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  Before now, Kel had refused to push her to confront the room, because he couldn’t go in there without crying, and he struggled to not cry in front of her despite her sometimes begging for him to let go and do just that.

  Setting a timeframe to deal with that, too, was already a listed goal.

  She continued on to the living room, where the tiny urn sat on a shelf next to a framed picture of her last ultrasound.

  They had a picture of them holding her after the nurses had cleaned her up and bundled her, one of several pics Kel’s mom had taken for them, but Mal couldn’t bear to look at that yet, either.

  One of her goals was that she wanted to be able to have that picture, of the three of them together, sitting on the shelf and be able to at least look at it without it destroying her.

  “Hey, sweetheart. Mommy’s home. Again.” She walked over to the urn and touched it. “Sorry I was gone for so long.” She’d asked the men today if it was weird that she talked to her baby like that, and they assured her no, it wasn’t, not under that context.

  She’d be eighteen months now, probably walking, starting to talk, being a handful.

  Mal never got to know what color her eyes would have been, or what color her hair would’ve become.

  One more touch before she stepped away. “I need to call Daddy and talk to him. I promise I’m trying to get my act together.”

  * * * *

  Kel had decided if this was the new world order for now, at least he’d try to get some work done. So he’d been sitting at his desk downstairs in the office that evening, working on processing photos for a client, when his cell rang.

  Mal.

  His first instinct was to grab it and ask what was wrong. When she was in Tampa, he usually called her after she texted him she was in her room following a session or a meal.

  But he pulled up short and thought about it for a moment before finally answering. “Hi, sweetheart.” He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair and swore to himself he wouldn’t pounce on her, or try to argue with her, or any of that.

  “Are you mad at me for this?”

  The breath whooshed out of him. “I’m…I’m not mad, sweetheart. I’m worried.” He bit off the urge to ask her to let him come home tonight, to hold her, to watch over her.

  Niall had warned him not to hover, not to manipulate.

  Had warned him they would be asking her if he tried to pull a Dom-card move on her to get her to let him come home, and that they would deal with him accordingly if he did anything to try to derail their process with her.

  “Doug took me to the grocery store before he brought me home. I’m sorry I haven’t been home to cook for you.”

  That reminded him he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and there wasn’t any food in the kitchen there. He’d have to walk across the street to the sub shop, because he didn’t feel like going to the grocery store.

  “I don’t care about that,” he said. “Your health is more important to me. I’m a big boy. I can feed myself.”

  An uncomfortable pause followed that he felt too terrified to try to interpret.

  “I had my first appointment today…” She told him about talking to the men, but not a lot of details, which he’d already been warned about by Niall.

  She told him about the group text thread, and the tracking app, again things that Niall had already told him.

  He had his own group thread with the three men now, but he suspected his would be a lot quieter than hers.

  When she got to the dinner portion of her tale, his eyes opened. “You cooked yourself dinner tonight? Not just a shake?”

  Before, he’d always felt like he’d needed to keep cooking, keep ahead of her to make sure there was always something there for her to easily eat if he wasn’t home, because it was too easy for her to default to a shake instead of real food. He’d always followed her food plans to the letter, knowing it sometimes irritated her, him hounding her to eat. Hell, he’d even set alarms on his phone to make sure he either fixed her food for her, or if he wasn’t home that he called her and made sure she ate.

  “It’s the meal plan…” She actually retrieved the papers and started reading it to him, which was…fine. He closed his eyes and listened to her talk, glad to hear she wasn’t crying.

  Glad he wasn’t crying as he listened to her.

  But he didn’t dare hope.

  Hope hurt too damn much.

  They talked for the better part of an hour, which was actually longer than they’d talked in a while.

  Including she clarified that they weren’t “separated.” That he wasn’t banned from the house.

  That she was supposed to have contact with him every day, and she wanted to do that.

  But she needed space—and he still wasn’t sure he understood that, especially after all the time they’d spent apart lately while she’d been in-patient.

  “I’ll be talking to Doyle on the phone tomorrow,” she said. “I’ll text you when we finish, if you want to call me.”

  And there it was.

  She was finally closer than ever physically, but it still felt like a galaxy separated them. “Sure, sweetheart. I don’t have any shoots tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got the laundry going,” she said. “If you’ll come over for dinner tomorrow night, bring your laundry with you so I can wash it.”

  More guilt on his plate. “Honey, it’s okay. I can wash my laundry.” Hell, he’d done it before her, he’d been doing it for over a year now.

  She sighed. “Oh. Okay.”

  Guilt knifed his soul at her soft, disappointed tone. “Let’s work back to that slowly, okay? I’d prefer you focus on whatever Doug, Niall, and Doyle tell you to. I’ll stop by the store on my way over tomorrow. What time do you want me there?”

  “You don’t need to go to the store. I went tonight. I have what I’ll need. I want to cook for you.”

  “I—” His mouth snapped shut and he took a deep breath. “Okay, sweetheart. What time?”

