Page 93 of Piece Us Together
There are also a few moments that are Nolan and Maison specific that have me reminding myself repeatedly that it’s not my place to worry or wonder or ask questions, even if they have all of the alarms going off in my mind. It only gets harder as the night continues.
Why would Nolan cower when he turns to find himself face-to-face with Travis? Why would Maison flinch away from Jake’s reaching hand? Why does Carter huff a mean sort of laugh when Maison says to him, “I’m thankful you’re okay,” when everyone else is tossing out louder reasons to be thankful.
Why do Maison, Nolan, Carter, and Travis all tense when Casey’s father asks about the recipe for the apple pie?
Why does everyone go quiet when Keats stops Maison from following everyone into the living room for the next football game and asks, “Can we talk?”
Why does Nolan look worried? Why does Maison suddenly look like someone I don’t even recognize, his whole persona shifting before he follows the man?
And the biggest question of all—Why does this house, his home, full of his family and friends, seem to be a place where the weight of his world is the heaviest?
And the only one I have any sort of control in having an answer for—How soon can I take him home?
Chapter Nineteen
Maison
I’m not surprised when Keats asks to talk, but I’m not thrilled about it either. That slight twinge of disappointment is followed by a rush of shame as I realize how selfish that is. I’m one of the lucky ones. My op was successful. I got out alive. I got my brother to safety. I fell in love. Now I get to have Thanksgiving dinners and watch football and be happy.
Keats talking to me likely means he has a mission. There’s a bad guy to be taken down, or an innocent to be saved.What kind of person feels annoyed at that kind of disruption?A selfish one, obviously. A bad man like me.
I lead Keats to the reading cove in the hall, figuring it’s a good place for privacy without us going all the way to my office. We can still be seen from certain angles because of the house’s open floor plan, but the conversation shouldn’t be overheard. If he’s worried, I know he’ll move us. Keats isn’t the type of guy to keep quiet when he disagrees.
“Nolan made an amazing meal,” is how he begins. “It’s great seeing him so happy. Seeing all of them.”
I’ve worked with Keats long enough to already know what direction this conversation is going to take based off those three sentences. There’s a mission he wants me to join, and it’s going to be a rescue.
I swallow the sudden pang of fear, of dread. This is my job. I have to do my job. It’s what I’m fucking for.
Still, I cling to the topic of Nolan, hoping I’m wrong.Maybe he wants to talk about Bryce? Maybe he wants to come visit more? Maybe he’s asking for a favor, but it’s not a mission, it’s something else?
Hell, maybe he is the head and he’s about to fucking confess.
Anything but a mission.
I’m so fucking selfish.
“He’s been looking forward to this for a while,” I decide to say. “I’ve tasted half a dozen mashed potato recipes and way too many variations of stuffing. He wanted it to be perfect for everyone.”
“As much as everyone loved the food, I think just being here is enough. Even Matt was all smiles today.”
“He’s been doing really well since we moved here, actually. It’s been nice to see him come out of his shell more.”
“Good. That’s—fuck, that’s good.” His eyes move over my shoulder. I know without looking that he can see Bryce. “And everyone else? They’re all doing good?”
I don’t smirk. It’d be too hypocritical considering the mess of a situation I’ve got going on. It’s less amusing to see him so torn up over Bryce now that I’ve seen the same kind of pain reflected in Hunter’s eyes.
“Everyone is great. They’re all finding their places in the world and starting to finally feel settled.”
“Good.” He stares a moment longer before blinking and averting his attention back to me. His expression shifts. It’s time for business now.Fuck.“One of my buddies needs help with anop. Ideally, he wants three of us. I still need to talk to Trav, but I’m hoping you’ll come along. Figured I’d get you on board first.”
He says it like it’s a choice for me. Like I could say no. It’d be laughable if I wasn’t already fighting panic.
“It’s Hyde,” he adds when I don’t manage to agree as quickly as I should. He looks confused at my silence, like he can’t fathom why I’d be hesitating.This is what I’m good for, after all. This is what I owe.“You’ve worked with Hyde, right? He actually requested you.”
I have worked with Hyde. He’s one of my favorite contract workers I’ve teamed up with over the years, cleaning up messy mistakes and tying up loose ends. I probably trusted him the most out of anyone I worked with outside of the team this past decade, before meeting Keats at least. I trusted him enough to ask him for favors without formal contracts. Enough to help him out the same way. Enough to let him fuck me—though our guns were always still in reach, I wasn’t an idiot. Enough to form a connection in a time when I wasn’t really allowed to connect with anyone at all.
If Hyde is asking for me, I can’t say no.