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Watching Roarke go help fold chairs, I nearly jump out of my skin as a hand curls around my hip. “Ezra.” Cortez sighs my name like he’s physically and emotionally exhausted. “Go check in with Marcus.”

“Are you trying to leave me too?” comes out growled, hurt and rejection warring in my emotions. “Why?”

“We need to talk, but I need some time to think first. You know how I need space to breathe. Ez, you’re suffocating me.” Cortez pleads with his eyes. “Marcus needs you right now, and I have a feeling you need him too.”

“ I need you ,” I stress. “Since the beginning of all time.” I stare at a hovering Wil, glare actually. Feeling desperate, I lean in to whisper against Cort’s parted lips. “I need you in me right now.”

Cortez shivers, eyes sliding shut. As I reach out to touch him, Wil stops me by pressing his palm to Cort’s chest.

A hand materializes out of nowhere, protecting Wil from me tearing his hand off. With Katya running from me, with me being integrated, my emotions are raw. I’m all over the place, experiencing emotions with every blink.

“Levi was going to say something sweet, like how Cortez is going to help us fold chairs.” Caleb pats Cort’s stomach. “To get rid of some of this softness–”

“Don’t touch me,” Cort growls, flicking Caleb’s hand away. “I don’t like you.”

“Cort, I was not going to say that.” Wil chuckles, uncomfortable yet amused by his partner in crime’s antics.

“But I’m going to be truthful.” Standing with his hands fisted, feet spread wide, at Caleb’s back, his army of bros are folding up chairs behind him. “We’re distracting you because you distract Ezra.”

With a snort, Wil wanders off to join Roarke, Aaron, Julio, Cory, and Dalton to fold the hundreds of chairs. Must be he trusts us not to murder each other.

“Now, I could say something like, “This is your task, should you choose to accept it.” But you get no choice in the matter. You’re going to join us, because these chairs need to go back to the Green Building.”

“Why?” Cort looks to be ready to make a break for it, spinning an excuse to go check on our twins, when Spyder is more than capable of answering the baby monitor should they wake up.

“Because you don’t want the Nebraska cattle king sitting in your seat, snappy shirt getting caught on your nametag.” Lips curling up at the corners, Caleb is enjoying himself. “Snappy as in dozens of snaps– trust me, they dress that way. See, but the thing is, any man who raises and slaughters cattle, serves you a juicy, succulent steak, all the while telling you the color marking on the cow’s hide… you don’t want a sociopath like him finding your nametag. “Hmm… wonder who this fella is, let’s go have a little chat with him for putting a pull in my snappy shirt.” No one wants to see that.”

“Surely you’re joking, right?” Julio’s resulting, evil laughter makes me rethink my question.

“Succulent and juicy are synonyms.” Cort points out to dig the boy who borrowed me as a best bud during our childhood. He’s never going to let that go.

“The fact that you know that is exactly why you don’t want the Nebraska cattle king coming to find you.” Caleb desensitizes Cort by rubbing his shoulder. “C’mon. Join us. We’re fun to be around. I promise we’re catching.”

“Like a virus,” Cort mumbles underneath his breath, willingly following Caleb across the ballroom. He’s not a joiner, but he wants to be asked to join.

“Go get that man’s ass outta my chair.” Caleb points behind me, and I turn to find Marcus is the only person seated in a chair, with everyone else but me picking them up.

“Fine,” comes as a hiss as I stalk off. Possessiveness floods my veins, causing me great difficulty to leave Cortez’s side, even for a nanosecond. If Roarke hadn’t intervened, I would have gone after the mistress of this castle to get to my wife.

I was never truly Master Ez. Meaning I knew what he did after the fact, but I never felt how it was to be him, have him fill my skin and thrive. Master Ez was a part of me but separate.

I knew how it was to be Ezra, because he was the part of me before I fractured– I was that child for the first thirteen years of my existence. Being Ezra was like putting on well-worn gloves that were now too small and scratchy on my skin.

Master Ez was the part of me created so I could survive the pain of my hideous beginnings.

Integrated, I am no longer a boy. Ezra is a part of my past, while Master Ez is still a large part of my present and future, because he represents the man. Whole, I am more Master Ez than I’d like to be. Controlling, domineering, territorial.

Sane.

The thought of leaving Cortez for even a second is killing me. Knowing my children are in this house and not with me is a constant ache and worry. Katya is safe with the women of the household, but I want to break her off from the herd, where I could manipulate her to stay with me.

It’s like the part of my brain that was reserved for Master Ez and Ezra now houses my need to protect my children, Cortez, and Katya. I won’t be calm until I have them in my sight, ensuring their continued safety and happiness.