  “Six? If that’s okay?” She sounded hurt and he didn’t know what he’d said wrong.

  “I’ll be there, sweetheart.” He took a deep breath and silently blew it out. “I haven’t talked to Mom yet. Do you want me to tell her you’re home?”

  “Oh. Um, no. I’ll call her tomorrow. I’m afraid she might try to come over tonight. I just…I need…”

  He heard her sniffle and it took every ounce of will he had to remain in his chair and not jump in his truck and race home to comfort her.

  “I know you’re scared,” she finally said. “I’m scared, too. But I had practically no privacy there. I’ve never lived alone, Kel. Ever. I’m not pushing you away—I’m not. I need a hard reset. I need this, for now, because I’ve never had it before.”

  He didn’t know what to say that was right. It felt like he was surrounded by an emotional minefield where he’d emerge unscathed but any misstep on his part would brutally slaughter her. “I know, sweetheart. You told me. If this is what you need, you need to do it. I’m behind you one-hundred-percent.”

  There. Hopefully that was supportive enough.

  And didn’t give away how he felt like he was dying inside.

  “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me. I’m going to go put the clothes in the dryer and get ready for bed. I’ll text you when I wake up tomorrow.”

  “Okay, sweetheart. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She ended the call and he couldn’t ignore how his heart ached that she hadn’t called him Sir or Master.

  He thought about her day collar sitting on the dresser upstairs and wondered if he’d ever again have the chance to put it on her.

  Chapter Seven

  Mallory hadn’t been sleeping well lately. The best part about being home for the Halloween party was remembering how much better she slept when in bed with Kel. So when she went to bed Monday night, she fully expected not to sleep well.

  Until she awoke Tuesday morning a little
before her alarm to realize she’d just had her very best night’s sleep in eighteen months.

  Alone.

  She lay there and tried to process that until her alarm went off. It would definitely be something she mentioned to the men.

  She really didn’t have to be anywhere today, but she wanted to stay on a routine and try to keep her sleep patterns stable. Before, she would sometimes sit up in bed with her laptop, working long after Kel went to sleep. She hadn’t done much working lately, only a few projects for regular clients, like book covers.

  She’d been helping Kel with his photography business, processing photos, both the vanilla kind and any he’d shot for his fetish photography side of things. She had enough money in the bank from her inheritance she had been able to not work while inpatient and working on her recovery, but she wanted to work.

  She needed the distraction now, needed the routine.

  After using the bathroom and making the bed, she texted Doyle, Niall, and Doug, and then started her day. Checking her weight and logging it. Coffee and meds, and logging it. Breakfast, logging.

  Saying her mantras.

  When she started to think about her morning routine before, she shoved those thoughts out the door. It’d be too easy to miss Kel and think about asking him to come home now.

  Because he would come home, without hesitation.

  In fact, she was supposed to tell the men if Kel tried to ask or order her to let him come home before she decided on it. It felt like tattling, but with it being a direct order from them, she knew she’d do it.

  I’m not strong enough to do this on my own yet, but I can be once I learn how. That was now Doyle, Niall, and Doug’s job—to teach her how to find her inner strength.

  Unfortunately, she also knew Kel would never be able to teach her that. Especially when he was too busy exhausting himself trying to take care of her.

  This wasn’t a busted ankle or something like cancer.

  This was an ongoing medical condition she needed to learn to control.

  Coming to that realization had been brutal, because it felt contrary to everything their love and relationship was built on.

  She worried he’d feel it was a rejection of him, or a statement to him about what she felt for him, when the exact opposite was the truth—she loved him beyond reason and knew everything he’d gone through had been because of his love for her. Some guys would have thrown up their hands and said sorry, you’re on your own long before now.

  But not Kel.

  He’d never given up on her.

  It was time for her to start pulling her weight.

  Today, however, was a decompression day, designed into the schedule by the men. Doyle being on the road to London, he’d text her once he was available to talk, and then they’d either do it over phone or via Skype.

  She had reading assignments to get busy with, several books they wanted her to read, and which she’d already purchased and had waiting for her on her Kindle. They wanted her to work on her own art, if she felt like it, or even sit and watch a favorite movie or TV show—anything to help reset her soul, as they put it.

  There was also one task she needed to take care of, now, before she went much farther.

  She grabbed the box of tissues and her phone and settled in on her sofa to call Michelle Hansen, Kel’s mom. Michelle had made time to drive up every week to visit her at the facility and called her several times a week. She’d become like a second mom to her since Mal and Kel had first been together, and the fact that she’d also had a miscarriage had allowed her and Mal to bond in other ways.

  Mal took a deep breath, pulled up Michelle’s number in her contacts, and hit send.

  Michelle’s bright voice filled Mal’s ear. “Good morning, sweetheart. How are you doing today?”

