10
Miranda
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The room, if that’s what it could be called after these two had destroyed it, looked like a dumping ground for broken things. The table was smashed, the sofa torn in multiple places. Anything fragile or breakable was in pieces on the floor and both of the males I cared about were bleeding from cuts and scrapes all over their faces, arms and fists.
No doubt, they were hurting and bruised on the inside as well.
Idiots.
I held Trist’s hand and leaned into him as the tension faded from the room. This was something I had never imagined happening. Not in a million, billion years. Never. I loved them both. Which sucked, because I could only keep one of them, and with Trist’s hand in mine, I knew who I would choose if I had to. His devotion to
