Full Circle (Broken Pieces Book 2)

By: Riley Hart

Dedication:


To Louis Stevens.

Thank you for your friendship and support. I don’t know

what I would do without all our conversations. Thanks for

sharing my love of these three men (and Ben).





CHAPTER ONE


Josiah


Josiah stood in the middle of the building that would soon be his coffeehouse. In the two weeks since they’d gotten Rhonda back, and Tristan had come home to Josiah and Teo, things hadn’t stopped moving. They hadn’t had much time for anything between Tristan being busy at work, getting Rhonda settled back into her apartment, and now this. This being his dream—the one thing Tristan and Teo had both insisted they made time to get done, sooner rather than later.

In so many ways, Josiah owed Teo his life. Teo had physically saved him more than once, and now he owed Tristan his dream—the only thing besides the two men standing next to him that he felt could complete him, in a way. Because they did complete Josiah.

Josiah turned to Tristan, in his perfect suit, and studied the sharp cut of his jaw. Leaning over, Josiah kissed him there. “I can’t believe you did this for me.” Though he really could believe it. Tristan was like Teo in that he didn’t realize how big his heart was—at least when it came to Josiah.

“It’s nothing.” Tristan shook his head, uncomfortable with praise, as always. That was something they needed to work on. Both his guys did.

“Think of it as a business investment. I don’t waste money on things that I don’t feel are important—on things where I don’t see a profit.”

Josiah rolled his eyes. Tristan could play this off however he wanted. Josiah knew the truth. As did Mateo, and Tristan himself. He’d done this because he loved Josiah. Josiah didn’t doubt that, even if Tristan hadn’t said it again since the one time the words left his lips two weeks before.

There had never been a second he believed everything would get magically fixed in that one night, but they were on the right path. They’d get there, and things were better.

“We shoulda’ brought beer. Aren’t you supposed to drink somethin’ to celebrate shit like this?” Mateo stepped around them, fingering one of the earrings in his ear.

Josiah watched him, wondering how this happened. How he not only fell in love with an ex-gang member and a state prosecutor, but how they were all three lucky enough to fall in love with each other.

“Wine. You drink wine on occasions like this. Or champagne, actually. I promise, I’ll convert you one day.” Tristan stopped beside Teo, a half-smile on his lips.

“Nope. Never gonna happen. That shit’s too stuffy for me. It’s for rich, white guys.”

Tristan stepped closer to Mateo and Josiah just watched. He loved watching his men interact with each other—thrived on the light moments they had where they could laugh and tease, because they were too few and far between.

Tristan held Teo’s chin between his thumb and first finger. “And yet I’m sure you never saw yourself enjoying a rich, white man. That changed, as will the rest.”

Teo jerked out of Tristan’s grasp, but there was a small grin on his lips. “White boys are my downfall. Come ‘ere, Jay.”

Little jolts of electricity fired beneath Josiah’s skin at the deep, husky sound of Teo’s voice. Both of these men could do that to him, turn him on, turn him inside out, with just a word. With just a look.

Josiah moved forward, stopping in front of Teo, who leaned against the counter. Tristan stood next to them both, facing them. This time, it was Teo who grabbed Josiah’s chin, except he only tilted it up as he leaned forward. His mouth covered Josiah’s gently...always so tender when he touched Josiah. It was different than the way he handled Tristan, than the way Tristan handled either of them, with wild hunger.

How could he love something that was basically the opposite in both of them? Loved the way Teo was always so careful with him, treasuring Josiah as though he had to protect him, even in something like a kiss; while at the same time, loving that Tristan knew he didn’t have to be. Or maybe he didn’t know how to be. He felt the passion in them both—one gentle and the other fierce, but each equally strong. Funny that it was the man who’d seen death, who had delivered death, that had the need for the softness.

Also By Riley Hart

Last Updated

Hot Read

Recommend

Top Books