Page 115 of Obey

“Nate and Elias yesterday.” Heat creeps up my neck at the memory. “They were in Nate’s office, and Jace and I… saw them.”

Trey’s brows shoot up. “Saw them how?”

“Behave.”

“I am behaving.”

Mars looks at him. “You absolutely are not.”

“Thank you.” I point at Mars with my fork before looking back at Trey. “It wasn’t even what they were doing. It was how natural it was. Neither one of them was giving in to the other. Elias pushed. Nate pushed back. Then Nate took control, and Elias took it right back like they’d done the same dance a thousand times.”

I stop, trying to find the part that keeps lodging beneath my skin.

“They know each other, Trey. Not just what the other one likes. They know when to push, when to stop, when the other one needs something before he says it. And Jace fits with both of them in a completely different way.”

Nothing about them feels performed. Nobody is auditioning. Nobody is trying to prove where they belong.

They already know.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had that.”

Mars sets his fork down. “Can I ask you something?”

I glance between him and Trey. “Apparently this intervention has a guest lecturer now.”

“I can mind my business.”

“No.” I exhale. “Go ahead.”

“You keep talking about what they have like you’re competing with it.”

My brows pull together. “I’m not competing with them.”

“Maybe not consciously.” He leans back slightly, his arm resting on the back of Trey’s chair. “But everything you’ve said sounds like you’re measuring what they’ve built over years against what you have with them after what—weeks?”

“That’s not exactly fair.”

“That’s my point.” Mars lifts his coffee. “If they wanted nothing to change, they wouldn’t be making room for you.”

Trey says nothing, letting me process.

That’s the thing about Trey. He hears the gap between the words. He always has.

“What if I get hurt?”

Trey’s whole face softens. “Baby, you probably will.”

I stare at him. “Wow. Incredible brunch. Five stars.”

“You know what I mean.”

Mars cuts in before Trey can start preaching. “He’s not saying they’re going to hurt you. But you don’t get close enough to matter without giving someone access to places that can hurt. That doesn’t mean the relationship is bad. It means it matters.”

I hate how reasonable that sounds.

Trey reaches across the table and taps one finger against my wrist. “You spent over a decade with a man who taught you that caring for you was work. Don’t let that convince you loneliness is safer just because it’s familiar.”

My eyes drop to his hand.