Liesa's Night (IV)

The Suite glowed gold and blue in the early night, a flicker of sunset clinging to the glass before the lights inside took over. Andy and Liesa made it to the door together, sandy up to their calves, still holding their shoes in hand—because it felt wrong to rush, or to clean away the day just yet. He opened the door for her, letting her step over the threshold first, and she hesitated, as if afraid the magic would evaporate when they left the dusk behind.

But nothing vanished. The air inside was warm, spiced with the memory of candles and a sharper undercurrent of citrus—the signature of Mildred, who had somehow managed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

The kitchen table had been set for three. Not just plates, but folded linen napkins, sparkling water beading on the glasses, the dishes lined up beneath crisp cloths as if awaiting a secret judge. Liesa stared at the table, blinking twice, then turned to Andy, uncertain.

He smiled, setting their shoes by the door. “She does this sometimes,” he said. “It’s like having a ghost mom who makes dinner and hates eye contact.”

Liesa snorted—an unselfconscious, short-lived sound—and drifted to the table, brushing her fingers over the back of a chair.

Andy watched her for a beat, letting himself enjoy the look on her face: wide-eyed, soft around the edges, not quite believing the day had been real. He padded to the kitchen and peeked under the nearest platter. “Grilled fish. Rice. And… is that grilled fennel?”

Liesa gave him a look. “You can tell by smell?”

He shrugged, returning to the table. “I had a thing for cooking shows in college. Long story.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. Please.”

She slid into the seat, tucking her legs under the table like a girl at a friend’s house for dinner. “Do you think she’ll join us?”

Andy laughed, imagining the sheer horror on Mildred’s face if **** into small talk. “Mildred is more of an observer. I think this is her way of saying she’s rooting for us, in an existential-void kind of way.”

He plated the food, pouring water for both of them, and then, once they were settled, he took a slow breath and said, “I hope it’s okay—I invited Sam to dinner.”

Liesa froze, fork hovering over the fish. Her eyes searched Andy’s face for a trap or a joke.

“She said she wanted to see you again,” Andy continued, voice gentle. “But mostly I thought… maybe you’d feel better if it was all of us one more time. Instead of just the two of us and your own thoughts. If you want, I can tell her not to come up—”

“No,” Liesa said quickly. She pressed a hand to her chest, as if to hold something inside. “No, I want that. It’s…” She stopped, fighting the wave of emotion that threatened to break over her. “Thank you.”

He reached across the table, palm up, and she took his hand. The skin was cool and a little rough with sand, but her grip was firm, and she didn’t let go for a long time.

They ate in a kind of peace, the kind that followed a storm but didn’t trust it wouldn’t come back. Liesa was quiet, but not withdrawn. She watched Andy with a mix of awe and relief, as if she couldn’t quite believe he was here, eating fish and fennel and laughing softly at her every expression.

The elevator chimed, and Andy heard the familiar sound of Sam’s footfalls. A second later she burst into the Suite, still in the cutoff shorts and sleeveless top from the morning, a bottle of red wine tucked under her arm.

“Hope you saved me a seat,” Sam called, sliding the wine onto the table with a flourish.

Liesa laughed, her whole face changing. “I thought you’d be fashionably late.”

Sam grinned. “I considered it, but then I remembered you get antsy when people don’t show on time.” She reached over and—without asking—pulled Liesa into a side-hug, squeezing hard, then let go just as quickly. “Hey, Andy.”

“Sam,” Andy said, grinning. “You’re a sight.”

She poured herself a water, looked at the spread, and made a face. “Is this healthy? I’m contractually obligated to make fun of you if it is.”

Andy shrugged. “We can order a pizza after, if you’re still hungry.”

Sam plopped into the third chair, crossed her legs, and beamed at Liesa. “You look like a million bucks, Liesa. Seriously. Even with the sand in your hair.”

Liesa flushed, looking down. “That’s because we spent the afternoon being idiots on the beach. I think I still have half a crab shell in my bra.”

