Page 135 of Piece Us Together

He proves it by asking, “What do you do, when you’re not with me? I know you’re not in school. Do you work?”

Surprisingly, it’s Maison who asks—a little sharply—“How do you know he’s not in school?”

Hunter raises an eyebrow, though I’m not sure if it’s Maison’s question or his tone he’s responding to. “Because I work there? When we started things, I made sure there wouldn’t be an issue as far as conflict of interest. I ran his name through the system. Both of yours.”

For a moment, I can’t figure out why that has Maison looking so uncomfortable. Then I realize—Hunter isn’t supposed toknowour names.

“How’d you find out his last name?” Maison asks, and this time his tone isn’t sharp, it’s dangerous.

Hunter sighs, looking away from both of us. I can’t help but think he feels a little hurt. I can’t help but see where he’s coming from, if he does.

How the hell are we going to do this? We have to tell him, don’t we? Could this really ever work any other way?

“You put them on your packets,” he says quietly. “I didn’t fucking steal them or something. I didn’t go digging in wallets. You gave them to me.”

Maison immediately relaxes. I remember then that we used our new identities for those packets. Well, my new one. Maison had his for a long time before I needed my own. It wasn’t until we moved out of the safehouse that we survivors were given ours, complete with ID cards and bank accounts.

Other than when Hunter asked for our names on those packets, I haven’t needed to even use my false identity. I’ve never been carded at the pub Carter works at and Maison drives whenever we go out. I’d almost forgotten it exists.

“Never mind,” Hunter says. I realize he’s let go of my hand. He’s gripping the cart’s handle tightly, knuckles white. “It’s not my business what either of you do when we’re not together. I get it.”

I don’t look at Maison. I’ve decided I don’t care if he doesn’t want me to say something. It’s not like I’m going to spill our secrets in the middle of the fucking grocery store, but Hunter deserves to knowsomethingfor now. And more later. A lot more. Everything, probably.That’s the only way this will work, isn’t it?

“I was in college, before. Years ago. Not here.” I try to think of how to put it without sounding like I’m hiding things. Then I decide that’s stupid. He’ll see right through me anyway. So, I say it how it is. “I can’t tell you about my time since then, up until a few months ago. Not—not right now. Not here. But I don’t do anything. Now, I mean. Not college or work. I—”

“Nolan,” Maison says lowly.

I ignore him. “I have an…inheritance, of sorts. Lots of money to burn. I’d love to spend it on food, if you’ll let me.”

Hunter studies me for a moment before turning his focus on Maison, who is managing to do the whole scared-angry thing he’s a master at these days. I can see how badly Hunter wants to ask questions. So many questions. Not just about what I told him, but about what Maison isn’t saying, too.

Instead, he looks back at me and smiles. “Thank you for telling me that.”

It’s such a small thing, but I hope it’s enough.

I hope he’s patient enough to wait for the rest.

We’re almost done shopping when we hit the aisle with everything on clearance, most foods a day or so away from expiring.

“Wait—todayis Saturday.”

“Very astute,” Hunter teases Maison.

“But—your friends? The dinner?”

Hunter’s smile falters. He looks away from us, focusing on a shelf of flavored rice he suddenly finds interesting. “I canceled that. Well, rescheduled. Kind of. But we get together for Christmas and Hannukah late-December, so really, it’ll likely be then.”

“Because of me?” Maison asks.

“No.” Hunter looks at him. “I didn’t cancel until last night, after we agreed to be together. I didn’t want to have to kick you guys out the very next day after making that decision, but I also didn’t want to throw you to the wolves and have you stay to meet the rest of my friends.”

“They’re that bad?” I ask with a forced laugh that sounds a lot more nervous than I intended.

“Well, considering Wells already hates me…” Maison mumbles.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hunter says, but he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. For how great of a dom he is, he’s not the best liar. “He—they just need to get to know you. I figured neither of you was up for getting grilled for information quite yet.”

I look at Maison, not sure where his mind is compared to mine. He raises an eyebrow and shrugs. I shrug back and turn my gaze on Hunter. “We’re fine with it.”

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