Page 25 of Pieces of Us

He looks toward the fire, his grip on me loosening until I have no choice but to fall to the side or back up myself. I back up, feeling suddenly cold and empty. “He blames me for everything.”

“That’s not fair,” I tell him.

“Yeah, well.” Maison gives me a smile that I don’t like at all. It’s false and a little mean, though the malice isn’t aimed at me. “His life hasn’t been fair, and a hell of a lot of that is on me. It’s easier to just keep the blame in one place for him.”

“What about what’s easier for you?”

“Mm.” He stands up, running a hand through his hair. It’s messy like his brother’s, though cut short on the sides and not quite as long on top. “Good night, Nolan.”

My throat feels tight enough for it to hurt when I force the words, “Good night, Maison,” out of it.

It aches long after he’s left.

From my bedroom window, I can see the long, winding dirt road that weaves through the thick trees that surround our safehouse for miles before reaching what I assume is a main road. I spend most of the night set up with my elbow on the windowsill, watching for signs of life.

My worry for Maison takes up most of my mind. That man’s mind is so wrapped up in grief and guilt, I’m not sure how he manages to get out of bed in the morning. Not to mention the injuries he must have. I’ve been attacked by the same group of men who abused him before the party. Sure, he’s a hell of a lot sturdier than I am, but that only gets a person so far. He’s still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders even after saving all of us. After saving Carter. It hurts to see, especially after the way he held me so carefully and just let me be safe in his arms for a while, like he knew just how desperately I needed that from someone.

Sunlight is just starting to spill into the bedroom when Matt settles beside me with a frown, his little stuffed bunny tucked against his chest. He has a notebook he got from Ace, the tech guy. He’s already writing before I can even get my, “Good morning,” out.

I wait patiently, eyes back on the window, until he taps my shoulder. You sleep?

“Not really, no.”

He frowns, then glances at the window and signs, why?

I sigh and rest my temple against the cool glass window, eyes back on the dirt road. “I talked to Maison again last night. He mentioned Travis would be leaving to go hunt down Mica. I guess I’ve been waiting to see if he really leaves.”

There’s the soft sound of pencil on paper before I’m tapped again so he can show me what he wrote. YOU THINK MAISON IS LYING?

“No. Just—I don’t know. I guess I want to see it for myself. Him leaving.”

More writing. BUT HE’LL BE BACK…

“Yeah.” I rub my eyes, realizing how stupid this whole thing was. Granted, I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if I’d spent the night in my bed instead of here, but still. “It’s nothing to get excited over. I don’t know. I’m being weird. Should we go get breakfast?”

Matt eyes me, seeming to debate if he’s going to let this go or not. Then he writes, HAVE SOMETHING TO DO FIRST. MEET YOU IN KITCHEN.

I want to ask what he could possibly have to do, but I figure he deserves what little privacy being in this house affords. “Okay.”

He makes a soft noise and points out the window. I look, seeing a black SUV slowly making its way down the dirt road and away from the house. My stomach twists—not because of an emotion related to the sight, but because there isn’t emotion at all. I had expected to feel… something when he left. Free somehow. But him leaving didn’t really change anything. I’m still fucked up, whether he’s here or not.

Still, I wait until the SUV is out of sight before heading downstairs. It’s still pretty early, but not so early that I can’t get started on a big breakfast for everyone.

Maison is in the kitchen when I reach it, the both of us stopping short at the sight of the other. My heart is suddenly racing as I take him in. He looks like a damn wreck, dressed in the same clothes from last night, the finger-length hair on the top of his head mussed and tangled, and stubble starting to appear on his jaw.

He has blood on his knuckles.

“Nolan.” My name sounds impossibly soft as it leaves his lips, like an exhale more than a word. It does something inside of me. Something foreign, but… good. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.”

“Sleep okay?”

I turn my back to him, not sure if my face is going to cooperate with lies this morning. I need mugs for the coffee anyway. “Yeah. You?”

He hesitates long enough for me to fill one of the two mugs before saying, “Travis just left. Now I’m just waiting for Carter to wake up so I can tell him.”

“You could let somebody else tell him,” I offer, filling the second mug. “Not everything has to fall on you, you know.”

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