Sam raised a brow. “That sounds like a personal best for you.”

The laughter came easier after that—first tentative, then rolling. Sam steered the conversation, telling stories about her failed attempts to cook in the Suite, including the pasta jelly from the previous day. She talked about the time Mildred walked in on her using the wrong side of the knife sharpener and just stood there, blinking in horror. Andy countered with his own kitchen disasters, and soon they were competing to see who had ruined the most impressive meal. Liesa laughed at every story, eyes wet with joy.

The food vanished, replaced by a slab of chocolate cake that Andy swore he hadn’t seen in the fridge before. Sam took the first bite, groaned with theatrical pleasure, and declared it “almost as good as Chicago bakery cake, minus the two-hour wait and the screaming babies.”

When the plates were empty, Liesa sat back, her hands in her lap, looking at the table like she was afraid it might vanish if she blinked.

“Can I say something?” she asked, voice small.

“Always,” Andy said.

She looked from Andy to Sam, and back again. “I was so scared to come here tonight. I thought I’d just… mess it up again. Like I did last time I was here alone.”

Sam rolled her eyes, balled up a bread crust, and flicked it at Liesa’s forehead. “You’re here. That’s enough. The rest is gravy.”

Andy reached for her hand under the table and squeezed it. “It’s more than enough.”

Liesa’s eyes softened as she looked at both of them. “I love you both. Is it strange? Is it greedy?”

Andy smiled and shook his head. “It isn’t. It’s honest. You’re allowed, Liesa. We love you too.” Sam nodded with a grin.

The night, which had started brittle, softened into a haze of comfort. They talked about nothing and everything, letting the hours slide by until the city outside the windows had darkened into indigo and every light in the Suite felt like a star they’d earned.

The end of dinner didn’t mean the end of the night. The table was barely cleared when Sam produced a battered deck of cards, slapping it on the table with a challenge: “Who’s up for cutthroat Hearts?”

Liesa groaned, half-laughing, half-panicked. “I’ve never played. I always get the rules backwards.”

Andy grinned. “That’s the fun part.”

Sam shuffled, then shot Andy a glare. “You’re only saying that because you’re a ringer. Don’t let him con you, Liesa. He’s a sleeper agent for Team Spades.”

Liesa covered her face with both hands, laughing. “I’m going to embarrass myself.”

Sam dealt cards with the swagger of a casino dealer, sliding them in perfect arcs. “Good. That’s the whole point. No one wants a game with dignity.”

They played. Liesa was, in fact, atrocious at Hearts—she biffed the lead, forgot to pass, and more than once shot the moon in spectacular self-sabotage. But Andy kept up a running patter of encouragement, gently reminding her of rules and possible moves, and Sam’s mockery was always laced with affection. Every time Liesa blushed or groaned at a mistake, Andy leaned close and said, “You’re improving,” or “That was actually the right play,” or “You should see my first dozen tries. Pure carnage.”

It took three full hands before Liesa won a single trick. When it finally happened, Sam threw her hands up and declared, “Queen of Hearts!” and Liesa, despite herself, let out a whoop that surprised the whole table.

The laughter didn’t fade. If anything, it doubled back on itself, filling the Suite with an energy that felt brand-new. Andy watched Liesa relax, the old knots of shame and uncertainty melting away in the heat of shared jokes and harmless defeat.

By the end of the game, they were all a little drunk on cake, sugar, and the strange feeling of not being alone. Sam gathered the cards, fanned them theatrically, and declared, “Best three out of five. But we need real stakes next round.” She looked at Andy, then at Liesa. “Loser takes the winner’s dare.”

Liesa eyed her warily. “What kind of dare?”

