by Mari Carr
Erin stopped trying to turn around. She remained quiet, and if he wasn’t standing here with his guts ripped out, he might have been amused by the fact that he’d actually rendered the queen of talkers speechless.
“She never got better.”
“Oh God,” she breathed, the sound shaky, betraying how close she was to tears.
“I just wanted you to know that, so you’d understand when…you see me.”
Erin nodded but didn’t try to move. Not until he released his grip on her shoulders and took a step back. Even then, she remained as she was for a second, and he watched as she straightened her spine. He knew her well enough to know she was preparing herself, digging deep to find that strength he’d just told her he admired. Maybe never more so than in this moment.
When she turned around, she kept her eyes on his, and if she’d shed tears as he spoke, she’d gotten them under control now. He held his breath when her gaze lowered.
She didn’t say anything as she looked at his chest, at the scars, some hidden behind the tattoos, others still waiting to be concealed.
Erin started to circle him slowly, her eyes missing nothing as she looked at the long, jagged white scar on his arm, evidence of that final blow, the slice of the knife.
She stopped when she stood behind him.
His back was the worst, he knew it. When he was younger, he’d always turned away from his mother, the reaction sheer protective instinct, so his back had taken the brunt of the abuse—the cuts from broken liquor bottles, the cigarette burns. Bruises faded and went away. Cuts and burns left a lasting stain.
He’d always wondered if that had been his mother’s intent. If she’d wanted him to have visible proof of just exactly who he belonged to. After all, he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror and not think of her, every single time his gaze landed on the scars.
Gavin braced himself in case Erin reached out to touch him, holding himself still as stone. Oliver was the only one who’d ever touched his scars, and it was taking everything he had not to walk away from her, out of this room.
When she completed her circle, she stopped in front of him, her hands still by her side.
“Thank you for showing me. For trusting me,” she whispered.
He nodded, unable to speak.
The softness in her eyes turned to what he’d come to know as pure Moretti steel when she added, “And if I ever meet your mother, I’m ripping every fucking hair out of her scalp. And then I’m gonna get serious.”
Gavin wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t that, and he couldn’t hold back the loud bark of laughter. Erin didn’t share his mirth, her anger over his scars too new, too hot. He’d had a lifetime to look at them, so it was easier for him.
He reached out and grabbed her, pulled her into his arms for a hug, no longer worried about her touching him. When she wrapped her arms around his, her fingers brushing over the scars, he waited for the horror to sink in. It didn’t.
Instead, all he felt was her softness, her warmth, and a comfort he’d never experienced before. “Gotta admit. I’m sort of tempted to introduce you to her now,” he joked, shocking himself with his response.
Erin, like Oliver, always knew exactly how to soothe his hurts, to make him feel almost normal in the face of something that was so fucking abnormal. She lifted her head to look at him, even as they remained connected, skin to skin, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The compassion in her eyes warmed him all the way to the bone and stirred something in his heart he couldn’t recognize, couldn’t define at first.
Then he figured it out. Erin had done it. Broken through the last of his barriers. He couldn’t believe how fucking good it felt.
“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide the thickness in his voice. “Let’s grab clean shirts and finish this lasagna. I’m starving.”
An hour later, he sat at the kitchen table with Erin and Oliver, the three of them putting a serious dent in the homemade lasagna. After changing shirts, he and Erin had returned to the kitchen, and while things between them were as easy as always, there was also a new…layer…to their relationship. It was as if their friendship had deepened in those few minutes, pulling them even closer. Oliver was the only other person Gavin had ever let so far in, and a small part of him kept waiting for that moment when regret over showing her his back kicked in.
It hadn’t hit yet. Maybe it wouldn’t.
“How’s your Pop Pop doing?” Gavin asked.
Oliver shrugged. “Hanging in there. The man is stronger than me, that’s for damn sure. He showed me where they hung Grandma Sunday’s ornaments on the tree at Riley and Aaron’s house. It felt…weird.”
“Yeah. Christmas is going to be different this year.” Gavin’s first true Christmas had been spent with the Collins family the year he’d come to live with them. The entire family celebrated at the pub because no one’s house was big enough to hold them all. Gavin could recall feeling completely overwhelmed, hugging a wall near the back of the room as he took it all in. He’d admitted to Oliver a few years later that until he’d seen a Collins Christmas, he’d always thought holiday movies were full of shit, pure fiction, certain that no one did the big tree, the carol singing, and all the hugging and presents. He and his mother typically went to the shelter for a free meal, then came home, carrying on as if it was any other day.
Oliver wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Caitlyn insists there’s plenty of room for all of us to celebrate at her new house.”
“She’s not wrong,” Gavin said. “We could have put two of the pubs in that mansion of hers.”
Oliver’s oldest cousin, Caitlyn, had married billionaire, Lucas Whiting. They’d had their first child last spring, at which point Lucas insisted they needed a bigger house. Caitlyn still joked about the enormity of the house he’d found for them, proclaiming they could both roam around for weeks and never find each other.
