Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83355 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
It’s been three days since the ring thing. Three days since my world ended, or started, depending on who you ask. The bruises on my thighs have turned a little yellow, and the hickey on my throat is healing, but the feeling in my chest is still new and wondrous. I have the three rings stacked on the bar in front of me, each catching the light in a different way. I twist them, arrange them, try to make the patterns align. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t.
The first call is to my father. Not to the landline because I know he’s already at work. I call his cell and let it ring, picturing the phone vibrating on the slab of granite that’s his office desk. He picks up on the sixth ring, his voice a low growl: “This is Moreland.” I imagine he’s staring at the water, not even blinking.
I’m out of small talk, so I go right in. “Hey Dad, it’s me. I need to see you. At Hunter’s. This morning if possible.”
A pause, then: “I’ll be there at ten.” Click.
The second call is to Andie. She answers on the first ring, because she’s a morning person, and because she still lives in a universe where people care about the punctuality of their phone etiquette. “Stella! Is everything okay?”
I let myself smile. “Everything is insane, but yes, we’re okay. We’re planning a…family thing. Next week. Are you free?”
Andie’s voice brightens, the way it always does when she thinks there’s a chance she’ll get to wear a pretty dress. “Of course! Is this a brunch? A party? Should I bring anything?”
“Just yourself. And maybe a cake. Something with lemon?”
She laughs, a round, living sound. “You got it. I can’t wait to see you.”
I hang up and start the coffee machine again, more out of habit than need. My hands are steady, but my brain is a fever swamp of what-if and how-will-this-look and what-if-we-ruin-everything.
At ten on the dot, the security camera in the front hall pings to life. I hear the code punched in, the mechanical whir of the locks disengaging. Then Thomas’s voice, echoing from the entryway: “Hunter?”
Hunter is already at the door, opening it wide. He looks like a devil’s idea of a country-club president—black jeans, black turtleneck, bare feet. He says nothing, just points toward the front sitting room.
The three of us assemble: me, cross-legged on the navy velvet sofa; Lachlan beside me, in his least priestly shirt (black, sleeves rolled to the elbows, nothing at the neck except a silver chain); Hunter in his usual pose—hands behind his back, looming in the window. Thomas takes the leather armchair by the fire, the only chair in the house that makes him look small.
For a long, almost devotional silence, no one moves. I keep my hands in my lap, the rings digging into my thigh.
Thomas’s eyes are cold and sharp. He looks at Hunter, then at me, then at Lachlan. His jaw tics, but otherwise he’s unreadable.
I start: “Dad, this isn’t a joke. It’s not a phase. I love them both, as you know, and well …we want to have a commitment ceremony. Next week.”
Hunter doesn’t turn from the window, but his voice cuts the room: “We’re adults. Nobody’s being coerced. It’s real.”
Lachlan’s thigh is a warm line against mine. He says nothing, but I feel his pulse in the muscle of his forearm.
Thomas folds his hands in his lap. “I’m not going to pretend I saw this coming,” he says. His voice is soft, but the room seems to vibrate with it. “The three of you fucking each other’s brains out while behaving like sex-crazed fiends, yes. But commitment? No. Romance? No.”
I nod, chin trembling.
“Yeah, a lot of people think polyamorists are people who just want to have no-strings sex. But we’re more than that. We’re in love.”
Thomas’s blue eyes are flashing.
“And you’re happy?”
I nod, once. “Happier than I’ve ever been.”
He looks at me for a long, hard second. Then he sighs, a sound like the wind coming off a lake in winter. “Then I’ll be there.”
He stands, a little slower than before. “But you need to know—this is going to change things. For all of us. People are going to talk.”
Hunter grins, a white flash in the dark. “Let them talk.”
Thomas gives him a look that says a thousand things, none of them printable. Then he looks at me, and for the briefest moment, I see the little-girl version of myself reflected in his eyes. It hurts, a little, but it’s real.
“Anything else?” he asks, already halfway to the door.
“Bring Andie,” I say.
He pauses, then nods. “She wouldn’t miss it.”
After he’s gone, Hunter comes over and kneels in front of me, hands on my knees. “You did good, star girl.”
Lachlan squeezes my hand. “Your dad’s tougher than most. He’ll be fine.”