me. Fight for me. Fight for the three of us and our future. Because I’m tired and exhausted, and I feel hopeless and defeated…and I can’t do this anymore on my own. I need you, Maz. My love alone is not enough to fix this.”
Maz stayed at his feet, even when Lucan rose from his seat. He’d never felt smaller in his life, and the urge to lower himself even more was almost irresistible. His throat felt like razors, tight and sharp. Even breathing was painful. “I’m in,” he said, the words soft as a whisper. “I’m in all the way. I love you. I know I haven’t shown any proof, but I do love Sando. And I’ll tell you I’m sorry as often as you need if that’s what—”
“I don’t need more apologies. I need actions. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Show me you mean it. Tell me how we’re going to make sure Sando is safe.”
Maz raised his head. Lucan looked deadly serious, even if his eyes were red-rimmed and showing his exhaustion. He might think he was about to give up, but he still had a lot of fight left in him. Maz vowed that as long as he lived, he’d never forget that it had been Lucan who had given it his all. Not Maz, not Sando, but Lucan. He was their core, their heart and soul. He was their everything, and if what Enar and the others felt for Palani was even a fraction of what Maz felt for Lucan right now, he couldn’t even fathom how they’d cope with losing him.
“It’s simple. We go get him.”
6
Sando didn’t know what had transpired between his father and Maz two weeks before, but it hadn’t been good. His father hadn’t said a word about it, but his demeanor had made clear that as far as he was concerned, it had not been a positive visit. Had Maz said something to him? Had he spoken up on Sando’s behalf?
Sando hadn’t dared ask his father when he came back, not when his face had shown he was one minor step away from a full-blown eruption. And when he’d run into Lucan in the kitchen of Jawon’s House and had asked if Maz had mentioned anything, Lucan had merely said that Maz had stressed to Sando’s father that he should treat Sando right. Whatever that meant.
Two weeks later, his father’s mood still hadn’t improved, and Sando was exhausted from walking on eggshells the whole time. He’d learned that the littlest things could set his father off—he’d slapped Sando again the day before when he’d burned the fried eggs—so he tried to stay out of his way and anticipate his needs as best he could. So far, he’d at least prevented worse, but the thick tension in the air made him nauseous. He rubbed his stomach as he stood in the middle of his bedroom, having just gotten dressed. He dreaded the day ahead—another torturous day with his father.
Or maybe it was something else? Maybe it was stress. He hadn’t been feeling well recently. Lots of headaches, trouble sleeping, feeling feverish but not actually having a fever, and just so tired. He was tired all the time, all day, every day. Sando wasn’t a doctor, but all these were stress-related symptoms, so that seemed to be the most logical explanation.
Living with his father was slowly killing him, and nothing helped. Not his efforts at getting enough sleep, at eating healthy, at drinking plenty of water like Lucan had always encouraged him to. Hell, he’d even started taking the damn multivitamins again his father had always insisted on. Science showed those things weren’t all that useful and that fresh vitamins in healthy food worked much more effectively, but at this time, Sando was willing to try anything to feel better.
How long could he do this? How long could he be whoever his father wanted him to be? Or maybe he should ask himself how long he would have to do this. Was there a time limit on being grateful? On being a good son? Or was there a moment where he’d be allowed to walk away and choose his own happiness?
If he even still had a shot at happiness. Lucan and Maz wouldn’t wait for him indefinitely. That much he did know. No matter what they said, at some point, they’d grow tired of waiting for him and would either continue with the two of them or would find another omega. One