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“Switch,” Percy says.
He and Lance swap places, and it’s Percy’s turn to have two pairs of hands see to his washing. My heartbeat thuds when he looks down at me.
“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs while I soap up his chest.
“I know. We have time.”
He lifts a hand to my chin, urging me to hold his gaze. “You deserve the truth, Gwen.”
I study him for a beat, appreciating his earnestness, then nod. “And I trust that you’ll tell me when it’s time. I never doubted you, Percy. You’ve never let me down when I tell you what I need.”
We rotate twice more to get everyone rinsed. Lance is quiet for the rest of his shower, his manner more subdued and introspective than usual. It hits me how little I really know about him, and I resolve to change that, but for now I chalk it up to low blood sugar.
I’m first out, and I’m dried off and in my comfy pajamas when the doorbell chimes. Rather than wait for the boys—myboys—to come down, I carry all the food, plus three plates and sets of silverware, to my bedroom. Because a good Domme sees to the needs of her subs in every way she can.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Lance says, eyes brightening and nostrils flaring when I enter with two large pizza boxes, on top of which are the dishes and a large bag I’m guessing contains at least a salad. Percy evidently ordered from our favorite Italian place and knows what I like.
But I make them wait while I cover my bedspread with a spare blanket I don’t mind getting messy. Then we dive in like a trio of ravenous beasts.
It isn’t until we slow down that the silence shifts like the calm before a storm. It’s a testament to how attuned I am to Percy’s moods that I know he’s ready to talk.
He sets down his empty plate and rises, disappearing into the bathroom to wash his hands. When he returns, he picks up our empty boxes and plates and stuffs them back into the empty bag they came in. All that remains is our dessert, which he moves to my dresser before settling on the bed again. Lance and I are both leaning against the pillows at the headboard, watching intently as Percy stretches out in front of us, pulling my feet onto his lap.
“You don’t want cheesecake?” Lance asks, wistfully eyeing the last untouched container Percy set aside.
“I need to do this first,” Percy says.
Lance swallows his last bite of pizza crust, brows drawing together. “You want me to leave? Whatever you’re about to lay on us must be pretty heavy, based on that look you’ve got right now.”
“You’re part of this now, so no, I want you to stay,” Percy says. “Then I think you ought to tell your own story.”
Lance goes still and pale.
“Lance? What does he mean?”
“You had to guess I’d do a background check on you, kid,” Percy says. “But you’ve got time to figure out what to say. It might be easier once you’ve heard my story, if it’s any consolation.”
ChapterEighteen
Percy
The feel of Gwen’s skin under my palm grounds me as I search for the words I promised her. She sits quietly while I distract myself rubbing her feet. I wonder if she realizes that I’d happily do exactly this for the rest of my life if she’d let me, and it’s clear to me that Lance is already just as far gone as I am.
It was a dick move to put him on the spot, but somehow it helps lessen my anguish over sharing. I can’t avoid this any longer, not if I want to move forward, to let go of the past once and for all. The drawback of Lance’s presence is that I can’t skimp on details I might have left out because Gwen already knows what was in my Whitewood personnel file. He doesn’t know a single thing about me. Maybe I didn’t think this through enough.
So I address him instead of Gwen to start with.
“Before I worked at Whitewood, I was a Navy SEAL.” I take a breath and register Lance’s suspicious look, then remember the white lie I told him the other day. “I lied to you about being an Army medic. I get too many questions if I tell people the truth right away, and I wanted to be the one asking questions that day.”
He shrugs. “Fair enough.” He nods for me to keep going, and the fact that he doesn’t push helps.
“I can’t share all the details of my assignments, but they don’t really matter anyway—the where or why, and all that. What matters…” I halt, overthinking whetheranyof this matters in the grand scheme of things. But it’s my damage, and the look on both their faces tells me that it’s going to matter to them, though how much, I can’t say. Will they look at me differently after I tell them?
Gwen leans forward and grips my hand, dragging me up and out of my wallowing in self-doubt. She doesn’t say anything, just squeezes and looks at me, her expression telling me that she’s with me no matter what. I squeeze back, grateful, and take a breath. Gotta rip the fucking bandage off.
“My last mission was the kind of clusterfuck every team dreads. If something could go wrong, it did. And every-fucking-thing was pretty much fucked, but still within acceptable parameters to continue. It wasn’t my call whether to abort, but even if it had been, I don’t know if I would have. We all just wanted to get it done because we were being reassigned after.
“But I think everyone has a moment when the dread sets in, when despite all your efforts, there’s no fixing what’s broken, like trying desperately to reassemble the crumbling pieces while everything falls apart around you.
