had conversations that started with statements like “Remember that time we snuck out to follow Alec and Gabe to The Hole?” (Josh) and “OK, real talk, I actually hate mushrooms, and I wish you’d stop putting them in the stir fry” (Tyler) and “I’ll kill you all if you ever tell anyone, but . . .” (Alec).
I learned more about Alec and Ty’s bad-boy stage, their time hanging with the rough crowd from The Hole.
“Alec did it for many reasons, not least of all for the sense of control it gave him,” Tyler mused, swirling his pinot grigio. The corded muscle in his forearms danced with every movement. “But for me it was more about the challenge. My ability is passive. I never had to control it or rein it in. I just had to learn to keep my mouth shut when I accidentally learned something private. But other than that, I was free to use it all day and at any time. Fighting at The Hole made me learn how to control it, how to turn it off. I loved the mental challenge of figuring out how to do that more than learning how to fight, although that was fun too.”
“Eventually.” Alec smirked. “You got your ass handed to you the first few times.”
“Not the first time.” Tyler laughed. “The first time I didn’t even last two minutes before that fucking light went off telling everyone I’d used my ability. It was second nature. It took me ages to learn how to turn it off. Then I started getting my ass handed to me.”
Later that night we got onto the topic of food, and Ethan told us he really didn’t want to play pro sports. He had the talent and natural affinity for it, could probably have his pick of football, baseball, and ice hockey teams if he chose to really focus and train. “But honestly, all I want to do is cook.” He shrugged his big shoulders and looked around at the guys sheepishly.
“Bro, if you wanna cook”—Alec leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees—“then fucking cook. Who cares?”
Josh jumped in. “Life’s too short, man, filled with bad shit, pain, and loss. Follow your fucking dream.”
“You can totally do it. I know.” Tyler tapped the side of his head, half joking about his ability in an attempt to lighten the mood. It worked, and we all laughed.
I took Ethan’s big hand in mine and squeezed. I had no doubts at all he could do whatever he set his mind to. All of them could. And with each other’s support, we would be unstoppable. If we managed to survive the clusterfuck our lives had turned into. If the world managed to survive.
It seemed none of us really wanted to talk about that though—it was too heavy and bitter a subject for the sweet, warm night. It was too hard to talk about the future when we were precariously balanced on the tip of a sharp knife, unsure if we were about to slide down the smooth side, unharmed, or go plummeting down the sharp edge, leaving streaks of red behind.
Despite the way Tyler frowned at the laptop every day, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his worry, we managed to ignore the world for a few days and just enjoy one another. If my mother had taught me anything, it was to find joy in these moments—to seize the times of laughter and positivity, hold them tight, and let yourself embrace them. Because you never know when the next threat will come.
So I enjoyed the fresh food, the wonderful wine, the honest conversation with my Bond. I reveled in the warm sun on my shoulders during the day, in their embrace at night as I made love to one or sometimes more than one of them.
For a few blissful days, I let the rest of the world fade into the background as I lost myself in their stories, their smiles, their affectionate yet possessive touches. I knew I was sticking my head in the sand, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. For the first time since I’d met them, there were no secrets—not from everyone else and not from one another—and no immediate threats to our lives.
So fuck it! I was treating it like a Greek holiday and enjoying every minute.
The morning of the fourth day, we all had a slight hangover from the wine, and we lounged around the cottage and the patio. After days