Sam grinned, sharp as ever. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

They played another hand, but this time the rules blurred, the points forgotten in the rush to one-up each other’s wildest moves. Liesa laughed so hard she had to excuse herself to the bathroom, and when she returned, her hair was damp, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

Sam watched her cross the room, then, voice casual, said, “Let’s move this to the lounge.” She stood and gathered the cards, then, with a conspirator’s wink, led the way.

The lounge was lit only by the flicker of the fake-fireplace and the spill of city glow through the windows. Sam crashed onto the couch, flinging an arm over the back, and patted the cushion next to her. “C’mon, I don’t bite.”

Liesa hesitated, but Andy nudged her forward. She curled up on the couch, knees to her chest, hair in wild disarray. Andy took the other side, the three of them making a loose sandwich on the giant sectional.

There was a long, lazy silence, broken only by the soft hiss of the fireplace and the hum of traffic far below. Sam stretched, then let her hand fall onto Liesa’s shoulder, fingers tapping out a silent beat. “Hey, Liesa?”

“Yes?”

Sam smiled, but this time there was something softer behind it. “Can I kiss you?”

Liesa’s breath caught, but she nodded, the barest movement.

Sam didn’t rush. She slid her hand to the back of Liesa’s head, threading her fingers through the loose curls, and pulled her in for a kiss—slow, deliberate, warm. Liesa melted into it, the tension draining from her spine. Sam coaxed her closer, one hand cradling her jaw, the other stroking her back. When they parted, Liesa’s eyes were closed, her face lit up from the inside.

Sam looked at Andy, eyebrow arched. “Your turn, tiger.”

Andy hesitated, then leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from Liesa’s cheek. He kissed her—softer than Sam had, but with a hunger he’d never bothered to hide. She met him halfway, her hands gripping his arm, anchoring herself as if afraid she might float away.

When Andy pulled back, Sam was watching them, her grin wide but her eyes gentle. “Not bad,” she said, giving Andy a mock scorecard. “I’d say an eight out of ten for style, but full marks for heart.”

Andy snorted, but the heat in his face made him feel sixteen again.

Sam turned her attention back to Liesa, kissing her again, this time with more urgency. Her hands slipped under Liesa’s shirt, fingers drawing slow lines along her ribcage. Liesa gasped, but didn’t pull away; instead, she pressed closer, her hands exploring Sam’s arms, her own touch gaining confidence with every second.

Andy watched, mesmerized by the way the two of them moved together: Sam’s casual dominance, Liesa’s willingness to be led but not conquered. It was a dance he’d never seen before, and he wanted to see more.

He reached for Liesa, hand sliding along her thigh. She turned toward him, eyes glazed with want, and kissed him hard, biting his lip just enough to make him shiver.

Sam laughed, a low, wicked sound. “I think she likes you.”

Liesa blushed, but her hands were already working at Andy’s shirt, tugging it loose from his waistband. Sam helped, yanking it up and over his head, then running her fingers over his bare chest. “Better,” Liesa murmured, planting kisses along his collarbone. Andy closed his eyes, letting the sensations wash over him.

The couch barely held them, but no one wanted to move. Sam drew Liesa onto her lap, legs splayed comfortably, all cocky confidence, while Andy watched from the side, unable to look away. Sam was in her element, hands everywhere but never rushed—one resting in the small of Liesa’s back, the other sliding up to cup her neck and tilt her head for a better angle.

The second time Sam kissed her, Liesa relaxed into it, the last traces of uncertainty slipping off like a shrugged coat. Andy had never seen Liesa so loose, so utterly unselfconscious; it was like watching her surface from the deep and draw her first lungful of clean, cold air.

He scooted closer, slow and deliberate, laying a hand on Liesa’s hip. She turned, and their mouths met, soft and seeking. Liesa made a noise—a tiny, surprised “mmh”—as if kissing Andy and Sam back-to-back short-circuited some old circuit in her head. Her fingers clutched at Andy’s shirt, holding on for balance, and Andy felt the wild thrill of her desire as plainly as his own.

Sam snickered, her lips grazing Liesa’s ear. “See, not so scary, right?”

