“Give us one chance,” Colby said, bracing his hand on the door frame. “Give us today. Remember what happened when you let me take over, when you trusted me to take care of you? Let’s try that again. Turn your day over to me and if by the end of it, you still want to be alone, we won’t knock on your door again.”
She looked down, her emotions rioting through her—the urge to run, the urge to say yes, the fear of what could happen if she did, and if she didn’t. “Colby—”
“It’s just one day, George,” Keats said softly. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She shook her head. “I could completely lose it in front of you, embarrass myself, possibly inspire you to check me into a mental institution.”
Colby reached out for her hand again, taking her hurt one between both of his. “I swear no men in white coats will be called no matter what happens today. As for the other two things, so the fuck what? Lose it and we’ll help you get it back together like we did the day with the ants. You’re dealing with a disorder. There’s no embarrassment in that. All I see is a brave woman fighting tooth and nail to get free of it.”
“I can’t get free,” she said, tears escaping now. “Not until he’s locked up. Every time I think I’m making progress, I’m knocked backward again. The past never goes away. It doesn’t matter that he’s hundreds of miles away. He’s in my goddamned head.”
“Who?” Keats asked, not bothering with boundaries and stepping forward to put his arm around her. “Who’s in your head, George?”
The embrace undid her, shattering the barrier she was frantically trying to hold in place, and she couldn’t do anything but sag into him. The brave face. The grip on her secrets. All of it faltered in the warmth of the simple hug. All the energy was used up. Tears turned into sobbing.
“Dammit, Georgia.” Colby crossed the threshold and wrapped an arm around her waist, closing ranks on the other side of her. “You don’t have to do this all on your own. Let us in.”
She loathed the tears, hated that her body was rebelling against her yet again. Look at the poor, weepy girl leaning on the big, strong men. Pathetic. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Her body was in a state of emotional expectoration, spilling all the white-knuckled emotions and fear out in a flood.
Colby and Keats didn’t say anything more, just held her tight, one of their hands rubbing her back. The cocooned state between the two of them was more soothing than she wanted to admit to herself. She didn’t want to have to depend on anyone for anything, especially these two. They were supposed to be her lighthearted fun, not more people hoping to fix her. She had enough of those. Her issues were hers to deal with and no one else’s.
But she was so damn tired of being alone. And not trusting anyone. And being scared. So. Damn. Tired.
So when she shut the door behind the three of them, it wasn’t about flings or sex or even romantic notions—none of the things she’d entertained about either of these men before. Right now, she needed their friendship.
She needed to surrender to that. To let them be there.
Even if it was for just one day.
TWENTY-SIX
Colby sat on a chair in Georgia’s living room, listening to her story and fighting the urge to scoop her up and hold her in his lap while she told it—buffer her somehow from the memories. She wasn’t crying anymore. After letting him and Keats inside and getting through a wash of tears, Georgia had left them briefly to wash her face and get some water. When she’d returned, she’d been composed again except for the telltale puffiness around her eyes. Emotions tucked back under the bed.
Colby understood why Georgia felt the need to wear that kind of armor, but he wished she felt safe enough to be vulnerable in front of him. No one was here to judge her on how tough she was. But despite her current stoicism, he knew it was a huge leap of trust that she was telling them her story.
She tucked her hands in her lap, her thumb rubbing the center of her palm. “I dated Phillip for a year. He seemed like a great guy. There for me after my friend Tyson’s death, understanding, supportive. Our connection felt comfortable and familiar. He was smart and successful, good-looking. He seemed to almost worship me like I was on some pedestal. Doted on me. Spoiled me. Always bringing me little gifts and going out of his way to do nice things for me. I loved that. I know that probably sounds self-centered and stupid.”
“Not at all,” Colby said, keeping his voice quiet so as not to startle her out of sharing this with them. “No one is going to fault anyone for wanting to feel cherished.”
