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I head toward the couch. “He doesn’t consider my survival before him proof of good decision-making.”

“That’s actually fair.”

“Fuck you.”

Max laughs as he heads toward the kitchen to make coffee, and I give him the finger before making my way to the couch. His apartment hasn’t changed while everything else in my life has. His shoes are kicked beneath the table, two books are facedown on the arm of his chair, and the half-dead plant in the window is somehow still hanging on. I’ve spent most of the last month at Duncan’s house surrounded by people checking on me, bringing me food and finding reasons to stop by, so being here with Max while he ignores me from the kitchen feels more like getting back to my normal routine than anything has since the gala.

I open my laptop and pull up the encrypted chat I use with Zee. We’ve talked since the gala, although most of it was tied to finding Alina and helping Ronan make sure nothing connected to her or Dare could lead back to the family. Once that was finished, our messages dropped off while I recovered, and there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to him now that we’re no longer trying to stay ahead of Alina.

Zee found me three years ago when I was digging into my first target and making enough mistakes online that I’m surprised I didn’t get myself caught. He showed me where I was exposed, helped me fix it, and stayed around when I moved on to the next man. Somewhere along the way, he stopped being only the anonymous person behind a screen who helped me find information I couldn’t get on my own. We talk about other shit now too, but this work is how we found each other.

I open our conversation and start typing.

Nash: Ronan said everything is clean. Nothing left tying Alina or Dare back to the family that they can’t deal with. Also, thanks for the assist on getting rid of Justin.

The typing indicator appears almost immediately.

Zee: That’s what I heard. You’re welcome

Working with Ronan has gotten Zee past the point where they distrust each other on principle, although I doubt either one of them will ever admit they actually like working together. When it came time to finally deal with Justin Mills, Zee was still my first call. He’d helped me find the bastard in the first place, and it felt right having him help me finish it. This time, the difference was that I didn’t go alone.

Declan came with me. He didn’t try to take over or tell me how to handle Justin. He was simply there, watching my back while I finished what I’d started weeks ago. Justin Mills won’t hurt Ben or anyone else again, and I didn’t have to disappear in the middle of the night and make sure no one knew where I was to accomplish it. I’m still getting used to that part.

Nash: I wanted to thank you. For all of it, not just this.

The coffee maker starts behind me while I wait for his response. Max opens one of the cabinets, and my laptop chimes a few seconds later.

Zee: You never had to thank me.

Nash: That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t. There were times I would’ve walked into something blind without you.

I hear Max moving around behind me again as Zee starts typing.

Zee: You were never as blind as you thought.

Something about the wording makes me look toward the kitchen. Max is standing at the counter with his tablet in front of him, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug while the other moves across the screen.

There’s nothing unusual about that. Max is always on the damn thing, and Zee has been answering me from some unknown place for three years. I’m about to look away when an idea hits me that’s ridiculous enough that I almost laugh at myself for having it. Instead, I type.

Nash: Tell me something I don’t already know.

I don’t send it right away. I watch Max for another second before tapping the screen. His tablet chimes. Max’s hand stops. So does mine. He doesn’t look toward the tablet this time. He looks directly at me from across the apartment, and the expression on his face answers the question before I even ask it.

“You’re fucking Zee.”

Max picks up my coffee and walks into the living room. “I was wondering how long that was going to take.”

I stare at him as he sets the mug on the table in front of me. “Three fucking years, apparently.”

“Yeah.”

“Max.”

He sits in the chair across from me, and there’s enough caution in his expression now that I know exactly how much of this conversation I’m not going to like.

I stare at him while the last three years start rearranging themselves in my head. Zee contacted me before I ever met Max. I’d already been talking to him when some random guy struck up a conversation with me at a coffee shop, mentioned that he owned a yoga studio, and told me I should stop by sometime. I went a few days later, kept going back, and eventually ended up with the person I consider my best friend. Except the random guy wasn’t random at all.

“You knew who I was that day.”