Page 182 of Piece Us Together

“I want the plan.” I glance at Hunter, then Nolan, then look back at Singh. “Can I make the plan with them here?”

“Actually, the plan is going to be your homework. Well—your goals will be your homework. I want you to come up with at least three goals. No more than five. I want you to bring it tomorrow. They can help you, if you want, but the goals need to be solely yours. Solely for you.” He looks at them now. “It’s his plan. It has to be his. He’s been living his life this past decade for the people who he planned to save. For his operatives, too. The past six months added Carter. Added the two of you. It’s time Maison decides to live for himself. The goals are going to help him do that. It’ll help him visualize the life he’d find worth living. You can be involved in the goals, but they have to be because he wants them.”

“I’m sorry, can you give an example?” Hunter asks, sounding all polite-professor in a way that makes me feel unbelievably calm. “Not of any goal, but of a goal that would involve us but still be alright?”

Dr. Singh smiles, seemingly pleased with Hunter’s concern. “Absolutely. This will be simple, but it works for demonstrativepurposes. Nolan enjoys cooking, yes? Say Maison’s trauma involved oranges. If Maison loves oranges and wants very badly to be able to enjoy them again, a goal could be for him to start trying foods with oranges. But if Maison doesn’t much care either way about oranges and he knows Nolan likes cooking with oranges, that’s a goal he would be setting for Nolan. Does that make a bit more sense?”

“Yes, it does. Thank you.”

“I’ll discuss the goals with you when you bring them, Maison. In fact, we’ll discuss them rather extensively. It’s okay if a goal ends up not being about you. We’ll fix it. Just do your best.”

“Okay.”

He eyes Hunter’s hand on my throat before meeting my eyes. “What you told me before about your behaviors toward yourself—that’s not a goal, Maison. That is a thing that needs to stop now. Do you understand?”

I drop my chin as much as I can with Hunter’s hand beneath it. “Yes.”

“We can talk about replacements for those actions if needed. Coping mechanisms. We’ll talk more about forgiveness as well. For tonight, I want you to let these two take very good care of you. I want you to be kind to yourself. Tomorrow, we’ll get to work.”

“Okay.”

“I—” He pauses, his eyes finding the hand on my throat again. Then he looks at Hunter. “Are you hurting him? I understand the dynamic, I understand consensual pain, I’m asking if that’s something the two of you are doing.”

Hunter shakes his head. “No. He doesn’t want me to hurt him. This—” He pauses, looking at his hand too. His lips quirk slightly, his thumb stroking the skin beneath it. “This isn’t about pain.”

“Maison?” I look at him, fear bubbling up inside of me at the thought that he might take this away from me. But Dr. Singh is smiling. “Does that make it go quiet?”

My stupid chin and bottom lip start to go wobbly. “Y-yeah. Real quiet.”

“Good.” He smiles like I’ve never seen him before. “I’m very glad.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Nolan

I wake up to find only Hunter in bed, the man seeming to have finally managed to pass out after hours of doting on us so intensely I thought I was going to have to kick him out. I hold my breath as I carefully slip out and grab the shirt he was wearing earlier, pulling it on as I tiptoe out of the room.

I see the shadows from the fire first, flickering on the wall. Then I turn the corner and see him.

It’s funny, the way people see themselves. He’s having such a hard time believing he’s worthy of us loving him, worthy of forgiveness—forgiveness I don’t believe he should even need in the first place. He sees himself as a bad man. Maybe even a monster. He sees himself as someone who ruins everything and everyone he touches.

Butthisis how I see him. A strong back and broad shoulders, covered in scars that show just how hard he had to fight to survive. A boyish mess of hair that can be as wild as he is on a good day. A soft orange glow radiating around him like he’severything that’s good in my world. Like he’s the light at the end of my very dark tunnel.

My throat aches with how badly I love him.

“Hey you,” I whisper, knowing better than to sneak up on him without notice.

He doesn’t look away from the flames, even as I drag a blanket over and sit down by his side.

The notebook Hunter gave him earlier is in his lap, the pen clenched tightly in his hand. He has the numbers one, two, and three written. There’s nothing else.

I rest my head on his shoulder, glad I gravitated to his good side. The fire is warm. It smells familiar.

“Nightmare?” I ask.

“Never fell asleep. Just had to pretend long enough for Hunter to finally pass out.”

“He was on another level tonight. Talk about a fucking mother hen.”

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