Page 15 of Piece Us Together

This feels—it feelsright. Unbearably so.

Like this is where Nolan and I should be.

Like this is what Nolan needed all along. What the both of us needed.

It scares me, so I look away.

The feeling doesn’t fade though. That rightness.

“It’s going to be okay,” Hunter murmurs, and I know, in my gut, in my chest, in my very fucking soul, I know that he’s not just talking to Nolan. He’s talking to me too.

I don’t want a dom.

He’s not going to be my fucking dom.

But…maybe I can still enjoy a little of his magic too.

Chapter Five

Nolan

We don’t talk about the night at Hunter’s. We don’t talk about the packets he sent us home with. We don’t talk about the looming deadline of Saturday, where—if all goes okay—he’ll play with us for the first time.

It’s two days after Hunter’s that I catch Maison entering his office, the white packet in his hands. It’s as good a time as any for me to work on mine, but the thought makes me itchy with anxiety. There’s something so significant about the packet. It makes this real. It makes the hope and possibility so much larger. It’ll hurt if that gets ripped away, and I’ll be left with a paper and ink reminder of the loss.

I hide my packet in a notebook and pace around the house with it pressed to my chest, trying to find somewhere that feels safe. I can’t do it in our room, that feels wrong. I can’t do it where anyone might come up behind me and see what’s on the paper though, either. I’d consider sitting outside, but the weather isn’t great out there at the moment and I’d hate to give Hunter a packet that’s all wrinkled and smudged.

I end up on the window seat in one of the alcoves, my side pressed against the cool glass and my back to the wall. My nerves get worse now that I have a spot and have no more excuses to put the task off. I suck it up. It’s just a packet. There are going to be so many other things that will deserve my nerves. I can’t waste them on this.

The new attitude carries me through the first portion of the packet, though I do have to skip the section asking for my name and medical history, as well as the emergency contact information. I’ll have to ask Maison what we should do about the names and history. As for the emergency contact, I have no idea who I’ll pick. No one knows about the arrangement other than me and Maison right now. I could tell Matt, but it’s not like he can answer a phone and if there’s really an emergency the last thing I want is him scrambling to try to get a way of communicating. He doesn’t need that stress.

I put all of that off as I work my way through the rest of the packet. It’s thankfully pretty easy to fill out from there. I’ve spent years thinking about what I would want in a perfect dom and sub relationship. Sure, I have to consider what I’m willing to put out there for Maison to know, but that’s easy enough.

I’m on the last page of the packet, trying not to think about the front page that’s still not filled out, when I hear Bryce’s voice from deeper into the house.

I realize with a jolt that he’s the perfect contact. Bryce wouldn’t judge me, not after the day we spent sitting in the grass at the safehouse when I admitted to him what my safe place was.

If I have to choose someone other than Matt, Bryce is absolutely the man for the job.

As if summoned, the man himself comes around the corner twirling a pocketknife in his right hand. He flashes me a smile, strained and weak. I don’t take it personally. Bryce is never oneto sugarcoat his feelings, so if there was a problem between us, I’d be aware. It’s just a bad day. We all have them.

Of course, my bad days don’t have me carrying knives around, but we don’t judge in this makeshift family.

“Hey,” he says, not bothering to try to fake a cheery tone. “Whatcha doing?”

I make a split decision not to ask him right now. Not with how he is. So, I lie. “Just…a crossword.”

“A crossword?”

“Yup.”

His eyes flicker to the paper squished between my notebook and chest, lips quirking into something more genuine this time. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a shit liar, Nol?”

I slump. “Once or twice.”

“Don’t forget it.” He settles down beside me, nudging my arm. “You don’t have to tell me what it is. Are you okay, though?”

“I think I am, actually. What about you? Bad day?”