Chapter 18
I wake up alone, but I'm not surprised about it.
The other side of the bed's cold. Sheets wrecked, a dent still in the pillow. Some time before sunrise Killian got up and left me sleeping. I didn't expect him to still be here.
He stayed hours longer than I thought he would.
I'm sore everywhere. There's a bruise coming up on my hip in the shape of a hand and a bite high on the side of my neck that isn't a claim and was never meant to be. I press it with two fingers and hiss, and then do it again on purpose, because I like knowing it's there.
I feel good.
No tightness in my chest, no dread sitting on me about how the day is going to go.
The rain from outside hasn’t quit, pounding against my window in the morning grey light and I can’t help but smile.
I’ve decided what I want. Who I want.
It happened without me noticing. Somewhere between being caught in Calder’s room and savoring Killian's mouth I stopped being confused about what I want. What I want is impossible, and I want it anyway.
I want to stay.
I don’t want to be kept—not be a debt somebody's holding onto, not be collateral somebody eventually collects. I want to stay. Here. In this house, with all three of them in it.
Calder, who gave me space when he didn’t have to. Who I can’t help but yearn for.
Killian, who haunts my thoughts. Who scares me and excites me all in one.
And Vincent. Vincent, who has been so gentle with me. Who has taken care of me, held me tightly just when I needed it.
I can’t pretend anymore like I don’t feel something for all three of them.
It's not normal. I'm aware of that. Jesus, who wouldn’t be? I've got a bite from one brother, rumpled sheets from the other, and a heart that skitters wondering why their father is being so distant. There’s no version of that confession that doesn’t sound insane.
I’m a crazy person.
But, then again, I always kind of suspected that.
I huff a laugh and realize it’s time to figure out the logistics of what’s about to happen.
I can’t just blurt it out. Not all at once. And not to all three of them.
I’ll tell them how I feel one at a time. Separately.
Calder first, because I owe him an answer and because he's the easiest—and because if he says no, I'll know to stop before I embarrass myself twice more. He’s probably been in the shed working since first light. I can catch him out there where there's nobody to overhear it.
I’ll talk to Killian second, wherever the hell he is.
Based on how willing he was last night, even knowing I’m semi-bonded to his brother, makes me think he wouldn’t be too outraged by the idea.
He’ll probably want to just throw me against the wall and fuck me instead of talking, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get my feelings out to him too.
And Vincent.
It takes me longer to figure out my gameplan with him.
Because Vincent is the one where I don't have any evidence. Calder's got his teeth in me and Killian's got my sheets, and Vincent's got—what? His shirt over me. A chair pulled up in the dark. Gentle touches and care here and there when no one was looking?
All I’ve got to really go on is this intense connection I feel… the pull I have to him. The way he opened up to me that night in his room. The way he seems to want to protect me.
It's probably all in my head. He'd be within his rights to look at me like I've lost my mind, and honestly he might. But I'm going to tell him how I feel anyway.
Last. When the other two are done and I've got no dignity left to protect.
Because the worst thing that could happen is he says no.
A painful lump chokes up my throat at the thought.
I shove it down and slide out of bed.
I shower quickly and get dressed in Calder’s clothes. I’m used to them now–how baggy they hang off my body, the scent of him clinging to me immediately. Eventually, maybe, I’ll get my own clothes again, but something about wearing his feels right too.
I towel dry my hair and then shake it out and check myself in the mirror.
Oh, wow. Yikes.
I push my hair around with my fingers. Push it back the other way. Neither one is better.
There’s a bite under my ear I can’t cover and a claim on the other side I wouldn’t know how to. I’m pale everywhere I’m not bruised. Calder’s shirt is so big on me I look like a kid playing dress-up.
This is what he’s going to be looking at while I tell him I want to stay. That I choose him.
Heat crawls up my face. Great. Now I’m pink too.
I look away from the mirror—then make myself look back once more. I finger through my hair one last time and then inhale deeply.
I have to do it. I might as well face it now.
Rip off the bandaid.
I take the stairs faster than I should, which I couldn't have done a week ago without stopping halfway, and I'm rehearsing the first line the whole way down.
Can I talk to you for a second?
That's all I need. Find Calder in the shed, get the door shut, and then it's just a matter of not chickening out. He'll give me the space. He always gives me the space. That’s his entire, frustrating charm.
