She’s still standing where I left her. “Do you want me?” she asks simply.
God help me.
She already knows the answer.
“I do, but I don’t know how to want you without losing them.”
She absorbs that and nods. “Andrew’s okay with sharing,” she says softly.
The words echo in my head. “That’s … generous,” I say. “Don’t know if I’m built the same way.”
She touches my arm, the uninjured one. “Think about it,” she says.
I watch her walk away, my shoulder aching, my chest worse.
CHAPTER 29
KIRA
One of the many things I can count on the men for is their daily schedules. They get out of bed at a set time, keep to consistent mealtimes, and run regular maintenance routines. Almost everything in their day follows a predictable pattern. So, when Boyd starts spending more time in the workshop, and there’s no particular project he’s working on, I know something’s wrong.
He’s not unkind about it. He still watches out for me, still cooks for me, still carries heavy things for me, but ever since the day I bandaged his shoulder, he doesn’t spend any more time than necessary in the same room with me. He’s avoiding Andrew, too.
He doesn’t quite meet my eyes, either, especially when Andrew is nearby. He’s careful not to touch me, even by accident.
I understand his reasons, but it still hurts.
I’ve been sleeping in Andrew’s bed most nights, and it’s wonderful. When I’m in his arms, I feel safe and wantedand cherished. But being with him has made it clear to me that choosing Andrew doesn’t diminish what I feel for Boyd and Silas.
My feelings for all three men continue to grow, and I need to find out if there’s a way to honor the connections I have with each of them without breaking the bond they share with each other.
The way Boyd’s been avoiding me feels like he’s trying to make himself small to stay out of the way, and that doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve reached the point where avoiding the issue feels worse than risking an honest conversation, so when he disappears after dinner, I go out looking for him.
He’s in the workshop again, hunched over the far table. His sleeves are rolled up, and the muscles in his thick forearms flex as he works with some half-assembled mechanical thing. Every tool on his work surface is clean and neatly aligned.
“It looks like you’re anticipating an inspection.”
He looks my way and lifts his head in a nod of greeting. “Habit,” he says.
“Military habit, or Boyd habit?”
He pauses, his lips pressing together and his coffee-brown eyes glancing to the side for a second. “Both.”
I pick up a wrench, careful to remember its spot. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”
Boyd freezes. “I’ve been giving you space.”
“That isn’t the same thing,” I say gently as I slot the wrench back into its spot.
Silence fills the space between us, charged with a restless energy.
He puts his tools down with care and gets to his feet, raking his fingers through his unruly hair like he’s trying to reset himself. “You’re with Atlas.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not interested in competing with him.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