Lucas said he wanted to make sure there was plenty of room for their seven kids, while Caitlyn reminded him that they were stopping at two. The Collins family had a wager going over whether or not Caitlyn would hold firm to that number, the majority of the bets in favor of Lucas coming out on top.
Their first child, a little girl named Gretchen, already had her father wrapped around her finger, and Lucas was ready to start working on baby number two. For a man who’d spent the first thirty-nine years of his life amassing wealth and determined to hold on to his bachelor status, Lucas had done a complete one-eighty now, declaring there was nothing like life as a family man.
“It’ll only be for one year. By this time next year, we’ll be back in the pub. Back in the apartment above,” Oliver said.
Gavin nodded but not necessarily because he agreed. Now that Erin and Oliver had taken the leap and moved in with each other, he couldn’t see them going back to the way things were.
Which would, once again, thrust him into the position of odd man out.
After dinner, they cleaned up the dishes and watched the hockey game on TV, he and Oliver pissed off when the Caps lost to the Bruins in double overtime.
“That’s me for the night,” Gavin said, standing up and stretching. “I’m worn out.”
“Yeah, we won’t be too far behind you,” Oliver said.
“Night, Gavin,” Erin said, smiling at him just the same as always. He was relieved she wasn’t suddenly viewing him with pity. That would have killed him.
Then, he wondered briefly if she would tell Oliver what had happened in the kitchen. It didn’t matter one way or the other. If she didn’t, he would. And then he’d tell the two of them about his mother being released from the psychiatric hospital. He still hadn’t dropped that bomb, but tonight didn’t feel like the right time, considering he’d only just told Erin she wasn’t dead.
Gavin trudged down the hall to his room. Oliver and Erin shared her bedroom. Climbing into bed, the exhaustion he’d felt in the living room vanished as he tossed
and turned restlessly. It was annoying because he truly couldn’t put his finger on what exactly was wrong with him. Instead, his mind leapt from one thing to the next, never landing on anything for long.
For the last hour, the apartment had been quiet. Obviously, Oliver and Erin had gone to bed.
Gavin stood up and quietly opened the door to his room, prepared to raid the fridge. Maybe a midnight snack would help settle him down.
Erin’s apartment had an open plan, the doorway to the kitchen to the left, while the living room and dining room were one big space.
He’d just reached the door to the kitchen when a noise—heavy breathing and a low moan—captured his attention and he looked toward the couch.
He froze when he saw Erin, naked, on top of Oliver. Riding him.
Gavin stood there for several minutes, waging an internal war with himself. He should turn around and go back to his room. That was the sane, rational, respectful thing to do.
However, the voyeuristic side was winning.
Big-time.
Erin’s hands were on Oliver’s bare chest, her fingers stroking his pecs as she slowly rose and fell. Oliver’s hands were on her breasts and he was plumping them, toying with her nipples, which were hard, erect.
“Lean down,” Oliver said, his voice deep, sexy. “I want to taste you.”
Erin shifted until her breasts were just above Oliver’s waiting mouth. Gavin watched his best friend suck one of her nipples, his cock stirring at the sound of Erin’s aroused groan.
“God, Ollie,” she whispered. “So good.”
Oliver continued to suck on her tit as one hand stroked down her side, settling on her hip.
“Suck harder,” Erin urged.
Oliver obviously found the sweet spot, his rough suction spurring Erin to ride him faster. Oliver released her nipple with a pop as Erin pushed herself upright again.
“So deep,” she murmured. “You’re so deep inside me.”
“You feel so good, sweet girl.”
Sweet girl.
Gavin reached down and ran his hand over his erection. He’d gone rock hard the second Oliver had sucked Erin’s nipple into his mouth.
He shouldn’t be here.
God, he shouldn’t be here.
But he couldn’t look away. He stroked himself as he watched them.
No.
Not them.
Her.
Erin’s body was lifting and falling, her breasts bouncing, as Oliver’s large hands spanned her tiny waist. They fit together perfectly. He’d never seen a naked woman, never felt that desire. Every lover in his past had been male, all his porn man on man, but there was no denying she was gorgeous, sexy.
Then he recalled her hug earlier, how soft her skin and her body had felt. Men were built harder, rougher. She’d felt like a silk pillow, one he wanted to stroke with his fingertips, to rub his cheek against, nestle close to.
“Say it, Erin,” Oliver urged. “Need to hear, to know…”
“God. Ollie.” Erin’s breathing grew more rapid, then it stuttered for a moment as her eyes drifted closed. She threw her head back as pleasure consumed her. Then she cried out the last thing he’d ever expected to hear. “Gavin.”
His heart stopped beating as he fought to believe what he’d heard.
Had she really said his name?
He couldn’t lower his gaze, couldn’t look away as she came. He’d never seen anything so…beautiful.
He pressed on his cock harder, suddenly aware he was close to coming himself.
Gavin took a step back, but froze when Oliver groaned, his own climax coming to claim him.
Gavin turned his attention to Oliver’s face and watched as his hips lurched upwards, his back arching as he came inside her.
Fuck.
Gavin returned to his room as quickly, as quietly as he could. Closing the door behind him, he pushed his sweatpants down, gripped his cock, and jerked it roughly, fantasizing about what he’d just witnessed.