“Looking back, I realize now that he knew exactly what buttons needed pushing for me. I was getting older. My friends were getting married and starting families. I hadn’t dated anyone seriously for a while, and I was getting that itch for something more long-term, getting those white-picket-fence fantasies. Tyson hadn’t been up for that, and really, we were better suited as friends, anyway. But once he was gone, Phillip could step in and fill that need I had by lavishing me with all the romance, courting me with gifts, trips, giving me all of his free time, talking about our future like it was an inevitable conclusion. It was hard not to fall into. But it was an acquisitions game for him, and I was simply the target. He wasn’t going to settle for anything less than complete possession.”
Colby’s neck prickled. He had a feeling this guy’s ideas of possession had no relation to the sexy kind in his world.
“At first, it was heady to be at the center of all that attention. That’s what women are supposed to want, right? The guy who only has eyes for you. But then he started to do things that weren’t so romantic, like make negative comments about my close friends or plan things so that it made it hard for me to spend time with them. His jealousy went from sweet and amusing to irrational over the course of the year we dated. By the end, pretty much any guy I came in contact with became a suspect in his mind. He’d swear he trusted me but not them. I’d had friends in abusive relationships and saw the signs heading that way, so I broke it off.”
“I’m guessing he didn’t take that well,” Keats said, his tone gentle but his eyes flickering with barely banked anger.
Colby knew the feeling. The thought of anyone hurting Georgia, of making her this fearful, sent murderous thoughts running through his head.
Georgia rubbed her lips together and shook her head. “No, he became obsessed, relentless. A creepy stalker right out of one of my novels. I hoped it would pass. I talked to the police, ignored the behavior, didn’t encourage him. All the things everyone had advised me to do. I started dating again, hoping that would send a clear message that I wasn’t coming back. But then . . .” She paused to take a shaky breath. “That just sent him over the cliff.”
Colby couldn’t stop himself this time. He moved from the chair to sit next to Georgia on the couch. He didn’t try to touch her but stretched his arm over the back of the couch. To his surprise, she scooted closer to him and leaned in. His arm went around her. “If this is too hard . . .”
“No,” she said with a little head shake. “Maybe it’s good I get it all out.”
Keats leaned forward and put a hand on her knee. “Go ahead, George. We’re listening.”
She didn’t speak for a few seconds but then seemed to gather her strength again. And when she told them the rest of the story—Tyson’s car accident, her almost-rape, her sister’s murder—Colby went cold all over, rage like an icy river running through him.
“He didn’t want to kill me because in his twisted mind, we were still meant to be together. But he wasn’t above hurting everyone around me to get to me. He took everything from me. And didn’t leave a bit of evidence behind.”
“Jesus,” Keats breathed. “George, I can’t even—please tell us he’s locked up.”
She lifted her gaze to him. “He’s out on bail in Chicago but can’t leave the state. No one except the legal team and my therapist know
s where I am. I’m supposed to testify in January. I’m the key witness since I’m the one who saw his erratic behavior up close. And I’m the one who talked to my sister every day and can vouch that she was in no way depressed or suicidal. I’m the one who can tell them about that day in the kitchen and the threats he made. Without my testimony, they don’t think they have enough to get a murder conviction. And here I am, the girl who can’t even cross the street without panicking.”
Colby rubbed her chilled arm. “Baby . . .”
She sat up, her shoulders stiffening, before he could say any more. “God, it sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”
Keats frowned. “Of course it doesn’t. You had a murderer after you. You lost people you loved. No one would blame you for being scared.”
But there was a fierceness morphing Georgia’s expression as Keats spoke. She stood. “Don’t give me an out, Keats.”
Keats’s eyebrows raised. “I was just—”
“Raleigh fucking died. Tyson died. Because of me. And here I am like some damn mouse hiding in the basement.” She paced across the floor, then turned to face both of them. “This isn’t what my sister would’ve done. She would be on the steps of the courthouse, shouting into the microphones and demanding justice. She would be fighting.”
