Oz searched my face. “And he doesn’t hate it anymore?”
“No,” I said with a grin. “He absolutely loathes it. But I think he feels better about her. About what she tried to do and why she tried to do it. It gives him some measure of peace.”
“And he had you.” Oz squeezed my nape, and I don’t know whether he tugged or I just leaned, but I abandoned my chair and slid into his lap. Arms around his neck, I clung to him as our mouths met. It was just breathing him in at first, the softest pressure of his lips against mine, the hints of coffee and something saltier—bacon. He’d had at least a slice of it.
He brought his hands to cradle my face, even as the kiss deepened by inches, slow, almost tentative strokes of his tongue against mine, and then he released a sigh and I took a deep breath. The awkward imbalance righted itself, and tears flooded my eyes.
I was not a woman prone to huge displays of emotion, but I couldn’t find it within me to try and hide this. I’d hidden so much, buried it away, told myself there would be time for it another day. Another time.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Please don’t cry.”
“I don’t mind these tears,” I admitted, the drops falling from my lashes to splash against his cheek. “I love all of you so much. I needed all of you more than I ever understood. It never occurred to me what my loss might drive all of you to do.” I licked the salty taste of tears from my lips as they streamed down. “How it must have been to miss me as you did. I only ever thought of the work.”
“Your work is important.”
“Not as important as all of you,” I argued, and his whole expression gentled as he used his thumbs to swipe away the tears.
“But the work is important, because you were doing it as much to save us as the world, Valda. You weren’t working for accolades or notoriety. You were risking your life, and your freedom, and at many points your sanity, to make the world better for all of us.”
“How do you know that?” I frowned.
“The same way I do, luv,” Hatch said from the doorway where he stood, showered and dressed in fresh clothes. His eyes seemed to glow, and I swept a gaze over him, but the peace I found in touching Oz magnified at Hatch’s arrival. “You made time for us. But your work doubled with each of our arrivals as you tried to take on our burdens as well as your own.”
“And the only reason you tested that therapy,” Andreas continued for him as he followed Hatch into the kitchen, “was because you knew we would never want you to risk yourself, but you would risk anything to make the world better for us. To fix things for Oz’s need to heal. To help me find my faith. To give Hatch something more to live for than just stealing.”
“And to push every button I had,” Dirk grumbled. “But you did it for us, and we know that.”
They all looked like hell, but they also looked beautiful. “Then I suppose I don’t have to explain it.”
Oz chuckled softly. “We had a long time to discuss it. We all had pieces of the puzzle, but once we compared them…Dirk saw the whole picture.” He reached up to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger. “We do understand. We’re just not willing to risk you again, nor for you to give up everything for us. Your work is a part of you. I respect that.”
“So do I,” each of the others added.
“Just as you indulge our needs.” Hatch snagged my coffee and took a sip before he pressed it into my hands and took my abandoned chair. When he held out his arms, Oz passed me over as though it was the thing to do. He stroked my cheek after I’d settled and leaned back into Hatch. One by one, the others came to join us. Dirk brought Hatch a plate while Andreas brought him fresh coffee, and then it was the five of us.
I closed my eyes. “I don’t want reality to intrude,” I admitted.
“We have a little longer, querida,” Andreas assured me. “We can just be for now.”
Lashes lifting, I met his gaze and smiled. “I want longer than now.”
And that was the simple truth. I wanted all of it. I wanted more. I wanted more than we’d had before I’d tested the therapy. I definitely wanted more than we’d had in the memoriam. I wanted our lives back, so we could see what those lives could be.
Maybe the world was broken. Maybe recovering the world from the wreckage of the pandemic would take longer than our lives. That didn’t mean we couldn’t have lives.
Dirk blew out a breath. “You’ve made a decision.”
I had. “Yes,” I admitted. “I need to know why he wants me and for what. I need to know so we can find a way to make it go away. Then I want our lives back. I have a therapy that can help, I have the answers I’ve been looking for, but now I have new questions.”
I wanted time.
I wanted them.
“Eat,” Hatch murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. And we will figure it out. I heard the thought as clearly as if he’d whispered it in my ear, and when I twisted to look at him, his eyes gleamed at me.
Can you hear me?
He gave me a barely perceptible nod.
You heard my whole thought process?
The corners of his mouth quirked. I wasn’t trying to listen, but now…I can feel you in my bones. It’s like you are right there, a whisper in my ear.
My heart squeezed. The nanites.
It had to be. Another nod.
We’ll figure it out, Valda. I promise you, luv. But right now…I want to feel as much a part of you as I can. This isn’t quite being buried in your body, but it’s pretty fucking close.
An image flashed through my mind of the control room where we’d writhed together and shared pleasure on every level.
Heat swept through me. Would the same thing happen here?
We’ll find out.
It was a promise.
I licked my lips.
“Why do I feel like we’re missing something?” Andreas murmured.
Oz laughed softly, and I dragged my attention from Hatch to glance to the other men I loved. Dirk’s expression was quiet, patient, and indulgent. Oz looked amused and Andreas curious. None of them asked as I settled back against Hatch.
I don’t know if we can undo this.
Sometimes, my mind could be a turbulent place.
I don’t care. I’m right where I want to be.
If I were honest, which I needed to be, he was right where I wanted him, too.
Right where I wanted all of them.
Always a part of me.
Chapter 14
“Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace.” - Oscar Wilde
The call with Smithson ended abruptly when Hatch pressed the end button on the call. A moment later, the phone was in pieces and the card inside it was destroyed. No one said a word as we sat there digesting the information he’d shared.
As grudging and resentful as his attitude had been at the beginning of the call—he resented the fact that we’d taken so long to get in touch, not that I cared—he’d been almost genial at the end. Confident that he had me where he wanted me. Certain I couldn’t tell him no. Assured, even.
I wanted to say he was wrong, but I wrestled with the facts as he’d laid them out.