The Fabric of our Souls

One year after the fire

Snow falls outside the café windows like little puffs of cotton, soft and slow. Boston is a lot warmer than Montana. I rest my head on my palm as I watch people pass, wrapped in warm clothes, their breaths curling in the air as they laugh.

Liam sets a plate down, then two coffees. He presses a kiss to my cheek before he sits down across from me.

“Where do you want to start today?” He grins and reaches his hands across the table for mine.

I intertwine my fingers with his and smile back. “Well, we’ll need to stop by the office and pick up the new floorplans, and then we’re pretty much free until the flights tomorrow.”

He nods and raises a brow with a hint of trouble. “How much free time are we talking, Wynn?”

I laugh. “Probably enough for whatever your wicked mind has planned.”

We walk to James’s new office down the street. That’s what I love about the city—you can just walk a block or two and be where you need to be most of the time. It also helps that my brother wanted to relocate to be closer to me.

I grab the memorial blueprints and let tears fall silently. The moonflower field will become a memorial park, with a path circling it and tall stone pillars with the names of those we lost etched into them. They found the missing people there beneath the flowers and finally put them to rest, but we never did find Monica.

We look over the floorplans for the new institute, Never Haven, to be built in place of Harlow. It stings my heart to replace it with a new building. The memories of the people and the healing I experienced there can never be succeeded, but perhaps, with love and time, we can create a new rehabilitation institute that will be home to many like us. Many like Liam, Lanston, and me. The ones that come after.

I look at Liam adoringly. He studies the new building specs with excitement and tells James how great it looks. His blue eyes flash up to me, giving me a simple smile, one that tells me he still fights the battles inside, just like I’m sure mine does. But we’ve grown so much together.

The three of us were the cure. In our darkest hours, in the darkest of nights, we are the light.

By the time we reach our condo, the sun is already setting outside. Liam sets down the grocery bags from our little pit stop—movie snacks for tonight.

“Popcorn, my dear?” Liam asks. I’m not sure why though, he’s already putting the bag in the microwave and he knows my answer will be yes.

“I love you.” I smile giddily as I wrap my arms around his wide chest.

He turns and scoops me up in his arms. I squeal as he takes me to the couch, pressing kisses on my neck and lips, only stopping momentarily to whisper, “Remedium meum.”

The words bring tears to my eyes each time he says them, always with the same warmth and devotion as the first moment I heard it.

I kiss him deeply. His tongue strokes mine fervently as his hand slides beneath my leggings and starts circling my clit. I moan and writhe beneath him as he teases me. His dick is already tenting his sweatpants and I know movie night is going to turn into an all-night fucking session while we watch people run from ghosts and figure out mysteries.

The microwave dings and I reluctantly pull from his ravenous lips. “It will go cold if we don’t get it,” I warn him.

He shoves a finger inside my pussy and pumps into me, making me throw my head back and cry out.

“Fuck the popcorn, Wynn. I want you,” he murmurs as he pulls my pants off and lowers his lips to my needy clit. He strokes me a few times with his hot tongue before looking up at me with heat and vulnerability in his eyes.

I watch him, quirking a brow when he stops and lifts his head.

“You know what else I want?”

My breaths are short. “What, my love?” I press my hand to his cheek and he leans into it, shutting his eyes for a moment.

He brings his hands up to my stomach and looks at me with somber, hopeful eyes. “The final part of our cure.”

Tears spring to my eyes and I bite my lip to keep the cry in my chest. Him tearing up too sends me over the edge.

He pulls me up and holds me tightly. “If you don’t—”

“No. I do.” I sob into his shoulder. “I want there to be three of us again.”

He brings my face to his, kissing away the warm tears as they fall. Our cries slowly transform—happiness for our future, and sadness for the past.

Liam brushes his finger across the tattoo on my arm, in the same spot Lanston had his.

III