Liesa’s laugh was muffled, her face buried in the curve of Sam’s neck. “Not scary at all,” she managed. “But I don’t… I never—”

Sam silenced her with another kiss, then slipped her hand up under the hem of Liesa’s t-shirt. “Let us,” she whispered, voice a low purr, “take care of you.”

Andy let his hand drift, tracing the seam of Liesa’s jeans, feeling the warmth build under her skin. When he tugged her gently back, she came willingly, pressing up against his chest, her breath hitching as he slipped a hand beneath her shirt and stroked her side. She was shivering, but not from cold.

Sam’s hands joined his, fingers deft and sure. Together they undressed Liesa, neither in a hurry. She let her head fall back, exposing her throat, her hair fanning over the cushion like the wings of a fallen angel. Andy kissed the hollow of her neck, and she arched, moaning with abandon.

The touch of Sam’s hands was more playful, a little rough, occasionally pinching or teasing in ways that made Liesa yelp and then giggle. Andy’s own hands were gentler, mapping her body with slow, reverent patience, cataloging every shudder and every shift in her breathing. The blend of approaches didn’t confuse Liesa; it grounded her, gave her permission to be both a participant and the star.

At one point Andy’s hand slipped, brushing Sam’s thigh. He jerked back, but Sam just grinned and guided his hand higher, letting him cup Liesa’s breast through the fabric. “Don’t mind me,” she whispered, shifting her posture slightly so he could knead Liesa gently. Sam’s focus never left Liesa; she kept talking to her, hyping her up, making her laugh even as she teased her mercilessly.

They worked together, getting Liesa’s jeans off and her shirt up over her head. She wore plain white cotton underwear—comfort over seduction, which somehow made it sexier—and when Sam saw them, she made an approving sound and bit the waistband lightly.

“Cute,” Sam said. “Very vintage. Can I…?”

Liesa nodded, and Sam peeled the underwear down, kissing each new inch of skin as it appeared. Andy watched, pulse thundering. Sam was methodical: first her hands on Liesa’s calves, then her knees, then up to the thighs, each touch a question, every movement leaving Liesa more pliant.

Liesa nodded, and Sam peeled the underwear down, kissing each new inch of skin as it appeared. Andy watched, pulse thundering. Sam was methodical: first her hands on Liesa’s calves, then her knees, then up to the thighs, each touch a question, every movement leaving Liesa more pliant.

“Good?” Sam asked.

Liesa nodded, too breathless to answer.

Sam turned, found Andy’s gaze, and gave him a look—permission, invitation, and maybe even a dare. “Go ahead,” she said, voice low.

Andy moved in, pressing himself up behind Liesa, his own shirt long discarded. He wrapped both arms around her, hands roaming her chest, her ribs, and then, slowly, her breasts. Liesa gasped, her body tense for a second, but then she let herself be held, her head lolling back onto his shoulder. Andy kissed her temple, then the line of her jaw, while his hands cupped and massaged her breasts.

Sam, not to be outdone, trailed kisses up Liesa’s inner thigh, pausing to make eye contact. “You are so beautiful,” she murmured, then licked a slow, deliberate stripe over the seam of Liesa’s pussy.

Liesa cried out—a sound halfway between surprise and triumph. She squirmed, hips rolling against Sam’s mouth, while Andy held her steady from behind. He whispered into her ear, telling her she was incredible, that she deserved every ounce of pleasure, that he wanted to see her fall apart.

Sam’s technique was both generous and relentless. She never lost rhythm, her tongue and lips working in perfect tandem, her hands splayed on Liesa’s thighs to keep her open and wanting. Andy felt every tremor through Liesa’s body, the tension building until her nails dug into his arms and she was panting, nearly sobbing.

“Andy,” she gasped. “Please—”

He wasn’t sure what she was asking for, but Sam knew. She glanced up, eyes glinting. “Do you want him inside you?” she asked, and the words alone almost undid Andy.

