Healing the Wounds (35 page)

“Sure. I mean, same to you.” She shot through the halls and stairs. Something about that woman made her feel small.

Shoving the discomfort to the back of her mind, she delivered the juice to a somewhat calmer Jay.

He drained the bottle at Henry’s insistence and flexed the empty plastic like a makeshift stress ball, crush and release.

They made their way down the stairs, Alice turning lights off behind them as they went, Jay holding tight to Henry’s hand with the one not creating a steady stream of pop-and-crunch noises.

Henry settled Jay in the car, letting him keep the increasingly crumpled plastic.

Emma exited the club’s back door a moment later and set the alarm. Scanning her surroundings, she paused and nodded to Henry and Alice before going to her car.

She didn’t approach, didn’t intrude, and Alice wasn’t certain whether that made her feel better or worse. She almost wanted the woman to give her a reason for her dislike. Some imperfection. Something Emma wasn’t the number one, all time best at.

They drove home with the light strains of classical music and the occasional, fading crunch of plastic for accompaniment. Weary. That’s how she felt, and Jay no doubt felt the same a hundredfold, and Henry, too, after navigating such a rocky shore.

They readied themselves for bed with none of the innuendo and teasing the activity normally engendered, only an abundance of small gestures. Touching of hands, steadying comforts declaring
I’m here
and demanding nothing in return.

When they slipped under the covers, she and Henry cradled Jay between them like new parents, lying on their sides, hands resting together on his chest, feeling his every breath in the darkness.

“Henry?”

“Yes, my boy?”

“Tonight was—” Jay gulped in a raw breath. “Thank you for making it less scary. And Alice, too. When I, in my nightmares it’s always, I’m always alone. And it’s worse. I made it worse in my head. But you made it better.”

“The hard work was yours, Jay. You must take credit for it, hmm? For being the brave boy I know you are. That strength, that willingness to bare your fears and confront them, is yours to claim.” He laid a gentle kiss on Jay’s brow. “You make me so very proud to call you mine, Jay.”

“Make you proud,” Jay repeated, and the wiggle in his body communicated his joy better than words ever could. Nothing in the world—not a bike ride, not chocolate, not orgasms—made him happier than pleasing Henry. He yawned, lifting their hands.

Henry hummed a slow melody. Jay’s eyelids fluttered.

She lay silent, studying his smooth face, feeling the lingering tension drop from his frame as he let go. The sandman owed him sweet dreams.

She ought to roll over and find sleep herself, she supposed, when she’d watched Jay for longer minutes than she could count. But Henry shifted his hand, covering hers. He wouldn’t be sleeping for a while yet, either.

“Thank you for tonight, Alice,” he whispered. “He follows your example, you know. Mine is too distant for him at times, I think. Unattainable, as he sees it.”

His soft sigh pained her. Henry prided himself on providing for them. His ache must run deep when the gulf between dominant and submissive prevented him from giving Jay what he believed he needed.

“He sees in you the balance he needs to find in himself. Your willingness to continually confront new things gave him the strength to pierce the veneer, the well-adjusted gloss hiding the pain he couldn’t address. I’m more hopeful for his sense of self now than I’ve been in all the time I’ve known him. Before I loved him, even.”

She sucked in a breath. Henry rarely shared such thoughts with her. And that…that was what made her hackles rise around Emma. Henry’s heart and body belonged to her and Jay, but she worried about his mind. His soul, if she wanted to be poetic.

It wasn’t something she would’ve fought for with previous lovers, wasn’t something she’d cared about or known existed. Fucking was fucking, and talking was optional and likely to lead to troublesome attachments. She’d dumped guys for less emotional intimacy than this.

“This is, these are the sorts of things you talk about with Emma.” With Henry, she wanted everything. Wanted to
be
everything.

“Hopes and fears.” His intimate tone carried no surprise. Her chess master would’ve guessed seeing Emma tonight would make her wonder about her own role in his life. “For Jay. For you. Never specifics. He needs confident leadership from me. You, at the outset, needed a sense of freedom and control. The ability to walk away, as you’d done before.”

