Page 97 of Donovan's Men

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.

Chapter Nineteen

Tyson

I hadn’t minded the frigid walk along the seawall. Hamish and I’d held hands—with gloves, of course, but it’d been so cold that my balls had practically crawled back into my body to seek warmth. Jeans did nothing against the vicious winter wind coming off the water. I hadn’t cared, though. We were doing something together, and thatsomethingwasn’t going to land us in bed and trying to crawl into each other’s skin again. Holding him in the late morning haze from our mutual pleasure had been wonderful. Waking up with wood and the good sense not to act on it hadn’t been so much fun.

Donovan and I cleared the dishes and stowed the leftovers while Hamish ostensibly went topreparehis bedroom. Having seen it mere hours ago—in passing—I could swear the room was in perfect shape.

Hamish’s nerves, however, were not.

“I’m not going to hurt him.” Donovan sealed the leftover chicken in a plastic container and put it into the fridge.

We’d need to eat that tomorrow.

“I know you won’t.” I put the last glass into the dishwasher. After gauging the machine to be less than half full, I closed it without turning it on. Hamish had plenty—of everything. I wasn’t certain how many of his parents and siblings he might entertain at once, but I was pretty sure the entire McAllister clan could be accommodated without much effort. They might not all fit at the dining room table, mind, but there would certainly be enough plates.

After a moment, I rested my hip against the counter. “But when I hearcatharsisandbreaking, I don’t exactly rush to a happy place.”

Donovan wiped the counter with a damp cloth. “I was…rambling.”

“Stoned.”

“Well, that too.” He snickered. “But maybe that was the truth serum I needed to be honest and flay myself open for him. Yes, I’ve broken people. In the BDSM context and, of course, always consensually.”

“That doesn’t reassure—”

He held out his hand. “But I’m also always there to pick up the pieces and to put the person back together—only stronger.” He winced.

“Do tell.”

He waved me off. “Okay, one time it didn’t go well, and a couple of times those people didn’t want me to piece them back together—they had long-term partners to do that.”

“And those partners stood by and watched?”

“Those partners had a say in the entire scene—but were also cautioned against interfering or stepping in unless I was out of line or the scene was going sideways. It never did.” He hung the cloth over the faucet and met my gaze. “I’d never knowingly hurt someone without the ability to put them back together again and without their informed consent.”

I believed him. His sincerity couldn’t be faked. Or at least I was pretty certain it couldn’t be. But… “Why Hamish? He’s got his shit together.”

“The tighter they’re wound—the more they need the release.” He scratched his bald head with just the hint of stubble. “He’s got something in there, Tyson. I see it. I don’t know if you—”

“I do.” I scratched my nose. “I mean, there’s the disciplinary hearing, for sure, but there’s more than that. He says he doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“And maybe he never will. We both know secrets fester and can silently kill if they’re not addressed.”

Gazing into his fathomless dark-brown eyes, I took a hit to the gut. “Have you ever told anyone?”

He didn’t show any outward sign of surprise. Instead, he pressed a hand to his chest—above his heart. “No. Never.”

“Not even Cole?” That surprised me. Although Donovan didn’t fit into the Cole/Caressa/Michael dynamic, I still regarded his relationship with his best friend as solid.

“It happened before I ever met Cole. I’ve lived in denial for twenty years.”

“Denial?” I scrutinized him. “That’s a pretty strong word.”

“I never think about it.”

“Liar.”