Liesa nodded frantically.

Sam gave Liesa one last, lingering lick, then moved aside, patting the cushion in invitation. Andy slid forward, his own need now almost painful. He positioned himself, but paused, wanting to make sure—absolutely sure—this was what she wanted.

Liesa turned her head, found his mouth, and kissed him hard. “Yes,” she whispered, and the hunger in her words, the way she said it left no doubt.

He undid his pants, pulled down his underwear, arranging himself so Sam wouldn’t see, and entered her slowly, and she moaned, deep and raw, her hands clutching at his back. Sam wrapped her arms around Liesa’s shoulders, holding her close, kissing her anywhere she could reach: the side of her neck, her hair, her shoulder. The three of them moved together, Andy thrusting slow and careful, Sam caressing and coaxing, Liesa caught between their bodies and their affection.

They shifted, rearranged, always keeping Liesa at the center. At one point Sam pulled Liesa on top of her, guiding Liesa’s mouth to her own. “You can try,” she teased, and Liesa, emboldened, slid down to taste Sam. Andy watched, transfixed, as Liesa licked and sucked, her motions hesitant at first but soon growing confident as her Cunning Linguist transformation took control. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands fisted in Liesa’s hair, and she let out a groan that vibrated through all three of them.

Andy entered Liesa from behind, careful to match her rhythm, hands on her waist. With Sam beneath her, and Andy inside her, Liesa seemed to lose all inhibition; she rode the pleasure, chasing it, her cries muffled in Sam’s body. Sam talked her through it—words of praise, encouragement, the same low purr she’d always used to talk Andy out of a spiral. Now it built Liesa up, made her stronger, louder.

Andy felt the pressure building in himself, but he held back, wanting this to last as long as possible. He watched the curve of Liesa’s spine, the arch of her neck, the way her skin flushed deep pink. When Sam came, she did it with a gasp, her thighs clamping tight around Liesa’s head, her voice trembling as she moaned Liesa’s name. The sound pushed Liesa over the edge, and she came next, body shuddering, collapsing forward onto Sam’s chest, sobbing with release.

Andy followed, finally letting himself go, the heat and tightness of Liesa’s body pulling him over the cliff. He buried his face in her hair, groaning as he finished, every muscle in his body singing with the relief of it.

IVA: Threesome (Participant) +2 VP
First! x2

When the world steadied, they were a heap: Liesa sprawled half on Sam, half on Andy, hair and limbs and sweat tangled in a perfect, sticky mess. Sam stroked Liesa’s back, humming tunelessly, while Andy wrapped both arms around them, holding them tight.

The lights had dimmed on their own, or maybe Mildred had decided they’d earned a little privacy. In the flickering glow from the fireplace, Andy and Sam lay on the couch with Liesa bundled between them—a heap of limbs and rumpled throw blankets, all three of them still half-wrecked from what they’d just done. It was somehow both a mess and the most comfortable Andy had felt in a decade.

Sam, having reclaimed her shirt and her shorts, lay on her back with her head pillowed on the armrest, Liesa using Sam’s shoulder as her personal nest. Andy had pulled his pants back up, every inch of skin singing with the memory of Liesa’s body. Liesa was sandwiched in the middle, half-draped over Sam and half-reclining against Andy’s chest, her own shirt hanging open and her hair a riot of waves across the two of them.

No one talked for a while. Liesa’s breathing was still unsteady, her eyes closed, a faint, blissed-out smile on her lips. Sam ran lazy fingers through Liesa’s hair, every so often leaning down to kiss her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose. Andy just held her, one arm looped tight around her waist, the other stroking her bare thigh in absentminded circles.

He didn’t know how long they’d floated in that peaceful stasis. A part of him wanted to stay here forever, to bottle the moment and replay it on all the nights when the world got cold and sharp again. But it was Sam who broke the silence, her voice soft and almost shy.