“While you made it so appealing that I wouldn’t want to.” She hadn’t considered how difficult that would have been for him, the balance he’d struck as she’d struggled with her feelings, wavering between pushing them away and wanting them closer.

“I’m not much of a fisherman, Alice.” He cupped her cheek, his hand warm, his grin wry. “And you would have fought the line doubly hard if you’d seen the hook for what it was. I did try to tell you.”

He had? “When?”

“The morning of our anniversary dinner. I blatantly offered to declare my love.”

“You—but that was a joke.” He’d brought her breakfast and teased her about…getting down on one knee.

“Only to you, sweet girl. You weren’t ready to hear it.” He slipped his hand behind her head and cuddled her close as he could with Jay asleep between them, his grip firm, as if he feared she might yet leave him. “For me, it was very real.”

“And I told you love wasn’t my style.” God, she was an idiot.

“Mmm. Your response solidified my belief that something more…structured. Solidly built? With a sound contractual foundation, perhaps? Might prove a more effective lure than an outright declaration of my intentions.” He let go, smoothing her hair and sliding his hand down her arm to interlace their fingers. “But I always meant to lead you here.”

Here. Terrifying at first, but growing more comfortable with every day that passed. More secure. More confident. More right for her. Because she was…maturing? Standing in one place long enough to pour concrete footers reinforced with rebar. Certain she could give Henry the submission he wanted and keep the flexibility, the independence, to be an equal partner. Far from competing, their needs dovetailed. Even closer, now, when he shared his thoughts with her.

“You said Jay needs confident leadership. And when you’ve felt…less than confident…maybe you’ve gone to Emma for advice.” The idea might sting less as time went on, as Henry came to see he could lean on her, that she was capable of seeing weakness from him without it diminishing his strength in her eyes. “But I’m not Jay. Sometimes I need to see your vulnerability and help you with it the way you’ve helped me find and accept mine.”

“Maybe so, my sweet Alice.” He raised her hand, turned the palm up and laid a gentle kiss within. “Sweet, and strong, and smart. Our balance is perfected with you here.” He kissed her again and returned their linked hands to Jay’s chest. “But for now I want you to obey me and follow Jay’s example. Sleep. If you aren’t well-rested in the morning, you’ll be using a sick day from work. No arguments.”

She snorted, quietly, as she twisted and wiggled to make herself more comfortable. No arguments, right. If she had pressing work to do and Henry felt she needed to stay home, she’d use her safeword, explain the situation, and carry on as she needed to. His power was her gift, and sometimes the rest of the world would interfere. But when it didn’t…

“No argument,” she agreed, eyes closing. “Love you.”

“And I you, my dear girl.” He sighed, soft and low. “You and Jay saturate my soul with indescribable beauty.”

His declaration echoed in her mind until sleep came.

After publishing three books, M.Q. Barber still doesn’t quite believe this author thing is happening to her. Readers loving Henry, Alice, and Jay as much as she does is number one on her list of all-time favorite things. (But if her husband asks, tell him it’s him, okay? This’ll be our little secret.)

Healing the Wounds
grew out of the desire to realistically deal with Jay’s pain and Alice’s uncertainty as the trio moves into a full-time, long-term relationship. Hurting the characters is never easy, even when it’s necessary. But as Henry would say, it’s best to confront our fears.

Keep in touch with the author on Goodreads, Facebook and Twitter by searching for M.Q. Barber. For monthly updates, sneak peeks, and exclusive short fiction, sign up for her author newsletter at www.mqbarber.com.

And if you love reading about Henry, Alice, and Jay, please take a minute and post a review online at Amazon, Goodreads, or wherever else you swap book recommendations. Jay’s making the puppy-dog eyes. Even Henry can’t resist the power of the puppy-dog eyes.

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Playing the Game

Crossing the Lines

Lyrical Press books are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018

Copyright © 2014 M.Q. Barber

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Lyrical Press and the L logo are trademarks of Kensington Publishing Corp.

First Electronic Edition: June 2014

ISBN-13: 978-1-61650-533-2