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A moment later, he clasps my wrist, and I pull him to his feet and into a hug. I clasp his back, and he squeezes me back tighter than he usually does.

When he pulls back, his lashes are wet, and he still can’t look at me. It rips at my chest. How the hell did we get from Beau standing off against my old man... to him standing off against me?

Did I really never apologize to him after Heather? That whole time was a mess. I left him in the dirt, detonated our friendship, and he still picked me up out of the grime when everything blew up in my face.

I’m such a fucking asshole.

I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod for him to go inside. He picks up his bag, and I grab his rifle for him, then shut the door, my heart pounding.

Beau goes to put his bag on the couch, then seems to rethink it and puts it on the low coffee table instead. I lean his rifle against the wall and clear my throat—it doesn’t budge the avalanche inside it.

Is this where we’re supposed to hug it out? Cry on each other’s shoulders?

We both face each other, shifting.

He’s still holding his pillow, and he presses it between his hands, glancing at the bed. “You want to head-to-toe it? ‘Cause just for the record, I’m not sure I’m up for a snuggle.”

That startles a snort out of me. “Please. We’ve been fighting.” Rubbing my jaw, I raise a brow at him. “You can sleep on the couch.”

He huffs a laugh, then glances up at me with a wry tilt to his mouth. “Right.”

For a second, just for a second, it almost feels normal between us—and then he looks down, his smile falling away.

Fuck.

“Go shower,” I tell him gruffly. “You stink.”

He nods, still not looking at me. “Yeah. I... Yeah.” Haltingly, he puts his pillow on the couch and snags his bag. “Thanks.”

While he showers, I track down spare sheets and make up the couch.

It’s still hot, but my room doesn’t have a fireplace, so I add another blanket over the arm just in case before I get into bed and switch off the overhead light.

It’s early for sleep, but I don’t want to make small talk, and I don’t even know where to start with the rest of it.

The running water in the next room cuts off, and the soft sounds of Beau getting dressed fill the space.

It might be awkward as fuck, but at least it’s not quiet anymore.

The door opens, and I stare up at the ceiling. Beau hesitates, and I force myself not to look at him. Whatever he was going to say, he lets it go and heads to the couch.

When he’s lying down, I flick off the bedside lamp.

Darkness blankets us both.

Minutes tick past, and my eyes adjust. The deeper outlines and shadows of furniture and art taking form in the gray. I hear Beau breathe, the rhythmic in–out . His blankets shift with him.

He’s not asleep, either.

After these many years, I know his sounds.

I’ve heard them a thousand times, in a thousand places.

In hot deserts and crowded kink clubs. In arctic winters, freezing our balls off.

In pubs, around friends. In barracks, and bedrooms with women tucked between us.

I know his breathing. His kinks. What turns him on. I know who does.

And that he’s hurting over Eden as much as I am right now.

Beau takes a deep, heavy breath, and I let out my own. The shadows fill with all the things we’re not saying to each other.

I tore him to shreds today, just like he did to me a month ago. Told him every stupid, petty and not petty thing that drives me up the wall about him—but I didn’t tell him the rest of it. Maybe I never have.

I didn’t tell him that he’s brave, and kind, and funny.

I didn’t tell him that for every small thing he gets wrong, he does ten things right.

I didn’t tell him that he’s my best friend.

My family. My brother. I didn’t tell him that the reason his family forgave him everything was because he’s so damn easy to love.

There are too many words I don’t know how to say to him.

But there are a few that have been a long time coming.

I look up to the same shadows taunting me, taking another deep breath before I confess.

“I’m sorry, Beau. I’m sorry for everything. With Heather, the Plan, the civilians... all of it.” The words shudder out of me, hanging in the darkness. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

The silence between us almost buries the words. It’s tense. Taut. Like holding your straps and waiting for the clearance to jump. A mass tactical drop.

I can’t hear him breathe.

Then finally, he does.

“I’m so mad at you,” Beau says roughly, hurt breaking his voice. “And I’m mad at her, too. I... I can’t make it stop this time.”

His hurt breaks me too, and I close my eyes. There’s no parachute for this one.

“I know,” I tell the night.

Beau’s breathing gets choppy, and I try to keep mine under control. I always know when he’s mad. Don’t think I remember him ever admitting it before, though.

Maybe we’re both growing up.

“I still love her,” he whispers.

Bittersweet pain lances me. “I know.”

“You love her, too,” he says, and it’s not a question.

Love.

She floods me again. Her eyes. The river. The candles in the apple tree. I’m still falling with nothing to catch me.

What would it be like for my nights to be full of Eden and Beau?

You love her .

The hollow ache of the last few weeks becomes something raw, and rough enough that the next words are ripped from my chest.

“ I know .”

Crash landing.

I’m in love with her.

The words slam into place inside me with the force of a wrecking ball. Brutal. Decimating. They tear down whatever final, flimsy, fucking foundations of myself I had left.

I love Eden. I love her strength and her mind. Her kindness and cunning. I love her so fucking much that she can rip me to shreds, and all I can think about is how fierce she looked doing it. She’s not cruel... she just doesn’t trust me.

Hell, I don’t trust myself .

The darkness stretches.

What am I supposed to do about this? I’m not fit to be in charge, as a leader or a dominant, and if I’m not fit for that...

My chest aches with the same hollow, sick throb it has since Cyanide.

Who am I, if I’m not their captain?

“It’ll be okay.” Beau’s voice is quiet—like he’s reading my thoughts the way only he knows me enough to do. “We’ll work it out. All of us.”

I swallow hard, wishing I believed that.

But it is something .

I might not know who the hell I am anymore... but I know who matters. I know who I need to protect. I can love them, whether we can work this out or not.

I take a deep breath, and Beau’s sounds wash over me.

“I love you as well, Beau,” I tell him softly.

There’s only a beat of silence this time, and I hear the smile in his voice when he replies.

“Love you always, Dom.”