Page 127 of Piece Us Together

I narrow my eyes on him. “Well, I can’t tell him to get off because—as you said—he’s a cat. I can’t pick him up because—as I said—claws and teeth. So, yes, I resorted to bribing.”

“Bribing with tuna you don’t actually have.”

“Yes.”

“If he’s a cat who doesn’t understand he can’t be on your boots, how is he going to understand the concept of tuna?”

I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I love this man. “Bryce, I really have to go. Please.”

He eyes me before looking at Stud Muffin and tilting his head. “Come on, loser. Let’s go cuddle.”

And Stud Muffin just fucking—listens. He gets off my stupid boots and starts walking away, Bryce by his side.

I glare at both of them.

I want very badly to ask how the fuck Bryce just did that, but then I remember my priorities and hurry to get my boots on before any other cats can take them over.

There’s no visible sign of them when I let myself into Hunter’s house as he said. Well, apart from Maison’s boots and a pile of weapons on the entryway table. I stare at the dismantled gun for a moment. It’s Maison’s favorite. The one he brings everywhere. The one I’m fairly certain he would have likely pointed at Hunter that infamous night they first met.

I find them in the room, Maison curled against Hunter’s chest with his face tucked into Hunter’s throat. The sight unravels me until I’m a trembling mess with tears falling down my cheeks. Hunter smiles, soft and sad, understanding, and reaches his free hand out to me. I scramble to get to it, shedding my hat and jacket as I do. Maison adjusts when he feels the bed dip, red-rimmed blue eyes focusing on me. It’s startling to see all of the pain and fear and exhaustion in them. He’s not trying to hideany of it. There isn’t a single wall of protection left in place.What the fuck happened tonight?

I let Hunter move me where he wants, noticing that Maison is allowing him to do the same. He stops when he has us curled into each other, foreheads pressed together, bent legs overlapping, with Maison pressed against Hunter’s right side and me pressed along his center. He pulls a blanket over the three of us, enveloping our little unit.

“That’s better,” Hunter murmurs, his whole body relaxing. “That’s so much better.”

I can’t help it then. I admit the truth, my voice sounding as strangled as my throat feels. “I didn’t know where you were. I was so scared.”

Maison’s chin wobbles before he bites down on his bottom lip and closes his eyes. His body shudders with a swallowed sob, fresh tears soaking into his lashes.

“Hey, he’s okay. We’re all okay now.” Hunter turns his chin to press a kiss to my hair, then a kiss to Maison’s. My head is an awful mess, but I trust Hunter. I trust him enough to not ask a million questions right now. To not push the issue. This is fragile. This, whatever this is, feels like it could be something very good, if handled right. I don’t want to be the one to break it.

We lie together for a long time. Sometimes Maison starts to shake, his chest heaving like he’s struggling to breathe, but every time he does I press in closer and Hunter kisses his head and whispers, “I’ve got you. We’ve got you. Shhh,” and he calms. Sometimes the questions feel like livewires inside my mind, making me itch with a need to know what the fuck is going on, but then Hunter gives me a soft smile and nods like he knows and I close my eyes and just soak in the feeling that we’re safe. That whatever happened, whatever is going to happen, the two men I love and I are all safe.

At some point, Hunter releases a slow breath and says, “The two of you need to talk.”

Maison immediately tenses. “Can’t the three of us talk?”

“No, Maison.” Hunter shifts, forcing us to sit up on either side of him. He gives us a pinched smile, his eyes tight. It has my earlier worry returning with a vengeance, my chest suddenly so heavy, it hurts to breathe. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready to share with me what you’ve decided, but this is for the two of you to discuss together. If that takes longer than just one conversation, that’s okay. Take your time. Sleep over if you need to. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’m here.”

I fight the urge to ask questions, pretty sure Hunter would just say I need to ask Maison them anyway. Maison doesn’t look entirely pleased to be the one with that responsibility. He won’t meet my eyes, even after Hunter has left the room, the door shut behind him. I give him a few seconds before I can’t wait anymore. “What happened?”

“I was stupid.” He rubs at the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the wall to my left. “I got drunk and—well, I had a lot to figure out, you know? A lot of fucking soul searching or whatever. I think I was trying to talk myself into ending all of this. I just—I ruin everything, you know? And adding Hunter—he’s just one more person to let down, one more relationship I can ruin, one more way I can fuck up, and I—”

“Hey,” I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are glossy, like he wants to cry but his body has run out of supply. I inch closer to him until I’m practically in his lap, legs on each side of him. “I hate when you talk like that. You don’t ruin things. You don’t let people down.”

He huffs. I think the sound is meant to be angry, but it sounds too sad, too defeated. “Ask my brother what he thinks of that.”

“You saved his life.”

“After I got him in the situation in the first place.”

“You know, I don’t know if I buy that. He was spotted by low-end sellers, isn’t that the story? He talked about it once, in group therapy. It’s why the man who got him and Casey sold him in the first place. He wasn’t even looking for Carter and he didn’t want the heat of you and your team. He was glad he stumbled on that hidden gem because he was going to make a fortune, but that’s it. Right?”

His jaw ticks. “Basically, yes.”

“So, what if those men had liked the look of Carter anyway? Because they were looking, weren’t they? To have recognized him from the bulletin that went out? What if you’d been a normal man and those men had been on that campus and they had decided they wanted Carter? What then, Maison? Who would have saved him then?”

“That’s a hell of a lot of what-ifs. Those guys weren’t there hunting for victims.”

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