Chapter 17
Sloane
I don’t remember the last time I slept properly.
A real sleep, not just passing out from exhaustion, closing my eyes one minute and waking up feeling unrested, as if no time has passed.
The kind of sleep where your body lets go, which mine can’t anymore, not since the warehouse, not since Jessy was taken.
I sit at my desk, staring at numbers that blur together, my eyes burning, my shoulders tight from hours—days—of not moving properly. The faint glow of the screen feels too bright in the dim room, like it’s pressing against my skull.
I rub my face hard. “Focus,” I hiss to the silent room.
I just need to find one more thread. One more connection.
My frayed nerves are stretched tight, ready to snap.
Downstairs, I hear children laughing, light, carefree.
The sound pulls at something in my chest, and I’m overwhelmed with the need to see her.
I close my laptop slowly. It’s just for a second, I’ll come right back.
A few of the club members have children, and to try and make life as normal as possible for Jessy, they’ve brought them to the clubhouse.
The yard is full, alive with the simple joy of children playing.
A handful of kids run across the grass, playing tag, their voices carrying in bright bursts of laughter.
Two of the moms sit nearby, talking quietly while keeping half an eye on the chaos.
Jessy is in the middle of it. Nothing’s changed there.
To most, she seems fine, but a mother knows.
The change is different, subtle. If you didn’t know her, you might miss it.
She laughs and plays, but she’s also constantly checking, on edge, clinging to her plushie at all times.
The therapist said it’s normal, the regression, the nightmares, the clinginess, all of it. “She’ll get better,” she said. “Kids are remarkably durable.”
I nodded and thanked her, of course I did, because that’s what you do.
You nod. You agree. You listen to the experts and tell yourself it’s temporary.
But at night, when Jessy wakes up crying, clutching me so tight it hurts, it doesn’t feel temporary.
It doesn’t feel like something she’s going to move on from.
It feels like a scar that won’t heal. I step further into the yard, forcing a smile when she looks at me.
“Mommy!”
I crouch slightly as she runs over, throwing herself into my arms. “I’m right here,” I say.
Her skin is warm, her smile genuine. I can almost believe that things will return to normal. God, I need normal.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I ask quietly.
She nods against my shoulder. “Can I have some ice cream later?”
I let out a soft laugh. “I’m sure we can do that.”
Satisfied, she runs back to the others. I watch her go for longer than I should. Forcing myself to tear my gaze away, I turn and head back toward the clubhouse, back upstairs to work, back to the one thing that makes me feel like I’m in control.
***
I don’t hear him come in, but I feel the air shift and change to accommodate him, Rook. “You’re burning out.” I can hear the concern in his voice, but I don’t look up. I don’t need to see him to know his handsome face is knotted with worry.
My fingers dance across the keys, clacking furiously. “I’m working.”
“You’re breaking.”
The anguish in his voice makes me glance at him. He stands in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable but eyes too sharp.
“I don’t have time to break,” I say.
A muscle dances in his jaw. “You can’t afford not to.”
I look back at the screen, not wanting to see the pain I’m causing reflected in his face. “I’m close.”
“You’ve said that for three days.”
“And I’ve been right every time,” I snap, not wanting to admit defeat.
He steps into the room, throwing open the drapes and bathing the room in bright sunlight that makes me wince. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I have.” I gesture to the half-finished sandwich, molding on the side.
He folds his arms, not falling for my trick. “When?”
I don’t answer because I don’t remember.
I resume my furious typing, ignoring him completely.
After a moment, he sighs, and I hear the steady footfall of his steps walking away.
I think he’s given up, decided I’m a lost cause, but moments later, he returns, the smell of roasted garlic and tomatoes wafting through the air.
My mouth waters as he sets the plate down beside me on the desk.
Real food, not the coffee, chips, and rushed mouthfuls of junk I’ve been subsisting on. I blink at it.
My eyes flick to him. “You cooked?”
His mouth shifts slightly. “Surprised?”
“Yes,” I admit. “I didn’t peg you for the domestic type.”
“My mom taught me,” he says. The words are quiet, softer.
I look at him expectantly, hoping he’ll reveal some information about his youth, which I know so little about.
He nods his head toward the plate. “Eat.” I do as I’m told, digging into the plate of spaghetti, suddenly ravenous.
It’s good, really good. By obeying him and eating, I earn the right to hear more.
“She died when I was young,” he adds, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter, but of course it does. An old wound, freshly opened. I see it in the way his jaw tightens. The way his gaze shifts away from mine just slightly.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the platitude insufficient.
He shrugs. “She made sure I could take care of myself.”
