Page 168 of Piece Us Together

Nolan wavers before hurrying over, unable to stop himself from going to the man he loves, even with his emotions raging. He kneels beside the couch. Maison seems high enough not to be bothered by the position, just grinning wider at our boy.

“Youidiot,” Nolan rasps, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Such an idiot,” Maison agrees happily. “Don’t be mad at Trav. Not his fault. Not anyone’s fault.”

Nolan leans forward, resting his forehead against Maison’s shoulder. He exhales. It comes out thick and shaky, just on the edge of a sob.

The smile slides off Maison’s face. “Oh. Hey. No. It’s okay.”

Nolan loses it then, sobbing hard.

I look at Travis, feeling helpless. Nolan needs me. They both do. But Maison’s fuckinghurtand he’s too fucked up to give me anything valuable.

“So, this is a thing…” Travis muses, gesturing a hand at the room around us. I know he means the relationship, though. The three of us. “What exactly…isthis?”

“Complicated. How bad is it?”

“This?”

“Theinjury. How bad is he? Does he need a hospital?”

Travis’s eyebrows pull in. “He can’t go to a hospital.”

“Why? I mean—does he have to go to an Army one? Is there not one nearby? Surely, they’d let him go to a regular one if it’s an emergency. That has to be illegal. They can’t stop him from getting treatment.”

“An Army hosp—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “We—”

“We should go,” Keats says, overly loud in an obvious takeover of the conversation. He gives Travis a pointed look. I don’t know him enough to know what the look means, but considering the context and how secretive Maison is, I think it’s safe to bet he’s telling Travis to shut the fuck up before he says something I can’t know. My stomach drops.Is this another barrier? Can Maison not tell me his secrets, even once he decides he wants to? Would his friends not let him?

Jesus.

I want to scream. Want to cry.

Then Keats says, “Any information should come from Maison, regarding circumstances. As for the injury, he doesn’t need a hospital. It’s a minor graze.”

The words calm me in more ways than one, assuring me that the secrets might still have a chance of being shared while also making me feel better about his well-being.

Except—“Graze?”

“From a bullet,” Keats says with a shrug. An actual fuckingshrug.Like it’s no big deal. “I’ll text Nolan the instructions for taking care of it, but once Maison isn’t high off his ass he’ll know what to do. Really, he just needs to rest. Take it easy. Keep the wound clean and dry and elevated. I put some of the good stuff in his pocket for the pain. He can have it every six hours, starting in an hour. If you guys need anything, just call us.”

A bullet.

I knew, in theory. I knew whatever he was off doing would probably involve weapons. Involve combat of some kind. But to have him here, bleeding, his friends talking about bullet wounds as if they’re commonplace—it’s jarring.

“Thank you. For bringing him here,” I say, but it sounds like someone else is talking almost. Like I’m floating.Is this what subspace is like? It can’t be. This is fucking awful.“I’ve got him now.”

Keats smirks almost knowingly, saluting me with two fingers. He grabs Travis by the bicep and starts dragging him to the door, both of us ignoring when he asks, “But, seriously, why did we bring him here? Why wasNolanhere?”

Just before closing the door behind them, I hear Keats say, “I’ll tell you when you’re older, sweetie.”

I nearly laugh. Then I look over at the couch and reality settles in. It feels like I should do something. Grab a first-aid kit or an ice pack or some fucking acetaminophen. But Maison is staring at me, wide-eyed and helpless as Nolan continues tosob, and I realize all of that can wait. Keats and Travis wouldn’t have brought him here on the brink of death. They would have stabilized him first. He’s fine now. Not in any danger. Keats said so. He wouldn’t lie.

I go to them.

Nolan shifts, making room for me as he tries to gather himself. His hands are trembling violently as he wipes at his cheeks. “I’m okay,” he lies. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”

“He’sokay,” I say instead, putting a hand to his cheek and stroking it with my thumb. “Maison is okay, darling. He’s right here. He came home safe.”

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