Less than a dozen strokes later and he was coming, cupping the head of his dick to catch as much of the come as he could.
He leaned against the door, his strength suddenly zapped. His heart was racing, his eyes clenched shut tightly. He remained there for several minutes, trying to come to grips with what he’d just done.
With what had happened.
And he suddenly understood that sleep was going to continue to elude him.
Because it wasn’t Oliver’s face he’d just imagined as he jerked himself to completion.
It was Erin’s.
7
Oliver lifted his head from the pillow, propping himself up on his elbow when Erin sat on the edge of the mattress to put her shoes on.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
He waved away her apology. “Wanted to kiss you goodbye anyway. What time do you get off?”
“My shift is over at five, so I’ll be here for dinner.”
He nodded. “Okay. Gavin and I will hit the store later on and figure out something to make.”
She leaned toward him and gave him a quick kiss. “You all are spoiling me. Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning. Keep this up and I’ll never let you leave.”
Oliver winked at her. “That’s sort of the point.”
Erin shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
She had confided in him last night, after Gavin went to bed, that he’d shown her his scars. She’d cried quietly, shaken by the memory, angry at Gavin’s mother and devastated to learn that he’d suffered so much pain as a child. She’d known his childhood had been rough, but hearing it and seeing the proof were two different things. Oliver knew that from experience.
Oliver had consoled her, holding her close for a long time. Once she’d pulled herself together, she’d asked him to make love to her. Of course, in the end, she’d made love to him, pushing him to his back on the couch and climbing on top. Typically, he took the lead in the bedroom, but he’d gotten a sense that she wanted to call the shots, taking what she needed to wipe away the sad feelings.
Oliver sat up and reached out, pulling her to him for a longer kiss, pressing her lips open and tasting the toothpaste on her breath.
After they’d come last night, they had dragged themselves to bed, both of them still feeling a bit raw. He’d enveloped her in his arms and she’d fallen asleep quickly. It had taken Oliver a lot longer, something weighing heavy on his mind.
When he broke the kiss, he whispered, “He watched us last night.”
Erin’s silence confirmed his suspicions.
“You knew that, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I knew he was there. I…God… What does it say about me that knowing he was watching us totally turned me on?”
“It says you’re perfect for me,” he joked.
Erin punched his shoulder playfully. “Kinky bastard.”
Oliver laughed for a moment but sobered up quickly. “You want it, don’t you? The three of us. You’re falling for him.”
She didn’t answer right away. She didn’t need to.
“Erin,” he prodded.
“I love you, Ollie.” There was no mistaking the panic—and maybe guilt—in her tone.
He gave her a grin. Sometimes he forgot that most of the world didn’t grow up like he did. “Your feelings for Gavin don’t negate how you feel about me.” He pointed at himself. “Three parents…wildly in love with each other, remember? You can love me and Gavin. I think you already do.”
“He’s easy to love,” she admitted. “You both are. But it doesn’t matter how I feel or what we want. He doesn’t want…me.”
“Sweet girl,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “No. You and I both know it wasn’t me he was looking at last night. It was you.”
Oliver heard the note of dejection in her voice. Pulling her close, he hugged her tightly, kissing her once more as he cupped her cheeks, then lowering his hands to touch her breasts, tempted
to wipe the bad feelings away the same way he had last night…with sex.
It probably wasn’t the most mature thing to do, but morning wood was a fact of life.
She groaned when he pinched her nipples through her shirt and bra, then broke off the kiss. “Dammit, Ollie, you’re making me horny. And I can’t be horny. I have to go right now or I’m going to be late.”
He chuckled and released her.
Reluctantly.
“Fine. Rain check for later though.”
She stood up, bending over for one last quick kiss. “Damn right.”
He listened as she walked down the hall, and a few minutes later, he heard the apartment door close behind her. He dropped back onto the bed, debating whether or not to treat himself to another hour of sleep or if he should just go ahead and get up. Saturday was typically his “get shit done” day, when he did the laundry, shopping, and housecleaning. He preferred it that way because that left his Sundays free for just generally being lazy and fucking around.
“Screw it,” he murmured. He was already awake, so he decided to get up.
Rising, he dressed and then grabbed the full laundry basket.
He’d just put a load in the washer when he heard Gavin coming out of his room.
“Morning,” Gavin said, clearing the sleep out of his throat. “You’re up early.”
Oliver nodded. “Yeah. Got up with Erin.”
“She gone already?” Gavin asked, looking around.
“Yep. Won’t be back until five, so I told her we’d fix dinner.”
“Um. Yeah. That’s cool.”
Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of the look on his friend’s face, trying to decide if Gavin was uncomfortable about Erin seeing the scars or if he was bothered by what he’d seen them doing on the couch.
“Breakfast?” Gavin asked.
“Sure.” The two of them ventured to the kitchen. Oliver grabbed a frying pan while Gavin pulled some bacon and eggs from the refrigerator. After so many years of living together, they worked together quietly and efficiently, whipping up a big breakfast.
“So, I’ve been thinking…” Gavin started, his gaze looking everywhere but at him.
