Those facts were related. Kit was overwhelmedbecausehe wasn’t crying. He felt… not fine. Still in those middle percents. But he let himself get kidnapped last night, in the bad, not-sexy way. His father hit him and planned to do so much worse. Then he watched his father die. Brutally.
That was last night. This afternoon, Kit was calm. Not in his old numb way. He just felt secure that no matter what happened, he and his men could handle it.
“Are you two okay?” Kit asked, peeling away. Not far. Bishop kept him under one arm. “You drove through a wall.”
“And through a fence on the way up.” James rubbed his chest. “We’re fine. The bruises are going to look worse than they are, so don’t worry over the next few days, okay?”
Calculation gleamed in Holden’s eyes. “I’m hurt pretty bad. I might need some comforting for the week. Or the month.”
“Shameless,” Darius said, less annoyed than he would have been a couple months ago. Relief softened his face too, having everyone home. “What’s the legal status? Anyone facing charges?”
James shrugged. “I’m taking the negligent driving charges. My lawyers will settle it out of court, but I had to take something.”
“What about Holden?” Darius asked. “He was actually driving.”
Grinning, James slung an arm over Holden’s shoulders. For about half a second before Holden shoved him off. “How could I let my intern take the fall? We wouldn’t want to fuck up his graduation. Besides, I’m a rich asshole. I’ll be fine. My PR department will work some overtime. I’ll take a sabbatical from direct company involvement for a year. Then I’ll slide back in when the scandal’s not as fresh.”
Despite James’s cheery tone, exhaustion ringed his eyes. A sabbatical might be good for optics, but it would be even better for James’s wellbeing. All of them could use time off.
Before Kit relaxed, there were a few more loose ends. “That covers the car crash, but what about the shooting?” Kit remembered Archie belatedly. “Bothshootings?”
Bishop ruffled Kit’s hair again. “Officially, Archie Calvin is still missing, and I’m a police consultant who shot Laird Renaker in self-defense. There will be an investigation, but no charges.”
“Amazing how you managed to shoot him three times from three different guns simultaneously,” Darius commented.
“Ballistics aren’t as exact as people think,” Holden said helpfully.
“Blackmail is much more effective as a science.” Bishop grimaced. “They won’t ask questions about Laird’s death, and I won’t ask why his escape wasn’t announced for a month.”
Kit sagged, another layer of tension leaving. They were all going to be okay. Maybe some harsher consequences and a lesscorrupt police force would be good. On a moral level. But Kit didn’t give a shit about a moral level.
He just wanted to keep what was his, close in his greedy grasp.
“Hey, Kit,” Bishop said quietly. “How are you doing?”
Breath shuddered from Kit, leaving a strange, true smile behind. “Eighty percent fine. Pretty fucking good, right?”
Kit took in the four gorgeous faces focused on him. James’s heady boldness. Darius’s iron steadiness. Holden’s unconditional obsession. Bishop’s piercing insight. All of them were Kit’s, and he was theirs.
Suddenly, remembering Holden’s strategy, Kit reconsidered. “Actually, I’m not fine. I’m very upset, and I need you to make me feel better.” He chewed his lip, hooking everyone’s attention. “All of you.”
His boyfriends shared a look, then crowded closer.
“That can be arranged,” James said, with a wicked grin.
One hitched breath later, Kit dangled over James’s shoulder. “You fucking caveman,” Kit accused, but his next delighted protest was cut off by Darius’s lips. Nothing like the sweet, slow kiss they shared earlier. This was deep. Consuming. Electric.
Darius pulled away with a smirk. “Any excuse to rip those blinding sweatpants off of you.”
“Hey!’ Kit gasped, dizzy with the kiss. “My sweatpants are super cool.”
“They’re awful,” James said affectionately, with an equally affectionate slap to Kit’s ass. He headed for the stairs, Kit steady on his shoulder. “We need to remove them immediately.”
“The sweatpants are awesome,” Holden said loyally. “But I agree about removing them.”
Anticipation pounded quicker with each stair step. Without any discussion needed, James led the parade to the master bedroom—with the oversized bed that hadn’t yet been used for its intended purpose.
They’d fucked on the bed already, of course. Each memory yanked sharp and sweet on different nerves. But they hadn’t all fucked on it yet. Only two or three of them at a time. Not four. And definitely not five.
