Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“In foster care, getting hurt meant questions,” I say. “Reports had to be filed. Someone was likely to decide you had to move again.”
She continues taping, and to my relief, her voice doesn’t fill with pity. “Why is that?”
“Being hurt makes you a problem. And problems get passed along.”
“How many homes were you in?”
I flex my fingers, testing the arm again. “I lost count.”
She works quietly, encouraging me to talk if I want. And to my surprise, I do.
I tell her about the houses that smelled like bleach. The way rules would be posted on refrigerators like final warnings. About the hard lesson I learned early on about not getting attached, no matter how good a situation seemed.
“I can imagine it would be hard to ever trust people,” she says. “But it seems different for you with Atlas and Viper?”
“The kind of bonds made in the Corps don’t vanish overnight.”
She secures the last strip of tape and steps back to survey her work. “Brothers by choice,” she says. “You’re still a family.”
Our eyes meet, and something shifts. She’s close enough that I can feel the heat of her body. Close enough that the line I’ve been careful not to cross starts to blur.
When she sets the tape back in the first aid kit, I reach for her hand and pull her even closer. She meets my eyes, then her gaze drops to my mouth. I get to my feet, cup her face in my hand, and press my lips to hers.
It just happens. Same as her taking cover the other day. Same as moving toward trouble instead of away from it. Pure instinct.
Her hands slide up my bare chest, fingers curling into my shoulders. We pick up where we left off that night in the workshop, and now that I’m tasting her again, I want even more.
My hand goes to her waist, carefully, like I’m afraid to break her. She fits in my grip too easily. Everything feels too right.
The kiss deepens, but I go slow, even though every part of me wants to take more. Her mouth opens under mine, so trusting, and that hits harder than anything else.
Reality crashes in like snow collapsing the roof of an old shed. I pull away, my breath ragged. “I can’t.”
Her eyes scan my face. “Because of Andrew?”
I swallow and step backward. “Because of all of it.”
She’s still standing where I left her. “Do you want me?” she asks simply.
God help me.
She already knows the answer.
“I do, but I don’t know how to want you without losing them.”
She absorbs that and nods. “Andrew’s okay with sharing,” she says softly.
The words echo in my head. “That’s … generous,” I say. “Don’t know if I’m built the same way.”
She touches my arm, the uninjured one. “Think about it,” she says.
I watch her walk away, my shoulder aching, my chest worse.
CHAPTER 29
KIRA
One of the many things I can count on the men for is their daily schedules. They get out of bed at a set time, keep to consistent mealtimes, and run regular maintenance routines. Almost everything in their day follows a predictable pattern. So, when Boyd starts spending more time in the workshop, and there’s no particular project he’s working on, I know something’s wrong.
He’s not unkind about it. He still watches out for me, still cooks for me, still carries heavy things for me, but ever since the day I bandaged his shoulder, he doesn’t spend any more time than necessary in the same room with me. He’s avoiding Andrew, too.
He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, either, especially when Andrew is nearby. He’s careful not to touch me, even by accident.
I understand his reasons, but it still hurts.
I’ve been sleeping in Andrew’s bed most nights, and it’s wonderful. When I’m in his arms, I feel safe and wanted and cherished. But being with him has made it clear to me that choosing Andrew doesn’t diminish what I feel for Boyd and Silas.
My feelings for all three men continue to grow, and I need to find out if there’s a way to honor the connections I have with each of them without breaking the bond they share with each other.
The way Boyd’s been avoiding me feels like he’s trying to make himself small to stay out of the way, and that doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve reached the point where avoiding the issue feels worse than risking an honest conversation, so when he disappears after dinner, I go out looking for him.
He’s in the workshop again, hunched over the far table. His sleeves are rolled up, and the muscles in his thick forearms flex as he works with some half-assembled mechanical thing. Every tool on his work surface is clean and neatly aligned.
“It looks like you’re anticipating an inspection.”
He looks my way and lifts his head in a nod of greeting. “Habit,” he says.