  There was no reason to drag this out, so Mal dove right in. “Well, I’m doing good. I decided I needed a change…” Michelle didn’t interrupt Mal while she gave her the run-down of the events of the last twenty-four hours—leaving out the uncollaring and BDSM aspects of things—and finishing with, “Please don’t be mad at me.”

  A long pause preceded Michelle’s cautious tone. “You checked yourself out against doctors’ recommendations?”

  “I’ve changed treatment providers because I hit a plateau and needed to go a different direction with my recovery.”

  That was an answer the men had helped her come up with yesterday as a way to hopefully deflect well-meaning friends from dragging her into a conversation where she’d feel she needed to justify her actions. It was also far less rude than, “It’s not your concern,” which she knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable using in most cases.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this yesterday?”

  “It was a busy day yesterday. I had an appointment, had to go grocery shopping—”

  “I would have come taken you shopping.”

  Mal took a deep breath. “I know, Mom. But there are things I needed to do on my own. There will be a lot of things I need to do on my own for a while. I promise when I need your help, I will ask for it.”

  “Well, can I come over today and help you with the house or something?”

  Mal summoned her strength. “Mom, I’m fine, really. If I need help, I’ll ask Kel.”

  “I thought you said you made him move out?”

  “He hasn’t moved out. He’s just not sleeping here right now, because I need…space. Temporarily. There are things both of us need to work on, and we can’t do it right now like this if we’re on top of each other all the time. My goal is to work through this plateau and reach a point where we can be living together full-time. I still love him and want to be married to him. I’m not separated from him, I’m not divorcing him.”

  “So who’s going to watch out for you and make sure you’re eating?”

  Mal knew this was coming from a place of love, but it was that exact kind of thinking that had gotten her stuck in the first place, that she needed someone watching over her to succeed.

  “I have tools and safeguards in place to help with that,” she assured her. “And it’s actually time for me to eat my morning snack, so I’m going to let you go.”

  “Wait!”

  Mal didn’t want to hang up on her, so she hesitated. “Mom?”

  “I love you, honey.” She sounded choked up. “Please, if I lose you, it’ll kill him, too. Please think about what you’re doing.”

  Mal sighed. “Mom, I know what we were doing with my other treatment team stopped working. I promise, I haven’t stopped treatment. I’m in a different treatment now. It’s like if you take one medication for an infection and it’s not working, or stops working because your body grows immune to it, you have to try something different. It doesn’t mean you’re giving up or not fighting. It means you’re serious about overcoming it. That’s what I’m doing now.”

  She hated that she knew Michelle was crying from the soft sniffles she heard. “Okay, sweetie. Just know if you need anything, I’m here for you both.”

  “I know, Mom. And I love you for it.”

  Finally, Mal got her off the phone and headed to the kitchen to do exactly what she’d told Michelle she needed to do—eat.

  She actually realized halfway through her snack that she didn’t feel any of the resentment that had been building in her over the past couple of months during mealtimes, especially when she’d had little to no control over the actual process of the meal or snack beyond consuming it.

  Doyle, Niall, and Doug had told the dietician Mal’s concerns, which she’d relayed during their phone conversations. The meal plan given to her actually gave her options, both for meals and snacks.

  She wasn’t allowed to eat the same thing more than twice in a row, to try to keep her from dropping into the habit of eating the same things for every meal. She had two different options for every snack and meal for this portion of her diet plan, and had been told if she maintained or gained weight, it would open up more flexibility on the meal plan,
which would be earned by her progress.

  Just like she’d earn freedoms from her daily routines with the men as she maintained her rituals. One of the first goals would be compliance with texting them her meals and snacks. That would earn her the freedom to not text them with pictures of every meal and snack, as long as she logged them in the tracker so they could keep tabs on her progress.

  But every bit of freedom had to be earned as a privilege, and restrictions would be added for noncompliance.

  One of her goals was for the men to be able to show Kel she was handling this on her own, and teaching him how to observe and keep tabs on her without trying to actively manage her. Part of her problems now, she realized, stemmed from how her uncle had tried to control her throughout her life, something she hadn’t readily figured into the equation until recently.

  It’d been one of her phone conversations with Doug last week that had triggered the full realization, when he started digging into why she was feeling resentful, what it reminded her of, and then it all snapped into place.

  The irony didn’t escape her that she loved Kel having control of her in most ways.

  Unfortunately, until she was able to separate the positives and negatives in her own mind, she knew she needed to walk this new path alone, until her footing felt sure and steady.

  * * * *

  Goddammit.

  Kel awoke disoriented and startled, until he realized he was at the apartment.

  As he lay there and waited for his pulse to slow and even out, he struggled against the urge to jump in his truck and rush home to make sure Mal was eating.

  This isn’t going to be easy.

  Niall had asked him to be patient, to trust them.

  Easier said than done.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about his late evening call with Doyle last night, after Kel had talked to Mal. Doyle had texted Kel during a layover in Atlanta on his way to London and they’d talked for twenty minutes.

  Trying to reassure Kel he’d made the right choice to trust her, trust them, and to let this play out.