Chapter Nine #2
A dozen emotions scrolled across Taylor’s face.
“So, you… uh”—he looked to us—“you took Olive and put an agent on my wife? Letting someone else follow her around to protect her, without telling me she might be in danger?” He laughed once, indignant, then pointed at Thomas in disbelief. “You slimy motherfu—”
“We were all there under one roof,” Thomas interjected, holding his free hand up.
Bodhi swept in to take Stella from her father, turning his back to us and lightly bouncing her as he walked across the room.
Thomas continued. “They came to clean house, but Dad and Olive counted as a win to them and Fairchild retreated. They shifted focus to their Colorado corridor. So yes, I had an undercover agent assigned to Falyn the day after Olive’s funeral.”
Taylor turned sharply to Falyn. “So, you knew about this?”
“I only knew the FBI had assigned an agent to protect me. I thought it was because of my father challenging the Carlisis. I didn’t know Olive was alive,” Falyn pleaded.
“So, who’s this Deacon guy? Have you met him? Is that how you know?”
“I—” she started. Her mouth moved, but nothing else came out.
Taylor rubbed the back of his head and began to pace, holding his hand palm out, begging her not to answer.
Trenton reached out to Taylor, but he smacked his hand away, continuing to pace.
I swallowed, recognizing that Thomas had just pulled at a thread he hadn’t meant to unravel, something Falyn had kept secret, and now everyone, especially Taylor, would want to know why.
Trenton perched his hands low on his hips and nodded, nearing the end of his rope. “We’re leaving. Olive’s coming home with us. If you can put an undercover whatever on Falyn, you can do it for Olive. End of discussion.”
Olive blinked. “I just think—”
No one listened. Voices overlapped. Egos flared. Old wounds surfaced, feeding the chaos. Too many men trying to assert control over a situation none of them actually owned.
“No.”
The word cut through the room like a blade.
Bodhi stepped forward from the back, nearly a full head taller than anyone else in the room. Every gaze shifted to him.
“No,” he said again, louder now. “You’re not taking her anywhere.” He reached for her, and she stood, joining him.
Trenton’s brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face before it transitioned into appraisal and then respect—whether he liked it or not.
“You can come, too,” Trenton offered. “If that makes it easier.”
Bodhi scoffed. “I can? Unless she says otherwise, Olive doesn’t go anywhere without me. And she’s not leaving this compound until it’s one hundred percent safe. I don’t care who you are to her, it’s not happening.”
Trenton took a step toward him. “You don’t care who—”
Bodhi angled himself protectively in front of Olive.
Trenton’s face twisted into disgust. “You’re shielding her from me now? Are you fucking joking?”
“Trent?” Olive said, stepping out from behind Bodhi, one hand still on his arm.
Trenton’s eyes landed on her. She was a woman now, no longer the little girl he remembered.
Olive met his gaze without flinching. “Enough.”
Trenton’s mouth snapped shut. He blinked once, then several times, his shoulders easing as his posture slowly relaxed.
“It’s my choice,” Olive said. Her voice didn’t waver, even if it was smaller than the others in the room. “I’m staying. You should consider staying, too. We can all go home when it’s safe.”
For the first time since they’d arrived, the room wasn’t pulling in opposite directions. I watched recognition settle across their faces, followed by reluctant acceptance. Olive wasn’t a child anymore. She’d made her decision and stood by it, backed by a man who loved her as much as any of us.
Trenton looked like he’d just lost her twice, but he didn’t argue.
Thomas moved to my side. “Marcel has offered accommodations here in the Longhouse. Liis, Stella, Olive, Bodhi, and I are staying at a private residence further into the compound. Olive,”—I gestured to her—“is it safe to say you’ll be back here to visit more with the family after breakfast tomorrow morning? ”
“With Bodhi,” she responded.
“Olive…” Trenton began.
