Chapter 36
jeremy
Luna had collapsed onto Dirks, her body trembling as he held her close, cradling her like something breakable. She looked completely spent and barely holding on.
I stepped in, kneeling beside them. My hands moved automatically, unbuckling the harness from her hips, careful not to pull too hard. She let out a soft, tired sound, and Dirks helped ease her free while I set the strap-on aside.
I looked at him. “Turn around.”
He obliged and turned around. I reached up and unlatched the collar from his neck, the metal cool against my fingers.
Dirks laid her down gently and adjusted the pillow beneath her head. She whimpered again, curling into the sheets, her back still arched from the ache. We hadn’t done that in years. I knew it hurt. But I also knew she wanted it. Fought for it. Took every inch like she had something to prove.
“You got her?”
Dirks nodded. “You know you can—”
“I don’t do that shit.” I was already walking toward the door. “I’ll wipe off in the kitchen.”
Before I left, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to Luna’s damp cheek. She was barely coherent, but her lashes fluttered, her lips parting.
“I’m proud of you,” I murmured.
I left them there, together in the quiet. Seconds later, I heard the shower turn on.
I stood in the kitchen, leaned against the sink, and let the cold water run over my hands.
I hated that part. The silence after sex. The fucking stillness.
It always came for me, harder than any orgasm ever could. The moment the sweat cooled and the air settled, it was just me and the ghosts again.
The faucet was still running. I hadn’t turned it off because it gave me something to listen to. Something other than the voice in my head that said, You need her. Not in the way she thinks.
Because I did. I needed her signature. Her name on the fucking deed before closing, or the house our foster dad left behind would slip away. The ag company didn’t give a shit about grief, or legacy, or the wreckage I’d been drowning in. They cared about cleared checks.
The world hadn’t stopped while I got clean. It just kept moving, and when I came back, I was flat broke and behind on everything that mattered.
So yeah. I needed her. And that made me fucking sick.
I shouldn’t have had to beg. Shouldn’t have to carry that twisted knot of guilt and gratitude every time I looked at her—but she never held it over me.
She came back like nothing had broken. Like I hadn’t lit the match and left them in the smoke.
I wrecked everything, the relationship, the three of us, and drowned in liquor while they cleaned up the mess.
Somehow, years later, here we were.
Back under the same roof. Back in the same bed. Back to pretending I was still the one in charge, when the truth was, I hadn’t had control over a single fucking thing in my life since the day she walked out.
I needed her.
Not just for the house. Not just for the money.
I needed her because when she looked at me, I remembered who I used to be. Before the drinking. Before the debt. Before I became someone I couldn't even recognize in the mirror.
That scared the shit out of me because if she left again—and fuck, I wouldn’t blame her—I didn’t know who I’d be when the door closed behind her.
I didn’t know if there’d be anything left.
I couldn’t fuck it up. That was the thing I kept telling myself over and over, even when she was moaning under me.
Even when she came all over Dirks’s mouth with my cock buried in her ass.
Even when she looked at me like I was still something more than just a man trying to hold his life together with borrowed time and other people’s signatures.
We’d always been good at sex. Fucking great at it. The three of us. It was everything else we never figured out.
This couldn’t be more than that. We were friends. That’s what we’d agreed to. What it had to be.
Because I couldn’t stay. Not when everything in me still wanted to. Not when staying meant risking the same wreckage all over again.
I couldn’t play house in the ruins of what we used to be. Couldn’t pretend like it wouldn’t burn us all down again if we tried.
The shower cut off in the other room. I clenched my jaw and shut off the kitchen sink. After pushing away from the counter, I shoved my legs back into my jeans one at a time, trying not to think about what it would mean when she walked away again—
Because I’d told myself I could handle it. Even if I wasn’t sure that was true.
Shirt. Wallet. Phone. Keys.
I grabbed them off the table and didn’t look back.
The front door clicked shut behind me, and the air hit sharp against my skin, still warm from her. I had a stop to make, something that couldn’t wait, and then I was headed back to the city. Back to the mess I’d chosen. The version of life I could at least pretend to control.
Luna Girl: Did you buy us breakfast and set the coffee maker to go off at nine?
I didn’t answer right away.
What was I supposed to say? Yes, I’m obsessed with you. Yes, I know you like coffee first thing in the morning. Yes, I bought your favorite pastry from the overpriced grocery store and dropped it off before driving back to the city like some whipped idiot pretending I’m not in love with you.
Luna Girl: It’s called technology, and you’ve got your read receipts on . . .
Me: Groans
Luna Girl: That was kind. But you could’ve stayed. You could’ve cuddled.
Me: Just friends.
Luna Girl: Wow. Two words this time. Impressive.
Me: I don’t cuddle.
Luna Girl: Three words. Soon we’ll have a whole sentence. Proud of you.
Luna Girl: You’re coming to Minnesota in a few weeks, right?
Me: Said I would, didn’t I?
There was a long pause. I stretched out on my empty bed and stared at the ceiling.
Luna Girl: You ghosting until Minnesota or do I get a goodbye grunt?
Me: Don’t get your hopes up. Friends.
Luna Girl: You’re so fucking frustrating.
Me: Talk to Dirks. He likes feelings.
Luna Girl: I did. He said you’re emotionally repressed and should try crying once in your life.
Me: Tell him to choke on his protein powder.
Luna Girl: He said he would, but only if you beg.
Me: Jesus Christ.
Luna Girl: You’re scared.
Me: I’m sane.
Luna Girl: Debatable.
Me: Blocked.
Luna Girl: You wish. You’d come crawling back in a week, begging to sniff my pillow.
Me: Delusional.
Luna Girl: Obsessed.
Me: Insufferable.
Luna Girl: Accurate. Still won’t say I miss you.
Me: Good.
Luna Girl: But I will miss your cock.
Me: You’re the fucking worst.
Luna Girl: And now you’re hard. Byeeee.