The third step from the bottom groans under my weight.
I swing around the newel post and into the kitchen with my mouth already open, ready to ask if Calder is out back, when my steps slow.
They're all here.
Vincent's standing at the head of the table with his hands flat on the back of a chair.
Calder's by the window with his arms crossed, looking out at nothing.
Killian's against the far counter as far from both of them as the room allows, and he's got his jaw set so hard I can see the muscle jumping in it from here.
Nobody's eating. Nobody's sitting. The coffee pot's full and untouched.
That’s… weird. "Morning," I say.
Not one of them answers me.
Or looks at me.
A trickle of fear goes through me as I look at all three of them, trying to read what’s going on. Did Starla call? Is it something with Vincent’s work?
The thing I came down here carrying—the whole bright stupid weight of my confession—starts leaking out of me slowly, like water out of a cracked glass.
"Sit down, Sonny," Vincent says.
I swallow hard, realizing this must have to do with me. The tension, the energy in the room is so dark I could almost choke on it. I don't sit down. I stay standing in the doorway with my arms around myself.
"What's happened?"
"Sit down."
I blow out a ragged breath. "Just tell me."
Vincent looks up.
He looks at me properly for the first time in five days, and whatever I thought I wanted from that, this isn't it. His eyes are flat and grey and there’s absolutely no tenderness.
"You're leaving today," he says. "There's a car coming at nine."
My eyes slide to the stove. The clock says eight past eight. My heart skips a beat. I swear time slows to an aching pace. "...What?"
"Arrangements have been made. There's a place for you three states over. It's paid for and it's discreet."
Three states. My stomach drops out from under me so fast I have to lock my knees.
"There's a doctor there who knows what you are and won't ask questions." Vincent says it without an ounce of emotion on his face, like he couldn’t care less. "Your medication's been sent ahead."
I can hear my own pulse. Loud and roaring in my ears. This can’t be real…
This can’t be…
He continues. "You'll want to eat something before you go."
Vincent nods at some fresh fruit laid out along with croissants.
Okay.
Okay…
So I did do something to upset him. That's what this is. Vincent has been acting weird for almost a week. I must have said the wrong thing, took the wrong liberty, made him look at me and see Starla again. Something and now he's decided that I’m leaving? Without even an explanation?
No. No, that’s fine. That’s fixable.
Because whatever this is, whatever issues we’re having, he can’t just ship me off by himself.
Calder won’t let him. Killian will lose his mind about it—he’s probably already halfway through losing his mind about it, that’s why he’s standing over there with his jaw locked up like that.
Any second now one of them is going to open their mouth and tell their father he’s out of his head, and then somebody will finally tell me what I’ve actually done wrong, and I’ll fix it.
I let out a breath and my shoulders drop.
It’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay.
I look at Calder, my heart pounding as I wait for him to speak up.
He hasn't turned around from the window.
"Cal."
He rolls his neck until it pops, but doesn’t turn around.
"Calder." My voice wavers for a second before I find my courage. This is ridiculous. It has so be some kind of misunderstanding. "Look at me."
He turns. And it's like looking at a house with the lights off.
His eyes, those gentle greens that hold so much emotion are empty. Devoid of anything as he looks me up and down. I swear his lips turn up slightly in disgust.
"It's better this way," he says.
Four words. Flat. From the man who put his forehead against mine two days ago and told me to take all the time I needed.
I nearly stumble backward at the wall he’s just erected between us.
None of this makes any sense…
"You said—" My throat closes. I have to go around it. "You said take as long as I want. You said a month, you said it doesn't matter—"
"I know what I said."
"Then what—"
"It's better this way." He turns back to the window. "For everybody."
That’s it? That’s all I get?
I turn to Killian.
I've never once been able to read him. Not from the first night. He's the one I can never get ahead of—every time I think I know what he's about to do he does the other thing, and I've stopped trying to guess.
But he was in my bed six hours ago.
That has to count for something.
One look at his face and I can tell… it doesn’t.
He's looking at me like I'm something he scraped off his boot. Like I’m a tick that he’s ready to crush.
My chest tightens so much I almost double over. "Killian—"
"Don't." It comes out of him like a whip crack. "Don't you say my fucking name."
"What did I—"