Page 39 of Shared

Standing carefully, holding my side as I push myself from the seat, I grit through the sharp stab of pain—a welcome consequence from my shower with Elena the other night. “You,” I exhale, crossing the room to her. Pressing my lips to her cheek near her ear, I whisper, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

She rolls her eyes, fighting the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Good morning.”

Slipping my hand around her back, I nudge her lightly and gesture toward the table. “Come sit. We’ve got coffee and pastries.”

Not one to usually eat breakfast, she feigns a small protest but walks toward the table and plops into the seat beside Elena. My eyes flick between the two of them as I retake my place across the table. They’re inches apart, but you’d think there was a wall between the two of them. And I don’t like it.

As the pain in my side has dulled over the past few days, I’ve grown acutely aware of the tiny changes in their behavior toward each other. They aren’t looking at each the way they used to. The fleeting touches and lingering glances between them have all but disappeared.

I might be an idiot—at least, according to Declan, most of the time—but I know when things aren’t right. And something hasn’t been right with the two of them since I got hurt. Setting my coffee cup on the table, I blurt, “We need to talk.”Poor fucking choice of words.The kitchen immediately grows silent, and Elena freezes mid-bite as an unpleasant scowl spreads over Victoria’s face.

“Not like that. I didn’t mean it in the breakup way.” I quickly bumble through my correction. “But we need to talk.” It’s not aquestion or a suggestion. I love my relationship with the two of them and miss what we were just a couple of weeks ago.

“About what?” Elena asks hesitantly, her tone laced with insecurity.

“I’ve been watching you,” I admit, my tone sounding much harsher than I intend. “Something is off. It has been for days. The two of you are avoiding each other. You’re not the same.”

Victoria’s eyes narrow, but she stays silent as she tightens her hold on her coffee cup. Elena’s lips press together, like she’s holding back a response. “Conor,” Elena blurts out my name, unable to bite her tongue. “What are you trying to say?”

“That I’m not blind,” I reply firmly. “And I know neither are you. Something is going on. I don’t know what it is, but it’s affecting all of us. And I don’t like it.”

The room grows silent again, minus the hum of the refrigerator. I’ve just opened a can of worms, and judging by the looks on their faces and the sudden tension in the room, I might’ve gone a bit too far this early in the morning.Maybe this was a wine and whiskey conversation, not a coffee one.

Victoria leans back in her chair, defensively crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice quiet, and laced with disbelief, she asks, “Do you think we’re hiding something from you?”

“No,cailín dáigh.” I shake my head. “I don’t think you’re hiding anything from me. I think you’re keeping something fromeach other. My girls don’t do that. The two of you are so fucking comfortable sharing what’s on your mind. Hell, it’s how I wound up here.”

I meet Elena’s gaze and then Victoria’s, both of them clearly feeling what I’m voicing. “This”—I gesture between the three of us—“This doesn’t work unless all of us are willing to do the work to hold us together. We all need to be open and honest about what we’re feeling.”

I wait for either of them to say anything, the silence absolutely unbearable. Elena’s gaze falls to the table, and her hands curl around her coffee mug like she’s clinging to it for comfort. “I don’t know what’s going on with us.” Elena’s voice is barely a whisper as her eyes stay glued to the cup between her hands. “But I feel like Victoria doesn’t want me anymore.”

Victoria tightens her arms around her chest, but they no longer look defensive. Instead, she looks like she’s holding herself together.

Standing, I round the table and kiss the tops of their heads as I inform them, “I’m going to club for a bit. You two… You need time. To talk this out.” I don’t wait for a response because I don’t want to give them time to argue with me. As I head toward the door, I call over my shoulder, “I love you both. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

I just made a mess and left it for them to clean up, but they need it.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

ELENA

The door shuts softly behind Conor, and I could kill him. Based on the look on Victoria’s face, she shares my sentiment. I can see the news headline now.Man survives three gunshots to the chest; brutally murdered by lovers two weeks later.

I stand from the table and dump the remnants of my coffee into the kitchen sink as Victoria sits near-motionless at the table. Her gaze is out the window, and her fingers are twisting the sash of her robe—only showcasing how uncharacteristically uncomfortable she is.

I don’t know how long we sit there, but it’s too long.I can’t bear it anymore.The tension in the room is so thick that I feel like I’m struggling to breathe. “Did I do something wrong?” The question spills from my lips without thought, the words escaping like a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

As the words fall from my tongue, Victoria blurts, “I’m so sorry, sweet girl.” Her apology is muttered, but in the silence of this apartment, it sounds like a scream. It’s the first time—in a really long time—I’ve heard her say those words. And it fucking hurts. They’re like a stabbing ache in my chest. I grip the counter,fighting between the urge to comfort her and the need to know what she’s apologizing for.

She takes a deep breath, like she’s bracing to shatter my world. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweet girl.” I blink, trying to fully comprehend what she’s saying.

“Is it me and Conor? Just Conor?” My voice shakes because I’m terrified of her answer. “Is having him in our relationship the problem?”

Victoria looks at me—really looks at me—with a soft vulnerability behind her eyes. She breaks my stare, and her gaze drifts down to the table as she fidgets nervously with her robe again. “No,” she states firmly. “This is on me.”

She shifts in her seat for a moment before deciding to get up. She paces across the kitchen and into the adjoining living room space. Her back to me, she shakes her head as she painfully confesses, “I don’t know how to lead you. How to be your Domme. Not after you saw me so fucking broken that you had to bathe and feed me.”

She says it like it’s a weakness, like she’s ashamed. Her words slice through my heart, her raw emotion forming tears in my eyes. I didn’t know what was behind the distance between us and the walls she’s slowly been building. She’s been carrying her vulnerability like a burden, suffering under the weight of it alone.

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