“You are fighting,” Colby said. “Every damn day. Sometimes our bodies and brains don’t cooperate like we want, but I don’t see a woman giving up.”
She shook her head, her eyes wet again, but not in defeat—in frustration and anger. “No. I’m not fighting. I’m only surviving. That’s not good enough. I broke a mug in my kitchen today and freaked out. That—something as stupid and simple as that—should not control me.”
She stalked over to the coffee table and lifted the glass of water she’d been drinking.
“George—”
But her arm was already in motion. She tossed the glass against the wall, where it shattered into glittering wet shards. She bent over, hands to her knees, breathing hard.
Colby went to her side, and Keats jumped up from the couch. Keats disappeared into the kitchen, probably to get something to clean up the mess, and Colby wrapped his arms around her.
“Ready to call the men in white coats yet?” she quipped.
The comment brought a little smile with it, and relief coursed through him. She was upset but not panicking.
Keats was back in a flash, but instead of a rag, he had a tray full of coffee cups. “Come on, George. Let’s not do this halfway.”
She lifted her head. “What?”
He set down the tray and handed her two mugs. “Fuck these mugs. They’re nothing but colored sand. They don’t mean anything. They can’t hurt you.”
Colby stared at Keats as Keats lifted one of the mugs and launched it against the same wall Georgia had used for target practice. It hit with a thud, then broke when it hit the wood floor.
Georgia blinked, glanced between the two of them.
“See?” Keats said. “Nothing. Take that sound back. Breaking glass isn’t about the past. It’s about right now when you and your insane, but devastatingly handsome, neighbors completely demolished your coffee cup collection for shits and giggles.”
“You’re nuts,” she said, but there was light in her eyes.
“Yeah, he is,” Colby agreed, taking a cup from Keats. “And a genius.” Colby sent a cup flying. It shattered on impact, the simple act of destruction sending an odd zing of satisfaction through him. “Ahh, that’s definitely what I wanted to do when the principal put me on leave.”
Keats threw another. “And that’s what I wanted to do to Hank when he broke into my place.”
Georgia tossed one of her cups with more strength than Colby would’ve suspected she had in her. “And that’s for every time this damn fear has kept me in the house.”
Keats cheered and handed her another. Before long, they’d gone through most of Georgia’s set, Georgia doing most of the tosses. And she wasn’t crying anymore; she was laughing. They all were.
As Georgia launched the last mug, Colby reached out and grabbed the back of Keats’s neck, giving it a squeeze. He looked over at Colby, his gaze questioning. Colby leaned close to his ear. “Good job, Adam.”
Keats’s eyes warmed in a way that Colby knew he’d never get tired of. Hell, he’d still been shocked to wake up this morning and find that the former straight guy he’d sent to bed sticky and used had woken up without regrets. Keats had shuffled into the kitchen, looking fucking edible with his mussed hair and loose pajama bottoms, and had walked straight up to Colby and said, “I woke up smelling like you.”
“And?” Colby had asked, expecting the ax to come down.
“And it took everything I had not to jerk off.” Then Keats had kissed him.
Colby’s chest had filled with some feeling he couldn’t pin down, and he hadn’t been able to stanch his need to touch Keats again. He’d pushed Keats’s pants down and off, then used them to bind his wrists to the handle of the fridge. He’d then sat down and eaten his breakfast while he watched Keats stand there naked and hard. After Colby had eaten his last bite, he’d stripped, grabbed a bottle of olive oil, and jerked them both off, cock against cock. They’d both been weak-kneed and recovering when the texts had come through from Georgia.
Colby had read them aloud, and Keats had switched from obedient, willing submissive to man on a mission in two seconds flat. He’d pulled off the bindings and yanked up his pants. “Get in the shower and be quick. We’re going over there.”