Who knew? The real Ezra Zeitler, the whole Ezra Zeitler is a protector, not a predator. Feeling more connected to Marcus than ever, I step in front of him to gain his undivided attention.

“I’m not contemplating suicide.” Marcus flashes me a toothy grin. He seems content and amused, when I expected him to be stressed the fuck out. “I never realized people have a vibe they give off– an energy. But these men do.”

“They’re bros,” is the best way to explain it.

“Explain this phenomenon to me.” Marcus stands from his seat, turns around, then peels his sticker from the chair. “Mustn’t upset the Nebraska cattle king, or another leader of America’s criminal underbelly.”

Chuckling, Marcus pockets the label, then gestures to the exit. “Kitchen. I’m starving. You can explain what a bro means on our way. This behavior is new to our Roarke and Aaron.”

“They’re bloated with masculinity since their alpha came home.” Eyes cutting to the side, I watch as Cortez begrudgingly peels stickers off a section of seats. “I give Cort five minutes before he makes an excuse.”

“He’ll stay,” Marcus murmurs in appreciation. “That energy they’re giving off, no matter how savage their taunts may be, it seems to validate something inside Cortez. He needs to make friends who aren’t you.”

“Everyone is striking me where it hurts most tonight.” As we walk down the hallway, I stare at my shoes in defeat. “People have a battery of sorts, and certain things drain and fill it.”

“Ah. I see.” Marcus is thrilled to be talking about something not centered on his issues. “As more of the guys congregated, their energy level pitched higher. I’ve never seen them like that, especially Wil. Roarke and Aaron always fed into one another.”

“Wil’s crafty, always looking like a statue holding up a wall. Sometimes I don’t even realize he’s not where he was, with someone nearby being pranked. With Caleb back, Wil is more comfortable to show his private side.”

“I liked it in there, but they sensed I wanted to talk to you.”

“You would like it.” Chuckling, I let a bunch of shit go for a few minutes to spend some quality time with Marcus. “You bleed masculinity. Their battery is filled with masculine energy, and it drains over time the longer they go without hanging around another bro. Similar to an extravert and socialization. Introverts get drained from social interaction and gain energy from solitary behaviors.”

“That explains Daniel and Diane.” Marcus mulls over their unusual connection. “I joke with your mother how Daniel is using her to force Ade to spend time with him.”

“Daniel gains comfort from having a few trusted people close to him. He doesn’t thrive in solitude like Grant does, but of a similar vein.”

“Do you think–” Marcus pauses, both in speech and in movement, feet fused to the floor outside of the kitchen entrance. “Do you think it bothers Jamie when I sit with him? I always thought he’d like to have what Daniel and your mother have.”

An insecure Marcus is a rare sight. “It’s Grant,” is muttered bluntly. “If he didn’t want to sit with you, he’d just ghost away. He has a bit of his father in him too, that need to connect on a deeper level with someone he loves.”

With a deep breath, Marcus steps over the threshold into the kitchen, acting as if I just put his mind to ease over something that’s been plaguing him.

“I need to beg for your forgiveness, sir,” is said to halt Marc’s progress into the kitchen, because I need to say this without the dozen or so witnesses I hear in there.

“Sir?” Filled with humor, Marcus think me cute. Now I understand why that ruffles Cort’s feathers so much. “Ezra, my dear son,” sounds a lot like the phrase bane of my existence . “You only reserve sir in times of groveling. I’ve only heard it a handful of times in our long journey together, and never leveled at me.”

Great, Marcus is talking like a demented English professor– not a good sign. “I am going to grovel.”

“Whatever for?” Amber eyes hold a plethora of emotions, the love tempering the rage.

“To apologize–” getting choked up, I can’t say it out loud. “For what I did when I was fifteen. I made you leave.”

The info-dump in my brain has bile rising to escape, swallowing back the need to vomit up my sins. If it weren’t for my family, I’d seek redemption at the edge of a razor blade. I cannot believe any part of me did those heinous crimes.

It’s different, having a taunting alter show me in the aftermath, versus truly knowing, experiencing, and owning those actions as my own.

While Ezra and Master Ez were me, they felt apart from me, so I could easily brush the blame away. I can’t do that any longer. There is no we – I did it, whether it was a part or the whole of me. I accept responsibility for my actions, but I hate myself more than ever.

Marc’s sharp laughter scares me. What if my adoptive father doesn’t believe me? There are few people on this planet who I truly give a shit about. Having his love is one of the things I need to survive. Deflated, I swallow down the bile and bite back the tears.

I have no idea what Marcus reads from my appalled expression, but he responds to it. “Come,” is softly ordered. Warmth finally fills his eyes, as if he has the ability to lie with his gaze. Where before they were lava hot with anger, now they’re warm with loving affection. “This is a private conversation best had with refreshments.”