Something in my chest softens a little. “She did a good job,” I say.
His eyes come back to me. “You need to take care of yourself, too.”
I huff a quiet breath. “I’m fine.”
“That’s debatable.” He reaches out and takes my hand. “You’re not alone, Sloane. Let me help you, let us help you.”
The room settles—something unspoken sitting between us.
“I—” A knock interrupts what I was going to say, snatching the thought away before it fully formed.
Cruz leans into the doorway, a grin already in place, softer than usual. “Having an intervention?” He smiles, only half joking.
“Something like that,” Rook says.
Boone appears behind Cruz, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes everything in with one look, the tension and exhaustion I feel, the way I’m barely holding it together. He turns and leaves.
I frown slightly. “Where’s he—”
“You’ll see,” Cruz says.
A minute later, I hear water running. By the time I finish eating, the others watching me in stony silence like parents making sure their child eats their greens before dessert, Boone returns. “Bath’s ready,” he says simply.
I blink. “What?”
“There’s one in my room,” Boone explains unnecessarily, deliberately misunderstanding me.
“You need to slow down,” Rook says. “Take a break.”
“I don’t—”
“You do,” Cruz cuts in, stepping forward.
Before I can argue, he lifts me like I weigh nothing, throwing me over his shoulder. I’m not in the mood for fooling around. “Cruz—”
“Relax,” he murmurs. “For once.”
I should fight it, but I don’t. I’m too tired.
The bathroom is warm, steam curling through the air, soft and quiet and completely at odds with everything outside these walls. The smell of lavender fills the air. Boone kneels by the tub, testing the water, the bubbles popping and fizzing.
Rook shuts the door behind us, and the world narrows to just us, just this moment. I feel like I can finally breathe.
Hands move gently, undressing me carefully like I might blow away like sand in the wind. My nakedness feels vulnerable, unsexual, yet also comfortable. The water is hot when I sink into it. Heat seeps into my muscles, easing tension I didn’t realize I was carrying.
I exhale. Long and slow. For the first time in days, I feel something close to relief.
Boone’s hands are steady as he washes my hair, ignoring my weak protests that I can do it myself.
He massages my scalp, and I start to relax.
Cruz’s touch is lighter, tracing over my arms, grounding.
He lathers a sponge and uses it to scrub every inch of my skin, moving from practical to intimate.
Rook watches quietly. The air shifts in a familiar, yet alien way. I feel warm, safe, and surprised when the flicker of arousal ignites inside me at their touch. I close my eyes for a second and let it happen, let them guide me, let myself feel their loving touch.
This isn’t about control or gratification, it’s about trust. About letting go.
Their hands move with care and intention, unhurried. The tension builds slowly, steadily, until it’s something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with fear or exhaustion and everything to do with connection.
Cruz’s fingers deftly stroke across my breasts, teasing and tweaking the nipples before his hand trails down under the surface of the water to slowly stroke my clit.
Boone’s strong hands massage my shoulders, releasing knots I didn’t know I had.
Rook follows suit, pulling my foot free and massaging it in his strong hands.
Cruz slowly slips a finger inside me, taking his time, turning a sexual act into one that’s as relaxing and pleasurable as the massages.
Boone’s hands work down my chest, cupping my breasts and massaging them.
Days of being hunched over a desk have left my muscles aching and sore, so Rook and Boone’s massages are a welcome release.
Cruz offers a different kind of release, taking his time to tease the orgasm out of me.
None of my men allow me to touch them. This is about me and finding my release.
I grow slick as Cruz slides his fingers in and out, pushing against my G-spot, thumb circling my clit.
The orgasm builds slowly, ebbing and flowing like ocean waves rather than an eruption.
I cry out as I find release, finally letting go of all of the tension, all of the worry, all of the fear.
Boone kisses me, and I taste salt from the tears I didn’t know I was shedding.
“Are you okay?” he murmurs, brushing a tear away.
“Yes, more than okay. It’s just…” I search for the right words. “Overwhelming.”
“Come on, you’re starting to prune,” Cruz says, kissing my fingertips.
They help me out of the bath, wrapping me in a fluffy white towel, and Rook carries me into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed.
He climbs in beside me, pulling me close to rest my head on his chest. I yawn, playing with the hair on his chest. Boone slips in on the other side of me, and Cruz sits at the end of the bed, rubbing my feet.
I lie there, breath slowing, the weight of them around me, the room quiet except for the faint sound of water still dripping somewhere in the bathroom.
My body feels lighter. My mind is clearer.
For the first time in days, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.
Just for a moment, everything feels okay. Not solved or safe, but okay. Right now, that’s enough.