Olive left Bodhi’s side then slid her arms under Trenton’s, resting her cheek against his chest. “It’s going to be okay, Trent.” She leaned back and looked up at him. “I promise. I’m just glad you’re here.”
Trenton’s lower lip trembled. “I can’t believe I get to hug you again, kiddo.”
She smiled. “See you in the morning?”
He nodded.
Olive hugged Falyn, and then the rest of the family, goodbye. Bodhi shook hands, finding a new respect among my brothers.
We stepped out into the night air, releasing a collective sigh.
“You weren’t kidding,” Bodhi said. “They love hard.”
“Aren’t we lucky?” Olive mused, soft and genuine. The words left her on an exhale as she leaned her head against Bodhi, her steps finally unguarded beside the man who had just claimed the last word for her and meant it.
Back at our adobe, Olive and Bodhi rotated through the shower before settling in for the night. Stella had roused as I put her in the crib, and was resisting getting back to sleep, her small cries echoing softly off the plaster walls. But eventually, she surrendered to exhaustion.
I sat on the edge of our bed, dragging a wide-tooth comb through my wet hair, easing out the last of the tangles.
Warm steam drifted from the master bath, carrying the faint scent of soap and clean skin.
When I turned, Thomas stood in the doorway, a towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his shoulders and collarbone.
Most times, we didn’t need to speak to know what the other was feeling or might say, and this moment was no different.
Thomas leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, watching me with an expression that had softened over the years but never dulled.
The lines at the corners of his eyes were more pronounced now, not just from time, but in how those years were spent.
“That was intense. You okay?” he asked.
I nodded, though I knew he would read the hesitation in it. He crossed the room and stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the residual heat from his shower. I reached out without thinking, resting my palm against his abdomen.
“The last twenty-four hours have been a very long year,” I said.
He breathed out a single laugh, then sat next to me, turning to meet my gaze, his eyes trailing down to my lips. “I couldn’t have gotten through that if you weren’t there.”
“I wasn’t there. I feel like I left you to the wolves.”
“You took Olive on a walk and came right back. Liis…” He threaded his fingers through my hair, careful and patient.
He typically handled me in these moments as if I were fragile, although we both knew I was anything but.
The habit wasn’t about condescension, but of respect.
“It’s a new place,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Stella is next door, Olive and Bodhi right down the hall… but I need you. I need to focus on you for a little while.”
I nodded a few times as he planted small, lingering kisses down my neck, although it was so subtle I had to hope he understood. It didn’t take long for me to know the answer.
His skin was still damp, heat lingering beneath the moisture, and I breathed him in. Soap. Steam. Thomas. The scent anchored me in a way nothing else ever had.
His finger slid beneath the silk strap of my pajama top and eased it down my shoulder.
Tension left my body almost instantly. His lips followed, pressing against my skin as I let my head tip to the side, giving him more access to the sensitive curve of my neck.
Each kiss slowed my thoughts, pulling me from the trepidation in the Longhouse and into the quiet certainty of my husband.
I tried to remember the last time we had been like this. A week, maybe? Ten days?
When we first moved in together, we were intimate every night, as if it were the most important part of our nighttime routine.
Usually twice daily, and sometimes more.
I had assumed it would lessen with familiarity, that years would dull the need we have for each other, that Stella or exhaustion or the simple fact of knowing each other so completely would erode the urgency.
I thought intimacy would fade as our responsibilities increased and we became accustomed to one another.
It never had. Not until the night Olive came to live with us.
Thomas was consumed by guilt. His perceived betrayal of his brothers overpowered instinct, suppressed desire, and nearly ended the deep connection we once shared.
He was stuck in a cycle of self-loathing, and it had proven to be the one thing capable of distracting him from the subtle curves of my body, from the warmth he knew so well, from the place only he could reach.
Tonight, I was his only reprieve. There was a quiet, undeniable pride in knowing that I was his sanctuary, even as I battled with the guilt of finding solace in his dependence.