The faint scent of leather and burning firewood.
The bed creaks when Garrett finally shifts beside me, now that we’ve wrung every last ounce of tension out of each other.
I’m lying on my back, sweat still clinging to me as I try to catch my breath.
Color washing.
I’m glad I made that choice for the ceiling.
And I smile.
Because this is the life we made together.
Bear rolls gently onto his side. He’s come a long way in the time since the accident. He still has some pain in his ribs that means he’s slow to move. But this morning, after Isla had kissed us both goodbye and gone to work, refusing an escort from me, Bear reached for me.
His hair is damp at the nape and temples, his beard dark where the sweat hasn’t yet dried. He looks relaxed in a way he didn’t used to.
“You good?” I ask, rolling onto my side to face him.
He strokes my hair. “Obviously.”
“Humor me and think about the answer, for a second. Are you really good?”
He studies me for a while. Checking and searching my face for clues. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I’m good.”
I kiss him tenderly. “And are we?”
That earns a longer pause. But his fingers reach out to trace the scar over my pec that I got at a bar fight in Miami. “Never loved you more.”
Something tight in my chest loosens.
“Good,” I admit. “Because I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose you and me for anything.”
“Do you ever feel like you’re being greedy? Hoping for two loving relationships when most other people only get one,” he asks.
“Sometimes. Why are you asking?”
His jaw tightens, not defensive. Just something he does when he’s thinking. “I used to think that polyamory meant someone always got less,” he says. “That it was pie. You divide it up and hope no one notices they’re getting less.”
I snort at that. “Of course, you’d reduce love and its mysteries down to a pie analogy.”
“Yeah.” His mouth twitches. “Turns out, I was wrong.”
I slip my hand around his neck and stroke my thumb over his pulse. “Expand on that.”
He exhales slowly. “I don’t love you less because of her. And I don’t love her instead of you. I think I love her, as well as you.”
The word lands clean and decisive. Love.
My first instinct is relief so sharp, it hurts. And yet, I feel the slightest sting of predictable envy. People think polyamory is for people who never feel jealous. The truth is, it’s feeling the benefits of polyamory are worth more and having the emotional maturity to do the work to overcome the envy.
“Thank fuck,” I say.
His brow lifts. “That wasn’t the reaction I expected.”
“I didn’t want to put words into your mouth or lead the conversation.”
“And?”
