Page 264 of The Lies We Play

“The inside left wrist,” he says.

I nod. “Where I’ll see it. Where you’ll see it. Where Creed will see it. Where anyone could see it if they were paying attention.”

His thumb moves once over my pulse. “And the trinity knot?”

“One shape,” I explain. “No beginning without the other two. No part of it makes sense alone.”

Creed goes quiet behind me.

Halston looks at me for a long moment.

Then he says, “Okay.”

I blink. “You agree, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“You always said you’d never mark your skin.”

He smiles, small and dangerous and so tender it almost hurts to look at him.

He watches me.

Creed’s hand moves once against my stomach.

Halston’s mouth curves, barely.

“I said that before I understood that some marks don't happen to the skin first.”

My breath catches.

He reaches for my left hand.

Slowly.

Like the question is in the movement.

I let him take it.

His thumb rests against the inside of my wrist, right where the tattoo would go.

“I let you mark my soul, baby,” he says. “For you, I’d commit to anything. Even ink. Even waiting until you’re ready to tell your parents that there is an us.”

My eyes burn.

Of course they do.

Because Halston can say something like that in bed, hair ruined, wearing nothing but the morning and his control, and still make it sound like a perfect verdict.

Creed shifts behind me, sitting up enough that I am held between them. His chest warms my back. Halston’s hand holds my wrist. Two men, one on either side of me, both too careful and not careful enough.

Creed’s arm tightens around my waist.

Halston’s thumb moves once over my wrist.

“The hawk is Creed,” I say. “The key is Hal. But the trinity knot is us. Not one of you. Not me choosing a symbol for each man like this is a collection of souvenirs.” I swallow. “Us. Three lines. One shape. No beginning I can point to without touching the other two.”

Creed exhales behind me.