“I agree. How is the question.”
“Controlled disclosure,” he said after several seconds of contemplation. “Individual conversations with anyone whose records were accessed. We don’t blast it out to everyone. We identify the affected members, and we talk to them personally. Let them decide how they want to respond.”
Rafe nodded slowly. “That could work.”
“The club remains closed until we’re certain it’s secure.”
“Agreed.” Rafe closed the folder and stood. “I’ll work with Callen. We’ll start reaching out.” He paused at the door. “Get better, Kiernan. We need you back.”
“Working on it.”
Ten daysafter Kiernan’s discharge, Callen worked some kind of magic and arranged for the doctor to pay a house call to remove the stitches.
He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, while she worked. I stood by the window, trying not to stare at the expanse of his back, the muscles that shifted under his skin, and the way his shoulders hunched.
“Healing well,” she commented. “Better than expected. You must have a good care team.”
“The best.” Kiernan’s gaze locked on mine.
“Light activity only for now,” she continued. “No heavy lifting or strenuous exercise.” She paused. “No strenuous anything.”
“Define strenuous,” Oliver said from the doorway.
The doctor’s mouth twitched. “Use your judgment. If it hurts, you’re out of breath, or if there’s any pulling at the wound site, stop.”
“How much longer?” Kiernan asked.
“Another few days, then we’ll reassess.” She packed her bag. “You’re lucky, Lord Greymarch. A few inches to the left, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
The room was quiet after she left. Kiernan sat on the edge of the bed, still shirtless, the fresh pink scar visible on his shoulder. He looked at Oliver, then at me.
“A few days,” he said.
“A week at the most,” Oliver added.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said slowly. “About what you said. About needing something I’ve never asked for.”
Oliver froze. “And?”
“I still don’t know how to say it.” Kiernan’s hands trembled. “But I’m getting closer. And when I figure it out—when I find the words—” He looked at us with an intensity that pinned me in place. “I need to know you’ll hear me. Even if what I ask for surprises you.”
Oliver crossed to the bed, sat beside him, and took his hand.
“There’s nothing you could ask for that would make me leave,” he said. “Nothing.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Oliver’s voice was fierce.
Kiernan reached up and pulled me down beside them, but his eyes stayed on Oliver. The way he looked at him—it wasn’t how Kiernan usually looked at anyone. There was no command in it. No control.
Just need. Unguarded and barely contained.
26
KIERNAN
The nightmare woke me at three in the morning.
