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I look back up at them to see them both scowling. Ezra storms past me and up the stairs.
“You’re mad?” I call up to him, and he stops, still angry as he turns to face me.
“I’m frustrated you think so little of us.”
“I don’t!” That’s not what I meant at all.
“You think we can be led into something so serious by our dicks,” he states crassly.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I think that’s exactly what you meant; you just don’t like hearing it. You think that’s all we want from you?” It’s not a rhetorical question, and I shrug weakly.
“I think that’s what most people want more than anything.”
Ezra sighs. “Harlow, we are not the guys you picked up from bars who just want to fuck the beautiful blond. We’re not following you into the fucking Games to get our dicks wet. We’re here because it meant something to you, and that’s been fucked up by something out of your control, and there’s no way we’d let you go alone because we fucking love you.”
I start to argue, but Sawyer, who has been quiet so far, is behind me, clapping his hand over my mouth so Ezra can continue. Not fair. I don’t even have the time to bask in the four-letter l-word he just said before he starts up again.
“I don’t know if you’ll ever accept or believe that, but it doesn’t really matter, ’cause we’ve already been doing it. And not just because you come like a fucking masterpiece, but because you’re funny and kind and generous and have the biggest heart I’ve ever known. We’re letting you work through your shit because that’s what you want, but quit trying to push us away while you do it. We’re here for the good and the bad. And don’t ever fucking question what we feel for you again.”
I peel Sawyer’s hand from my mouth and step to the side so I can see them both.
“That’s it, Angel,” Sawyer says gently but firmly. “That’s the last time you will question this. If we want out, we’ll get out. No more.”
I search his face for any sign of obligation or regret, but honestly, he just looks kind of pissed. I turn to Ezra and see the same.
“Okay,” I say softly to them both. “I’m sorry. No more.”
I step to Sawyer and stretch up on my tiptoes to kiss him lightly on the lips. Then I take his hand and walk him up to Ezra, where I do the same, leaning up to kiss him lightly. And I mean it; I really will try. This shit is going to be hard enough for me without constantly worrying about their choices too. I trust them with so much. My heart, mostly, which is the hardest. I need to trust they can make and own their decisions. I don’t have enough brain space to deal with all of this for myself, let alone three times over. Ezra is unmoving against my lips, and I want to make it up to him, but now’s not the time.
“All friends again?” Sawyer asks, and my shoulders sag in relief. At least that’s one of them sounding like they’ve forgiven me.
“Yeah,” Ezra murmurs, taking my other hand.
“More than friends,” I say with a smile at my guys, and we step up to the front door as a team.
It looks older than all of us combined, but it’s automatic, opening slowly as we get closer to reveal a modern foyer that looks more like we’ve stepped into a gym than the stately home it portrays from the outside. The lady sitting behind the desk looks up and greets us with a polite smile as we approach her, sweeping her gaze over the other two professionally but snagging when she gets to me, doing a subtle double take. It doesn’t throw her for long, though, as she smiles and hands a tablet to us over the counter.
“Good morning. Please sign yourselves in individually here.”
Ezra takes the tablet and begins to type his name when the tablet flashes in his face, and he flinches at the brightness.
“What was that?” he asks, holding it away from him as if it might suddenly explode.
“It takes your photo to verify the correct person is here. No signing in others is allowed.”
Right. Weird. Ezra hands it to Sawyer, who gets the same experience, and then onto me. As I start to type, it reduces the options until only my name shows up. As I do, the tablet flashes, and the screen turns green. The idea that their software can do all this makes me a little uneasy, but I’m already full of unease today, so it’s a drop in the ocean, I guess.
I put the tablet back on the counter, and the lady takes it back, swapping it for three separate packs.
“These are your welcome packs. Please make your way down the corridor through the double doors just there,”—she points off to the right—“then take the second door on the left. Once you’re inside, you may read through your packs.”
She dismisses us with a nod and another small smile, then turns back to her computer and starts typing away. Okay then. Sawyer is closest to the doors, and once he’s grabbed his pack, he holds the doors open for us. Ezra leads us down the corridor and up to the second door on the left.
“You ready for this?” he asks me.
“I think we’re way past worrying about what we’re ready for,” I reply, and he pulls the door open, holding it as Sawyer goes through first, and me in the middle, as they like to do. We find ourselves in the sort of conference room you’d see in a university—rows of seats that get higher the farther they get back, and a podium area at the front. Roughly a quarter of the seats are taken—around fifty or so people here so far, I would guess—and everyone turns to check out the new additions. Just like the receptionist, they all seem to skim over the guys, but I have more than a few curious gazes tracking me as I follow Sawyer to the seats he’s chosen about halfway up.
