Liam’s eyes soften slightly. He doesn’t push, just slides a glass of orange juice closer to me. “Drink. Vitamin C.”
“It doesn’t taste like it does back in Florida,” I say to the glass.
The front door slams and we all turn. “Honey, I’m home!”
Pierce marches in, loaded down with shopping bags. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. This house always smells good, but the second Pierce walks in, I just want to tear off my clothes and swim in his scent.
“Miss me?” he asks, eyes finding mine.
“Oh, you were gone? I hadn’t noticed.” I deadpan. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and waggles his eyebrows.
And that’s the best damn part. The inside jokes. They tease each other all the time and I just love it.
He grins and drops the bags on the counter with a dramatic flourish. “I have returned bearing gifts. Behold!”
“I swear to god, if it’s more of that shitty zero sugar protein powder, we are going to revolt,” Liam says, leaning against the counter. “I’d rather eat actual food than whatever lab-created protein dust you’ve discovered now.”
Pierce raises an eyebrow. “Oh, ye of little faith.” He reaches into the bag and pulls out… a book. The glossy cover catches the light as he holds it up like a game show prize. “Healing Your Inner Child: A Guide to Emotional Recovery.”
“Pierce, I didn’t know you could read.” Beckett joins me at the counter and drapes an arm over my shoulder.
“That’s not all!” Pierce continues, undeterred. He pulls out book after book, stacking them on the counter. “‘Finding Peace After Trauma’, ‘Beyond Pack Dynamics’, and my personal favorite,” he pauses for effect, “‘Why Am I Always Angry? A Handbook for Alpha Rage.’”
Liam’s mouth falls open. “Pierce…”
“No, don’t give me that look. This was all your idea.” He throws a book at Liam. “You’re the one who said we’re all fucked up…”
“I didn’t say we were fucked up.” Liam glances cautiously at me.
“Oh right, Beckett’s not fucked up. He had a happy childhood,” Pierce says, then leans over the counter toward me with a stage whisper. “It’s a secret. Don’t tell Liam. Beckett had never been spanked. Until me of course.” He winks and tosses a book to Beckett.
“Jesus, Pierce.” Beckett catches it and goes beet red.
“What do you mean your parents didn’t spank you?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Anyway,” Pierce continues. “You said we’re going to therapy. We went to therapy. He gave us a reading list.”
“It was a suggested reading list. You didn’t have to buy them all.” Liam sorts through the stack, reading titles.
“Compulsive shopping to mediate my abandonment issues.” He pauses, looks up at the ceiling. “That doesn’t sound right. It’s Beckett with the abandonment issues, right?”
“I don’t have abandonment issues,” Beckett protests.
“You text me every time I leave the house asking when I’ll be back,” Pierce counters.
“That’s just… being considerate.”
“And you,” Pierce turns to Liam, “need to stop trying to control everything because you’re afraid the world will fall apart if you don’t hold it together, because your birth pack was pure chaos.”
Liam crosses his arms. “That’s not…”
“Say that without clenching your jaw,” Pierce interrupts, then spins toward me. His expression softens as he pulls one last book from the bag. “And this one’s for you. They had to special order it.”
He places it gently in front of me. ‘Healing Through Creative Expression.’ The cover shows hands holding paintbrushes over a canvas filled with colors. Pierce leans down and presses a quick kiss to my cheek.
“Well, this is certainly a change from storming out and punching walls,” Beckett observes dryly.
“I’m feeling my feelings,” Pierce declares, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m creating a safe space for vulnerability. I’m honoring my emotional journey. I’m just getting in touch with my authentic self.” His voice pitches higher. He makes prayer hands and bows slightly. “Namaste, bitches.”