“This is nice,” she murmured.

Liesa made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sigh. “It’s perfect,” she said, and meant it.

Andy pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “I love you,” he said, the words so easy he was surprised they’d been hard to say for so long.

Liesa looked up, eyes glassy but happy. “I love you too,” she whispered, then turned to Sam. “And you, Sam. Always you.”

Sam smiled, her eyes shiny in the low light. “Love you too, schat.”

There was a pause, then Liesa said, “I never thought I’d get to say that again. That I’d be allowed to.” She curled tighter between them, her voice trembling but full of joy. “I’m so lucky.”

Andy and Sam squeezed her in a double-sided hug.

Liesa hid her face in Andy’s chest, voice muffled. “Is dumb, but I’m even glad for this place. The HH.” She rolled her head to look at Sam. “If I hadn’t come here, I’d still be empty. I missed you so much, Andy. And I didn’t know how much I could miss you, Sam. Or how much I needed to feel… safe, like this.”

Andy felt his chest tighten, but this time it was a good hurt—a fullness, not a wound.

Sam ran her palm down Liesa’s back. “I think we all needed it,” she said. “Even if the way we got here was absolute bullshit.”

Liesa nodded, then took a long, shaky breath. “I wish we never had to leave,” she said. “That we could just… be like this, for as long as we want.”

Andy smiled. “I think we get at least a few more nights, don’t we?”

Liesa’s smile was watery, but brilliant. “At least,” she agreed.

The silence stretched, warm and complete.

It was Andy’s watch that broke it—his wrist buzzed, not with the time, but with a new notification from the Console app. He checked it with one eye, not wanting to disrupt the moment, but the message scrolled across the display in a mocking, pixelated font:

New code unlocked: nakedlust.

He snorted, showing the display to Sam and Liesa. “You will not believe what I just unlocked,” he said.

Sam read the message, then cackled. “Is that a reference to her…?”

Liesa turned crimson. “That’s not fair,” she protested, then laughed for real.

Andy scrolled the message, skimming the instructions. “Apparently, now I can adjust the intensity. Or I can give your transformation to other people.” He made a face. “That’s kind of wild.”

Liesa looked thoughtful. “I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse,” she admitted. “Some days I wish I could turn it off. Some days I’m grateful. But—” She paused, searching for the words. “If you can lower the intensity for me, just until the round is done… I would like that.”

Andy nodded, immediately scrolling to the slider and dragging it down to the lowest setting he could. “Done,” he said, looking to her for confirmation.

Liesa smiled, almost bashful. “Thank you.”

Sam was grinning. “You’re getting good at this, Cooper. It’s weird, but I kind of trust you with the button now.”

That triggered something in Andy. He turned, propping himself up so he could see both of them. “Can I ask you a philosophical question?” he said. “About the Console gift. Or Coauthor.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Always with the philosophy, Andy. Shoot.”

Andy hesitated, searching for the words. “If you had the power to… I don’t know, tweak someone’s life. Or personality. Or even their transformation. But only if it would help them. Only if they were suffering, or hurting themselves, or if you could make their life easier. Would you do it?”

Liesa and Sam both looked at him, understanding in their faces.

He continued, “I know it’s not my right to decide what’s best for anyone else. But if someone was drowning in it—if a transformation was hurting them, or if you could change the parameters to make it better… Is it ethical to do it?”

He didn’t name names, but he was thinking of Emily.

Liesa was the first to answer. “I don’t think you can ever be sure. But if you do it with kindness, and only if you’re willing to undo it if they ask, maybe that’s enough. Some of us…” She broke off, then laughed softly. “Some of us wouldn’t survive without a little intervention. Sometimes it’s good to have someone care enough to change things, even if they don’t ask.”

Sam nodded. “Consent matters,” she said. “But if you’re honest about it, if you give people a say—even after the fact—I think that’s what counts. Most of the time, people just want to know they’re not alone. That they have someone in their corner.”

