Luke stepped up on the deck. “Have you asked him to define soon? You know he loves to rile you up, little one. Try not to take the bait so easily.”
River and I chuckled.
I was happy for my friends. Colt and Lucas finding Kit had completed their dynamic. Together, they’d become frequent visitors here, and no longer just as monitors or buddies. They had a whole kink world to show their boy.
I could admit, it was waking up a desire within me I thought hadn’t existed. I’d always been perfectly satisfied with my brother by my side and the casual partners we brought home. On the second floor of our cabin, which consisted of a bedroom and bathroom, we’d even added a spare bed for subbies to sleep in. A symbol that said we had our own thing, but we looked after the play partners and wanted them close.
When I caught Shay swaying in place, I quickly hiked a hand under his arm and steadied him. “Sweetheart, you’re not feeling well. Come on.”
For once, he didn’t argue. He looked queasy and let me guide him toward our cabin. It was the first one in the row of the A-frames, and on the outside, they all looked the same. But since River and I had turned our cabin into our permanent home, we had a more equipped—albeit small as shit—kitchen in the corner of the front room. We also had a proper bathroom upstairs. The others had half-baths under the stairs.
As I stepped up on the little porch with Shay, River dug out his keys and went ahead to open the door.
“I should get home,” Shay argued feebly. “I don’t belong here.”
“Christ, the boy’s hallucinating already, Riv.”
River snorted softly and let us enter first. “One thing you should know about my brother, Shay. He cracks jokes when he’s worried.”
“Why are you giving away all our secrets?” I shot him a glare and ushered Shay inside. “Okay, grand tour. Kitchen here to the right, the rest is a living room, as you can see, and you’re going straight upstairs to get some rest. I’m gonna bring you some painkillers and water.”
I wasn’t worried. To be honest, I hadn’t entertained the idea, and I rarely stopped to think about how I felt. Feelings got in the way of actions. One might say I was emotionally stunted—in some ways. I was still a born caregiver, though I considered it more of a natural instinct than anything else.
“Who knew I could find log cabins half an hour outside of DC?” Shay mumbled. “Open fire, fur rug, and all things plaid and wood. If I see a reading nook in the window upstairs and twinkle lights in the ceiling, I’m going to suspect you’ve got a Pinterest obsession.”
River found that hilarious.
I did not.
“It was Instagram, and Luke fucking showed it to me,” I said in my defense. The cabins were still new in comparison, only a few years old, and we’d built them ourselves. Well, not Luke. But Colt had definitely helped out, as had others with experience in handiwork and construction. “Anyway. Enough talking, little fighter. Let’s get you upstairs.”
Shay offered a long-suffering sigh but did as told. We crossed the room, and he followed me up the narrow stairs.
“Bathroom right here.” I pointed to the door to the right. The rest of the upstairs was an open space, with the subbie bed located conveniently close to the bathroom. It was a makeshift sofa, but all I had to do was remove the pillows. “This will be your bed.” I gave his shoulder a light squeeze before I cleared the little table at the short end of the bed. River sat here sometimes and read when I watched TV downstairs.
Shay glanced over at the end of the room, where Riv and I had our own bed. There was no reading nook—or fucking twinkle lights—just a triangular window facing the yard, framed by two armoires. Two of the pieces left from our grandmother.
If Shay wanted to watch TV, I could always angle the flat screen that sat on the dresser across from our bed. But right now, he seemed more interested in the fan in the tilted ceiling. Which reminded me… I walked over to the window and bent down to switch on our AC unit. When we weren’t home, we only kept the one downstairs running.
While I was there, I opened a couple drawers in the dresser and grabbed a tee and a pair of boxer shorts for Shay to sleep in.
“Am I really spending the night here?” Shay asked. “I bet it would take me less than ten minutes to catch a ride with someone at the house who’s heading back to the city.”
“It wouldn’t even take you that long. We’re a helpful bunch. But, yes, you’re staying.” I handed him the change of sleepwear and opened the bathroom door. “There should be a few spare toothbrushes under the sink—towels too, if you wanna shower first.” Upon seeing the conflict in his eyes, I cupped his cheek and finally slowed my roll. I knew I could be too no-nonsense sometimes. “I understand you’re uncomfortable, Shay. Neither of us expected this to happen.” As I shifted my hand to his forehead, I thought he was getting warmer. I should take his temperature. “You can view us as strangers if you want, but we’d like to look after you until you’re on your feet again.”
He lowered his gaze and took a step back, and I let my hand fall. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I’m going home tomorrow,” he replied quietly. “I have to get ready for the fight tomorrow night.”
We’d see about that.
While Shay ducked into the bathroom and closed the door, I returned downstairs and found River on the couch watching the news. But when I aimed for the kitchen, he put the TV on mute and followed me there. It was just two counters which created a corner for me to cook—and for River to heat up his damn ramen cups—and then a round table in the middle where we ate. And negotiated with play partners.
“You hungry?” I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for Shay.
“A little.” Riv leaned back against the sink. “You haven’t brought home strays since we were kids.”
I snorted in amusement and dug out some toppings for sandwiches too. “I think we have a responsibility to help out.”
“Even when they don’t want help?”
“Especially then.” I gathered the fixings on the counter and found a loaf in the breadbox. “You know that the alternative is banning him. We can’t have a masochist running around requesting unsafe play with our other members.”
He nodded with a dip of his chin and sat down at the table.
I side-eyed him briefly before focusing on the food. I grabbed a knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and put the loaf on the cutting board. “Give me your take.”
He drummed his fingertips against the tabletop. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate. Getting him out here was the plan all along. And going around specifically asking Sadists to beat him without knowing the reason makes it abundantly clear that there is a reason—a wrong one.” He shrugged slightly. “Impossible not to interpret that as a cry for help.”
I agreed with him. I was sure Shay wouldn’t; he’d probably find a perfectly reasonable explanation, such as…asking the question to Sadists as a way to find the type who played unsafely. But without honesty and open communication, all play was unsafe. And we were no damn mind readers. If he wanted a beating—if he wanted to suffer a punishment—he just had to lie. It would require a few discussions and a mediocre poker face to get what he wanted. He could tell a Sadist he really liked a certain type of pain, when in reality, it was the pain that seared through him as the harshest penalty. Once the tears were streaming, it wasn’t always easy to tell one suffering apart from another, particularly if there was no sex or pleasure involved.