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“Marshall, look at me.” I twisted, squinting so I could see her against the glare of the sun. It shone around her, making her look like a goddess, despite not having any make up on and wearing her comfiest, oversized clothes. “We all love having you around. I told you before that this is and will always be a safe space where you can be yourself. Do you think we’d deliberately leave you out or push you away?”
“You have no idea.” A hollow laugh rippled from my chest.
“Will you tell me?”
I nodded. “When the others wake up, I promise to tell you everything, Sugar.”
She pulled me toward her. “I really like you, Marshall. I don’t want to do this without you,” she whispered against my lips.
“You don’t know about my past. Don’t make me promises you might not want to keep.”
She kissed me, her tongue seeking out mine while she fisted my t-shirt and my hands buried themselves in her hair, taking everything she was giving me because it would probably be the last time I got to taste her.
Fox
IwoketofindLea sitting up in bed, looking flushed, her hair messy, as Marshall checked her dressings from his DIY job he carried out in the rain, by the side of the road and then the keyhole surgery she had in the hospital to stop the internal bleeding.
“Le?”
She reached out to take my hand. “I’m good.”
I sat up, waking Dawson with my hurried movements. “You don’t look fine, you look—”
Her mouth curled into a wide smile. “Like I’ve been making out with your hot American bodyguard while you were asleep?”
Marshall’s face was anything but relaxed. “Marshall?”
“He’s packed his bags. He thinks he’s leaving.”
“Like fuck,” Dawson piped up, stretching his arms. “I think it’s about we had a grown up, honest conversation. Do we all agree?”
I climbed over Dawson, running through to the kitchen, grabbing some things before running back. “I brought snacks.”
Dawson laughed. “You seriously are a brat sometimes. Do you know that?”
“You know you love me for it.”
“What?” Lea gasped.
“Why don’t I start?” I suggested. “I’m in love with Daw, here. It doesn’t detract from how I feel about you, Le. You know that, right?”
She smiled, her eyes dancing between us. “Of course I know that.” But then her face fell, and she turned to Marshall. “They said it in front of you, didn’t they? That’s why you packed your bags.”
He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair as if he wasn’t sure what to say.
“Tell us,” she whispered. “All of it. Every painful part. We’re listening.”
Marshall stood from the bed and started pacing. “I’m not straight. I’m bi.” His words spilled from his lips like he'd been holding them on the tip of his tongue for far too long.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Dawson muttered, making me slap him hard in his chest with the back of my hand.
Dawson continued, “I was in a relationship for four years. Me and two men. They were already together when I met them, but they invited me in, telling me that they had been looking for a third but had never found the right person until me. We dated for a few months and then they moved into my house because their apartment was tiny. I loved being with them. I loved them.
“When I met them I was already an EMT but over the years, I did more and more training to specialize in trauma medicine and became one of the most highly trained in my field. I got called away a lot; to other states, then to other countries, and each time I seemed to be gone for longer. When I got offered a secondment to work in Afghanistan for three months, they encouraged me to go. Things had felt weird for a while. I’d catch them making out when they thought I was asleep. When we had sex as a three, I started to feel more and more on the outside, observing their relationship. I guess it’s where I got to like watching so much.
“They told me it was all in my head, that being away so much was going to take a toll on us all and I just needed to give us time to find our groove, but before we ever could, I’d be gone again. And then there was my trip to Afghanistan. I was meant to be there to train medics to work with IEDs, mortar attacks and that sort of thing, but in my last month, there was a suicide bomber.”
He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing slowly, looking like he was swallowing down the memories. Unable to hold back, I took his hand in mine, entwining our fingers together. He stared down at where we connected, trying to pull back, but I shook my head and held on tighter, because I wanted him to know he wasn’t on the outside or alone.
