“Not true.” Kit inhaled, taking in the coffee and kitchen spices and whatever jet fuel energy drink reeked from Carla’s mug. The fact that he stood here at this moment was thanks to so many choices. Good ones and bad ones, by unlikely people. “Laird was a manipulative asshole. A lot of people did what he wanted because he scared them. You broke his plan. That was brave.”
Shiloh pushed his hair around again. Oops. That was way too sincere for a seventeen-year-old to deal with, however insane the circumstances. “Anyway. He’s dead now?”
“Thanks to my boyfriends, yeah,” Kit said, without thinking about the plural.
Shiloh froze mid-hair fuckery. “Oh. Okay. That’s cool.”
The kid was clearly trying so hard to be casual and accepting and not shocked. It was kind of adorable.
Carla stood, keys jingling. “Are you ready?”
Darius rubbed Kit’s shoulder. “Before Carla takes you back, are you okay at home?”
Shiloh blinked, confused, then laughed. “Yeah. Home’s fine.”
Right. Enough scandalizing the kid. The cops hadn’t been looking for Shiloh because he’d run away before. But Kit held himself back from prying deeper. One bad coincidence didn’t give him the right to Shiloh’s life story.
Shiloh was his own person, with his own secrets and choices. He wasn’t just a substitute for Kit.
Some advice was warranted, though, from Kit’s older and wiser perspective. “You should talk to someone about all of this. Like a therapist.”
Shiloh tilted his head. “Have you done that?”
Darius laughed, damn him.
“I have,” Kit said, then had to admit, “I hated it.”
“I’ll consider it.” Shiloh tugged his hair again. “Uh. Good luck with your trauma and boyfriends and whatever.”
He retreated to the front door and Carla, leaving Kit to loop an arm around Darius’s waist. The door opened, then closed. Kit’s heart thudded, then settled.
“How are you feeling?” Darius asked quietly.
Kit took his time considering. “Twenty percent fine.”
The house’s security system beeped a reassuring welcome, as the garage door rumbled. Someone was home.
A grin spread across Kit’s face. “Forty percent fine.”
Kit ticked all the way up to sixty percent fine when the rest of his men spilled into the foyer. James first, then Holden, and Bishop bringing up the rear. Kit barely saw them all before Holden surrounded him in a hug.
“Darling,” Holden purred, arms tightening. “I missed you.”
Inhaling deeply, Kit hugged back. Holden smelled reassuring. Musky, clean. Better than he should, given the events of the past 24 hours. “Why do you smell good?”
James draped himself around both of them. “We stopped at Bishop’s on the way back,” he explained into Kit’s hair. “Sorry for delaying our reunion, but Bishop needed to pick up some papers, and Holden and I needed to shower the car crash off.”
“Together?” Kit asked, intrigued.
James’s chuckle reverberated through them. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Not together.” Holden’s disgust almost sounded friendly. “Stop hugging me, old man.”
“I’m hugging Kit,” James said loftily, squeezing them both tighter. “You could always get out of the way.”
Before they could suffocate him in their hug-off, Kit wriggled free. His escape took him directly, happily into Bishop’s arms.
Bishop ruffled his hair with one broad hand. Tension melted away from them both. Kit buried his face in Bishop’s chest until his eyes stopped stinging. He wasn’t going to cry. He was just overwhelmed.
