Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Flint teases, catching me staring.
“I left my camera at home,” I say, wishing I hadn’t. This is a moment I want to preserve.
“Next time,” Damiano promises, as if reading my mind.
Next time. The promise of a future, however uncertain, makes warmth bloom in my chest.
I stand up, brushing crumbs from my jeans. “Come on,” I say, holding out my hands to both of them. “Show me more of this place.”
They rise in unison, each taking one of my hands. We go deeper into the cemetery, past stones weathered by time and salt air, our footsteps falling into a rhythm that feels like we’ve been doing this forever.
Damiano points out plants growing wild between the graves, explaining their medicinal properties. Flint tells stories about island legends, ghosts that supposedly haunt the older sections. I soak in their voices, their knowledge, their presence.
We stop before a massive oak, its branches creating a natural canopy over a small section of graves.
“This is my favorite spot,” Damiano says. “The tree’s probably older than any of the stones.”
“It’s seen some shit,” Flint agrees, running his hand along the rough bark.
“Like us,” I say softly.
They both look at me, understanding in their eyes.
“Yeah,” Flint says. “Like us.”
Damiano tugs me closer, his arm slipping around my waist. Flint moves to my other side, mirroring the gesture. Standing between them, I feel anchored in a way I never have before.
“So this is what normal feels like,” I muse.
Flint snorts. “Hate to break it to you, but three people making out in a graveyard isn’t most people’s definition of normal.”
“Making out?” I raise an eyebrow. “Getting ahead of yourself, Bishop.”
“Am I?” His eyes darken with challenge and promise.
Damiano’s laugh rumbles through his chest against my back. “He’s always been impatient.”
“Some things are worth rushing for,” Flint counters, his gaze never leaving mine.
I look from one to the other, these beautiful, broken men who’ve somehow become mine. “And some things are worth savoring.”
The sun is starting to sink lower, casting long shadows across the graves. We should head back soon, before darkness makes the uneven ground treacherous, but I’m reluctant to leave this moment, this perfect bubble where nothing exists except the three of us.
“We should come back,” I say. “Make it a tradition.”
“A cemetery date tradition?” Flint asks, but he’s smiling.
“Why not?” I shrug. “Most couples have ‘their restaurant’ or ‘their beach.’ We can have ‘our graveyard.’”
“Most couples aren’t hiding a body either,” Damiano says quietly.
The reminder should chill me, but somehow it doesn’t. It’s just another thread in the tapestry that binds us together—dark, yes, but no less real than the feelings growing between us.
“All the more reason to embrace the unconventional,” I say.
Flint seeks my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “I’m in.”
“Me, too,” Damiano agrees, his other hand settling on Flint’s shoulder, completing our circle.
As we stand there, connected, I realize that maybe this is what I’ve been searching for all along—not safety or certainty, but this. Belonging. Understanding. Acceptance of all my broken pieces, matched with theirs to create something whole.
The light fades, but we remain, three shadows becoming one in the gathering dusk.
Maybe we’re damned.
Maybe we’re saved.
Maybe we’re just three people finding our way through the darkness together.
Whatever we are, in this moment, it feels like enough.
“Come on,” I say. “Back to reality.”
They both groan, and I feel the same way. Reality fucking sucks. But reality that involves the two of them…
Chapter 27
Flint
The sun has nearly disappeared by the time we leave the cemetery, the sky fading from dusty orange to deep purple. Our shadows stretch long against the gravel path, three silhouettes merging into one twisted shape. Briar walks between us, her fingers linked with mine, her other hand tucked into the crook of Damiano’s arm.
It feels wrong to feel this good. This whole fucking day has been a surprise—no arguments, no bullshit drama, merely the three of us existing in the same space without tearing each other apart. Almost like normal people, if normal people shared bloody secrets and complicated feelings.
“That was actually nice,” I admit, breaking the comfortable silence as we approach the cemetery gates. “Minus the tourists with the selfie sticks, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Briar echoes, the smile in her voice warming something in my chest. “I think the cemetery’s keepers would be horrified if they knew we were treating it like a dating spot.”
“Trust me, they’ve seen worse,” I say, thinking of the countless teenagers who’ve used this place for even less savory activities over the years.
We reach the wrought iron gates, rusted and massive against the darkening sky. The parking lot is nearly empty, only our cars and a sleek black Lexus that looks way too familiar. My stomach drops.
“Fuck,” I mutter, instinctively pulling Briar closer, my body tensing. “That’s Viktor’s car.”
Damiano sees it, too. His casual stance immediately shifts, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening. “Let’s go around the back.” He’s already turning to guide Briar in the opposite direction.