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“I’ll let you get up and get dressed,” he says quietly, tucking a lock of my dark hair behind my ear. “I think Ryland slept over, and he’s probably up already. We’ll get some food, then he and I can go over to your place and see if anything is salvageable.”
“I’m coming with you,” I say automatically. It’s a knee-jerk response, out of my mouth before I even think about it, but I mean every word. I bashed my head pretty fucking good when I hit the ground yesterday, but Doctor Adelman cleared me. If there’s nothing seriously wrong with me, I’ll take some painkillers and keep going.
Theo opens his mouth, his brows pulling together in concern, but before he can speak, I add, “I can’t sit around doing nothing. I’ll go fucking crazy.”
He hesitates, understanding washing through his expression. Then he nods slowly. “You’ll have to convince Ryland too. But I’ll have your back.”
“Thanks.”
Theo nods. The fingers that tucked my hair behind my ear linger on my face, tracing the line of my jaw, and I can feel how much he wants to kiss me again. But instead, he pushes the covers back a little and slides out of bed.
There’s a stain on the front of his boxer briefs where his cum soaked through the fabric, and I swear he flushes a little as he adjusts himself. I look away, biting my lip to hide a smile, then watch him move toward the door and quietly slip outside.
Ryland grabbed my whole duffel from Marcus’s house, and it sits next to the bathroom door. I packed some extra stuff, so I’ve got enough clothes to last me for a couple more days in there—although I don’t have my prosthetic arm. I left that at my apartment, and there’s a good chance it melted in the fire.
It doesn’t really matter much. The prosthesis is cosmetic, something I wore when I didn’t want to deal with the looks I got from people as they ogled my stump. It wasn’t actually functional, and I’ve learned to get by just fine with only one hand and part of my right arm.
There’s a cum-stain on the front of my pants too, and something warm flickers in my chest as I shuck my clothes in the bathroom before stepping into the shower again.
I don’t know what that was, and I didn’t expect it—but I think I needed it. And I think Theo did too.
The shower goes quicker this morning than it did yesterday. I don’t need to comb chunks of clotted blood out of my hair, and I’m more coherent this morning than I was then, so I’m a lot more efficient. After I towel off and throw on fresh clothes, I glance at the bloody pile in the corner of the bathroom.
My stomach churns.
Fuck. I need to throw those away.
It hurts to look at them. To wonder how much of the blood on them is Marcus’s and how much is Carson’s.
Shoving that thought forcefully out of my head, I stuff the clothes into the small trashcan that sits under the sink, then carry the whole thing downstairs with me.
Theo and Ryland are in the kitchen, standing at the marble-top island in the middle of the space. They both have cups of coffee in front of them, and their hands are braced on the smooth countertop, their heads bent together as they converse in low voices.
I hesitate in the doorway, still holding the trashcan full of bloody clothes, as I take in the sight of them.
I see it now, more vividly than I ever have—the closeness between them, the way they complement each other and almost seem to share a brain sometimes. It was obvious from the minute I met all three of the men that they had a bond very few people ever experience. But now, with Marcus gone, it’s as if the threads that bind them have thickened and strengthened. As if the loss of one of their own has only strengthened the impulse to stick together, to function as a unit.
&nb
sp; My chest aches softly.
I’m glad they still have each other. And I’m glad Marcus has them. I’m glad he has two friends who will search to the ends of the earth to find him—even if it’s just to give him a proper burial.
“Hey, Ro—”
Theo looks up when he notices me standing in the doorway, then stops when he sees what I’m holding. He steps forward quickly and grabs the trashcan from me, dumping it into the larger kitchen trash before tugging the bag out of the bin and tying it closed.
“I told Ry you want to come with us,” he tells me over his shoulder before disappearing from the kitchen with the large trash bag.
My gaze shifts to Ryland. I’m already formulating my argument, prepared to have to fight hard to get him to relent.
But to my surprise, he nods once. “You can come.”
“Really?” My eyebrows shoot up.
Ryland’s jaw tenses, and his nostrils flare as he draws in a breath. He looks like he’s already considering taking his words back, but he nods again. Then he takes a step closer to me, leaving the island as his hands fall to his sides.
“I spent weeks… months… years trying to convince Marcus that you’d be better off without us in your life. I wanted to pay your medical bills and then leave you alone, let you live your life without all this bullshit.”