Andy mulled it over. “I wish there was a way to do it without ever overstepping,” he said.

Sam grinned. “That’s what you have us for. We’ll call you out if you go full dictator.”

Liesa giggled, then hugged both of them closer. “Promise,” she said, her voice gentle.

The weight in Andy’s chest eased a bit, replaced by the slow, steady thrum of hope. Maybe it was enough, just to try. Maybe none of them needed to be perfect to matter.

They drifted in and out of conversation, sometimes talking about nothing, sometimes about everything. Eventually, Sam yawned, a jaw-cracking, catlike sound, and declared, “We’re going to bed. And I’m stealing the middle.”

Liesa and Andy followed, still tangled in each other, and collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter. The night air was cool through the open window, but between the three of them, there was no room for cold.

Liesa burrowed into the pile, her smile soft and sleepy, and for the first time in years, she fell asleep with no fear at all.

Andy closed his eyes and let himself be held, the warmth of Sam and Liesa pressing close, and for a while, there were no ghosts in the dark. Just the easy, unfamiliar peace of being loved, and loving back.

In the thick dark of the Suite, nothing was sharp, nothing unkind. The three of them sprawled together across the big bed, legs knotted and hands tangled, the covers a casualty of their restless, greedy sleep. Sam had insisted on the middle but had promptly rolled onto her side, draping an arm over Liesa, who had gravitated to Andy and now lay with her cheek pressed to his chest, her own arms wrapped tight around his ribs.

Liesa was still flushed, the afterglow and tears drying on her face, but she smiled in her sleep, the expression childlike and pure. Every so often she murmured something—a word, a phrase, but always the same: “Thank you,” over and over, as if she was still learning how to say it. The echo of her gratitude filled the room, a counterpoint to the apologies she’d offered before, when she’d stood in front of the group and confessed her part in the ribbon scheme, her voice small and afraid.

Now, there was no fear. No apology. Only the slow, tidal breath of comfort and the relief of being held.

Andy stroked her hair, careful not to wake her, and when she shuddered with a leftover sob, he kissed her forehead, letting her know—without words—that she was safe. Sam, even in sleep, responded to the sound, her arm tightening in **** solidarity, her chin nestling deeper into Liesa’s shoulder.

The weight of both women was a gentle anchor, and for the first time in forever, Andy felt the world settle around him in a way that made sense. He let his own eyes drift shut, sinking into the warmth and the smell of skin and the sharp, perfect ache of being alive.

He did not dream, at first.

But as the night deepened and the breath of his lovers fell into that perfect, measured harmony, Andy’s mind returned—as it always did—to the river.

It was Willow Run again, the current black as oil. Laura thrashed in the center, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Andy dove in, but the water turned viscous, his limbs moving in slow motion while she sank faster. Her fingers brushed his—then slipped away.

The scene shifted. They stood on the footbridge, thirteen again, Laura's face contorted with betrayal. "You kissed her!" she screamed, rain plastering her hair to her skull. "I didn't! Laura, please—" His voice cracked, knowing what came next.

Her foot slipped on wet wood. The railing gave way with a splintering crack. Her scream dissolved into the roar of the river below. Andy reached for her, fingers grasping empty air as time stretched like taffy, the moment suspended between what was and what could never be undone.

Then, impossibly, they were sitting cross-legged in his parents' backyard, summer-warm and dry. Laura's braces caught the sunlight as she leaned toward him, solemn. "I love you, Andy," she whispered—words she'd never said.

The image tore down the middle like burning film, melting back into the churning river. A pale hand broke the surface, fingers splayed, reaching for him uselessly before disappearing beneath the black water.

He woke with a gasp, the morning sun just a smear on the horizon. Liesa's arms locked around him like he might disappear. Sam snored gently, face buried in pillows.

Andy lay there, feeling their warmth, the new memory of being wanted. He closed his eyes, knowing the ghosts would return tomorrow.