars, Rowan too physically hurt, Izabel’s damage more mental.

“You know,” Izabel confessed. “I did a little research this afternoon.”

“Research?” Brennon asked.

“Googled ways to have sex with cracked ribs.”

Brennon laughed, but Rowan leaned forward. “What did it say?”

A quick glance at Rowan’s lap and Brennon discovered he wasn’t the only one sporting wood.

“Your cracked ribs are high on your rib cage, which gives us two options,” Izabel explained. “Sixty-nine and reverse cowgirl.”

“Two classics,” Brennon interjected. “I vote we do both.”

Izabel snorted, then looked back at Rowan. “You’d have to be on the bottom for both,” she said as if that was a problem.

“I can live with that,” Rowan said, standing immediately.

Brennon rose as well. “So can I.”

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