His arms close around me. One hand at the back of my head, fingers in my hair, holding me against his chest where his heart is hammering fast and hard. The other arm around my waist, tight, the grip of a man holding something he knows he's about to lose. I press my face into his shirt and I cry the way I haven't cried since Los Angeles. Whole-body. Shoulders heaving. The sounds ugly and real.
He doesn't tell me it's okay.
He just holds on.
And like a demolition it comes to me.
I can't leave. And if I can't leave, then I owe them the only thing I've been withholding.
The truth.
All of it. The photos. The profiles. Daniel. What I am. What followed me here. What it might cost them if I stay.
They deserve to decide. With all the information. The actual, ugly, complete truth of what I'm carrying.
I pull back. Enough to see his face. Enough to find his blue eyes that are red and wrecked.
"I need to tell you something," My voice is destroyed. Barely functional. "All of you. And it might… it might change things."
"Never," he says.
He kisses me. Not gently. Not with caution. He kisses me like a man planting a flag in the ground he's chosen, and I kiss him back with the taste of salt between us and the key hold tight in my fist.
32
MAYA
They're waiting for me.
Reid is standing by the window, arms crossed. Owen is in his desk chair, turned to face the room, glasses off, hands flat on the armrests. Jace is leaning against the edge of my desk and he hasn't let go of my hand since we walked into the office.
My sketchpad is where I left it two days ago. The pencil cup. The tablet, screen dark. Evidence of a life I was building.
I pull my hand free from Jace's. I need to be standing on my own.
Three men. Three sets of eyes. Reid's blue-green, steady as geography. Owen's pale blue, quiet and deep in a way I've never been able to get to the bottom of. Jace's, still red-rimmed, watching me with intentional focus.
I open my mouth. Close it.
My hands are wringing each other. Standing here, with the weight of three gazes and the knowledge that in a few minutes they will look at me differently, every word has evaporated andwhat's left is a woman with shaking hands and a dry throat and no idea how to begin.
"It's okay, sweetheart." Reid's says low and unhurried. "Take your time. We're here."
The gentleness nearly breaks me before I start.
I swallow. Try again.
"Have you ever googled me?"
Confusion moves through the room. I can watch it cross each face in sequence. Jace's brow furrows. Reid's head tilts. Owen's expression doesn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpens.
"Why would we google you?" Owen asks knowing already that there is no good answer to that question. "Maya. Just tell us what's happening."
I shake my head. The words are in my chest but the path between my chest and my mouth is blocked by something dense and heavy, something that has been sitting on my lungs for months, and I cannot move it by talking around it.
"Please," I say. "Google my name. Maya Reeves. And then I'll explain."
A beat. Owen looks at Reid. Reid gives the smallest nod. Owen turns to his desk, opens his laptop, and the blue-white glow of the screen fills the space between us.
