“You’re not alone, Janey,” he murmurs. “Not ever, if you’ll have us.”
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead, she reaches for his hand, holding it tightly while she kisses me.
For weeks, I convinced myself that Janey was a woman of my past. She’d made it clear that we were a one-night fling to her.
But now?
Now, she’s between us, letting us love her, and it makes me want to hope that this can be more.
When Brookes gets closer to finishing, he turns her so she's in his arms, and his body stretches out over hers. She looks so small beneath him, but she grips him tightly with her thighs and uses her hand to urge him into more powerful thrusts.
“Janey, baby,” he growls as she arches into another orgasm, and he finishes close behind.
We know how to do this. We know how to take her apart and show her the pleasure she’s obviously been craving. But we need to talk more. We need to show her that what's between us is a whole lot bigger than lust and duty. We need this woman—tired, pregnant, and braver than she knows—to let us back in.
One night was never going to be enough.
The future’s unknown but we’ll keep working in the present to show her the life we can offer.
We keep her safe between us, falling asleep with the scent of her shampoo tickling my nose, and a kernel of new hope nestled in my chest.
Chapter 10
Janey
The room is still dark when my eyes snap open. For one disorienting second, I don’t know where I am. Then I feel the weight of two large, solid male bodies bracketing mine. Mason’s arm is draped over my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. Brookes lies facing me, one of his hands resting possessively on my hip even in sleep.
Still bleary and confused from my dream, it feels too much. Too much closeness. Too much safety. Too muchthem.
And I feel terrible. My stomach roils violently.
I barely manage to slip out from between them without waking them. My bare feet hit the cold floor as I stumble toward the bathroom, one hand clamped over my mouth. The moment I drop to my knees in front of the toilet, my body revolts.
Bitter acid burns my throat, and dry heaves feel likethey’re tearing me apart from the inside. Wave after wave hits me until tears are streaming down my face and I’m sobbing between each painful contraction.
I feel disgusting. Weak. Overwhelmed.
My body doesn’t feel like my own. My usual calm and in-control sense of self has left the building as everything crashes down on me at once: the pregnancy, the two men sleeping in my bed, the complete upheaval of my carefully planned life, the hormones raging through my system like wildfire.
I can’t think straight, and I can’t stop crying.
There’s a soft knock on the bathroom door.
“Janey?” Brookes’s voice is low and concerned, even through the barrier between us.
I try to answer, but another dry heave cuts me off. I manage a broken, “Come in,” before my forehead drops to rest on my arm.
The door opens slowly. Brookes enters first, still in his boxers, carrying a glass of water. Mason is right behind him, shirtless, holding a plate with a small stack of saltine crackers he must have found in my pantry.
I’m too sick to feel embarrassed about them seeing me naked, sweaty, and crying on the bathroom floor with my face over the toilet.
Brookes crouches beside me immediately. “Easy, darlin’. Breathe through it.” He sets the glass down and grabs a clean washcloth from the shelf, wetting it with tepid water before gently placing it on the back of my neck. The coolness brings a small measure of relief.
Mason kneels on my other side and sets the plate of crackers on the vanity. His big, warm hand rubs slow circles between my shoulder blades.
“You’re okay,” Mason murmurs, voice rough with sleep and worry. “We’ve got you.”
Another sob escapes me. Their tenderness somehow makes it worse. I’m not okay. Not at all. And the truth is, I’m alone in this. Nobody’s got me.
