Lilac

Since I was the only one who knew, I answered her question. “I love you.”

She whirled around to look at me and blushed when I held her stare.

Yeah, that’s right, baby. I love you.

“All of it?” Her brows rose.

“I can only read a few of them, but that seems to be the gist.” I shrugged.

“And the red pieces?” she inquired.

I was silent since I had no fucking clue, but I was curious, so I stood and moved until I stood at the wall next to Braxton. Houston and Rich did the same until we all stood together, staring at “I love you,” written in over two-hundred languages.

“It’s a heart.” Braxton’s head swiveled toward Rich. Of course, his angst-riddled ass had to be the one to crack the code. “One heart torn apart by love. Or lack thereof. It could symbolize anything.”

“What do you think it means?” Braxton asked him.

Jericho was quiet as he stared at the wall. I’m sure he already knew the answer since he’d been staring at it for hours. “Pain isn’t singular. We’re not alone, no matter how much it seems that way. Someone out there feels it too, and if we ever meet, we could bring our broken pieces together. We could bind them and form one heart.” He looked into her brown eyes. “We could be Bound.”

Nice.

Braxton melted, and I smirked.

Rich was good for something, after all.

He looked at me over her head like he’d heard my thoughts. When Braxton turned to me, I made sure to school my expression. We weren’t quite out of the dog house yet.

“We can go,” our little dictator decided after she’d taken a few pictures of the wall.

I knew she’d post them on her Instagram later, but at least it wouldn’t be with some nauseating caption spouting bullshit the person who wrote it didn’t even believe.

Braxton was too gangster.

She’d post a heart. Enough said.

We turned to leave, and I scooped her into my arms the moment she took a step forward and winced.

“Thanks,” she said with a relieved exhale once she was settled with her arms around my neck. “New heels. I haven’t broken them in yet.”

“I know.” I gazed down at her as the four of us left the garden square to get started on the rest of our lives together. “Can I fuck you in them sometime?”

I was feeling pretty optimistic about our future when she smiled.Today marked one year since meeting Houston, Loren, and Jericho.

It’s been three months since Paris. Three blissful months spent touring Europe. There were no more lies and no more secrets.

Loren told me about being left for dead after convincing his mother to leave her abusive marriage. He told me his father’s offer if he quit Bound and came home, and then he made it clear that it wasn’t happening now or ever. He even confessed his part in ruining Rich’s marriage.

Jericho told me about his time in foster care and group homes. He told me about meeting Emily…and the things she made him do to prove that he loved her. What he didn’t tell me, but I pieced together on my own, was that she’d taken advantage of his search for an unbreakable bond and used him like her personal puppet.

My heart broke for him.

It broke for that lonely, desperate kid who couldn’t see that he’d already found it with Houston and Loren.

Jericho had signed that deal with Savant to give his wife the life she demanded so that he wouldn’t have to steal and hurt and destroy anymore. He’d given his soul for Emily, and she ruined him in return.

Even with all that honesty, I was left to wonder what skeletons Houston was hiding in his closet. He didn’t seem to have any, but neither had Jericho.

They were tortured, yes.

We all were.

But I was praying there was nothing else waiting to jump out of the bushes and bite us.

That reason and curiosity were why I agreed to meet Houston’s grandmother. The three of them had planned for us to meet the first time they brought me home, but I ran away before they could arrange it, so this time, they weren’t taking any chances.

It’s barely been an hour since we’d returned to Portland, and we were already on our way. The second leg was done, and we had a month before the tour continued until ending for good in May.

I smiled to myself as we quietly rode through the city in the Suburban that had been waiting for us when the private plane landed.

I couldn’t wait to get back to their fort.

Or, as Loren called it, the treehouse.

Houston and Rich refused to acknowledge either truth.

I immediately realized where they’d gotten their love for Victorian architecture when we pulled up to the blue two-story on a small hill with white framing the windows and doors and a dark brick roof. The neighborhood was quiet since it was a late Tuesday morning, long after kids had gone to school, and parents had left for work.