I follow Marcus to the kitchen, which is filled with ballroom escapees. With Martha distracted in the living room, they turn into foraging bears, devouring everything from the pantry and refrigerator, while laughing and chatting with each other. Yet another display of the instinctive need for human beings to connect together. Enemy. Friend. Family. Christian and Jew. All put their differences aside to celebrate the birth of Christ as an excuse to bond and leave the past in the past.

The pregnant women are double-fisting turkey sandwiches and discussing hormones. The private extortion was revealed during the meeting, how Niel and Whitney truly were the ones in that video Ava was forced to leak. I felt relieved to discover my daughter wasn’t as evil as she was portrayed, while comforted in the fact that she knew Niel was her cousin– they were partners in crime, not boyfriend and girlfriend.

As for the extortion, it left a lasting imprint on Niel, Whitney, and Ava, which is why two of the three were throwing up. Katie came back into the ballroom, with an ashamed Whitney following her, and announced the news that another Whittenhower would be welcomed into the world seven months from now. No doubt Gwen was doing summersaults inside her head, hoping for a son to be born.

Here, in the kitchen, Whitney is surrounded by women who have been there, so she’s relaxed by degrees. The expressions rolling on Regina’s face are dizzying, but she keeps touching the girl, rubbing her back and caressing her cheek. If they weren’t mortal enemies, I’d give the advice that Regina should seek out my mother, Katie too, because they’re in a similar position, where it comes to their child being in love with someone they call niece or nephew.

The mothers keep sharing knowing glances directed at the petrified girl. Baby bump bellied up to the kitchen island, Faith gives Whitney the dark and gritty reality of being pregnant. Everyone around them is chowing down and taunting one another.

I’m confused as to how this is private for our conversation…

Marcus reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out not a single beer, or two, or six. He picks up a crate of twelve bottles of lager, then presses it into my chest. Reacting automatically, my arms hug the crate, making sure the bottles don’t smash to the tile flooring.

Digging around in the pantry, Marcus comes out with two bags of kettle-cooked chips. Yet another of my favorites, the lager and the chips.

My eyes seek out and find my eldest children. The brother and sister are chatting with identical expressions of reluctant happiness. Torian, being the center of everyone’s attention, relentlessly teases Zane over Ava. My son’s calculating gaze promises a world of retaliation.

With my drunk-in-a-box, I walk up to my kids, pressing a kiss to Ava’s lips and then to Zane’s forehead. “I’ll get this fixed with your mother– I promise.”

“Nothing to fix,” Ava mutters with a shrug, as if it doesn’t matter to her that her parents are divorcing. Little liar.

Zane mentally processes my emotions, tasting my intent. He half-shouts in horror, “No, don’t! Please don’t.”

“You don’t want your mom with me?” I ask Ava, outraged.

“Honestly? No.” Ava whispers her admission, on the verge of tears. “Mom needs someone who is hers– she deserves someone who isn’t being pulled in so many different directions. You already have that with Cort. Don’t fuck it up, Dad. Don’t. Fuck. It. Up.”

The center of attention draws all eyes to the attention whore. “Mine!” Marcus growls, grabbing a bakery box of Christmas cookies from Torian. Suspiciously another of my favorites. “All mine.”

“Pops.” Torian’s lips twist into a devilish smirk, telegraphing his intent to be a pain in the ass. “You’re Jewish.”

“Son.” Marc’s voice holds the same intent, eyes sparking with happiness– a happiness that has been absent for many months. Too many months. “You had no issue consuming the dreidels Martha specifically made for me. These cookies are shaped like snowflakes, not Jesus… and they’re mine now.”

Torian still possesses the ability to giggle like a little boy– an intoxicating sound that has every ear ringing in bliss. Nearly grown, leanly muscled and trained to take a grown man down in a heartbeat, the genius turns into a boy around those he trusts. It’s so endearing I decide I fear Torian even more than I used to. I fear what I cannot control, and Torian Spencer is only controlled by Torian Spencer.

“Are you willing to share with your grandchildren?” Torian bats those thick eyelashes at Marcus. “We can split the cookie into thirds.”

The box lands on the table, the flap open. Torian’s halogen eyes turn as wide as saucers in anticipation– I swear the kid starts to drool. Marcus hands a frosted sugar cookie to a giggling Ava, then one to a salivating Zane. Breaking a cookie in half, Marcus eats his share, then passes the other to Torian.

“It’s kind of you to be willing to share.” Marcus hits the stunned kid where it counts. “You coming?” Glancing over his shoulder at me, he makes tracks to the back door, his loot quickly snatched off the table before the Cookie Monsters can descend upon it.