Colby hadn’t corrected him on the sudden order. He’d wanted to get to Georgia as soon as possible, too. So they’d jumped in their respective showers and gotten ready in record time. Colby had at first insisted he go over alone so that they didn’t overwhelm her. But Keats had refused outright. Now Colby was glad he hadn’t wasted any time fighting that battle. Because Georgia had needed them. Both of them.
Colby knew he was good at being a calming force. With hysterical teenagers. With subs bottoming out. With his not-always-stable family. He’d learned how to be a steady and soothing presence amongst chaos. And Georgia had needed some of that this morning. But that hadn’t been all she needed. She’d also needed a little wildness, a way to fight the bad crazy with good crazy. To find her own fire again. And Keats knew how to jump outside the lines and act on pure emotion. He knew how to light matches.
So seeing Georgia laughing and visibly relieved as she walked over to the pile of broken glass felt like a victory for all of them.
“Looks like you’re going to need to send your slacker assistant to Bed Bath and Beyond,” Colby said. “Or give up coffee.”
Georgia turned around, her brown eyes full of emotion as she stared back at them. “What am I going to do with the two of you?”
“Would you like a list?” Keats asked. “Because I have some suggestions.”
Georgia laughed. “Most inappropriate employee ever.”
Keats shrugged, unrepentant. “Want to fire me?”
Georgia glanced at Colby, smiled, then walked over to Keats, put her hands on his cheeks, and planted a full smacking kiss right on his mouth. “Yep. You’re canned.”
Keats blinked, clearly astonished. But when Georgia moved to step away, Keats hooked the collar of her shirt and brought her back in for more than a peck. Colby could hear Georgia’s gasp at the contact and he watched, riveted, as Keats parted Georgia’s lips and gave her the full devastating power of his mouth. Colby knew firsthand what that felt like and how impossible it was to resist. And sure enough, though Georgia had stiffened when Keats had pulled her back to him, now she melted in his grasp and kissed him back, sliding her fingers into Keats’s hair.
Colby had to swallow back the groan. So. Fucking. Hot. Both of them. His lovers.
No, not quite. Not his. Not really.
Not yet.
T
he last thought punched him right in the chest. The driving intention seeming to come from outside himself.
No, that wasn’t what this was. This was supposed to be casual, messing around. A little fling with Georgia. A little training with Keats. Maybe a threesome thrown into the mix if the two of them were open to it. That was what they were doing. That was what he’d agreed to.
But watching Georgia and Keats together, he knew he was lying to himself. If they all three ended up in bed together, he couldn’t imagine he’d be able to simply move on like he did every other time. Have some fun, do some kink, on to the next adventure. No way. He was in too deep already with both of them separately. Put them all together, and he didn’t have a fucking shot at staying cool and devil-may-care about it.
Because as he stood there he found himself wondering what it would be like to have more. To have it all. To have them both. What if they were truly his?
But he had to shake himself out of those fantasies. What he was imagining was a pipe dream. There were three of them. And two of the three weren’t looking for a relationship. Plus, even if they were out for more, this wasn’t a simple boy-meets-girl or boy-meets-boy arrangement. This shit would be more than a little complicated. And yes, his friend Jace had somehow managed to maintain a triad relationship, so Colby knew it could be done. But he’d also watched many others at The Ranch try nontraditional arrangements like that and fail miserably. Hell, his own record with all types of romantic relationships was damn dismal. Just because he’d started to want a committed relationship didn’t mean he’d necessarily be good at it.
He just needed to get his head together and enjoy this for what it was—friendship and a hot time with two kinky people.
Colby brought his focus back to the two people in front of him. Keats was in control of the kiss and pulled back after a few hot seconds. He smiled broadly at a stunned Georgia and touched the tip of his finger to her wet lips. “Now that one was worth getting fired for.”
Georgia’s wide-eyed gaze slid to Colby, her eyelashes fluttering as she apparently tried to get her bearings. “Uh . . .”