Playing with Piper (Menage MfM Romance Novel) (Playing for Love Book 3) by Tara Crescent Page B

this surges over me. I put my arms around her and pat her on her back, while Owen laces his fingers in hers. “Piper,” I repeat. “Tell us what the problem is, and we’ll fix it.”
    She feels so soft in my arms. Her hair smells like lavender and oranges, and it takes all the willpower I possess to keep from touching it, touching her. I’m bewildered by my emotions — I want to protect her and take care of her. I never want to see a tear in her eyes again.
    She takes a deep breath, and shifts in my grip. I release her, jolted by the sense of loss I feel. “What happened?” I ask for the third time.
    Owen wipes the tears away from her cheeks with his fingertips. “Please tell us, Piper.” His expression reflects the helplessness I’m feeling. “We’re here for you.”
    She attempts a watery smile and holds out an envelope. “This happened,” she says, her voice catching in a hitch. “My parents have been at work.”
    I scan the letter quickly, and my lips tighten. Owen reads it when I’m done, and his face turns grim. “We can handle this,” I soothe her. “We’re not trying to hide anything.”
    “I know,” she says quietly. “They’re just looking for an excuse to control me.”
    She sounds as if she’s given up. She’s been strong for so long, fighting to forge her own destiny. Her parents don’t want her to be happy — they just want to run her life.
    “Parents should love and support their children,” I say quietly, placing my hand over hers. “But sometimes they don’t. I should know. My mother is a hoarder.”
    Owen looks up, startled. I never talk about my childhood.
    Only a few minutes ago, I walked outside so Piper and Owen wouldn’t overhear my conversation with my father, but it feels strangely liberating to reveal the truth. I’ve been living under the crushing weight of a secret for a very long time.
    “My father left us when I was thirteen,” I continue. “When I was growing up, I learned quickly that my house wasn’t like the homes of my schoolmates, but I couldn’t risk asking anyone for help.”
    “Wyatt.” She squeezes my hand tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I’m not looking for your pity.”
    She flinches, and I’m filled with shame. That came out harsher than I intended. “I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” My lips turn up in a small smile. “You feel betrayed by your parents. I can understand that feeling.”
    Owen rests his hand on her thigh. “Don’t worry about your books. We’ll handle your accountant. You just worry about cooking.”
    She draws a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry,” she says.
    “For leaning on your friends?” I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “You should never be sorry about that.”
    She gives us a tremulous smile. “I have to stop letting my parents get to me,” she admits. “What about you, Owen? What are your parents like?”
----
Owen:
    What are your parents like, Owen?
    How do I even begin to answer that question? Wyatt has bad memories of his childhood; I have only happy memories of mine. My mother laughed a lot. My father bought my mother flowers every Sunday because he loved her and wanted to make sure he always showed it.
    “They’re dead.”
    Piper draws a deep breath, probably to say something like ‘I’m so sorry’ . Before she does, I continue, almost blurting out the words. “They were killed.”
    Her expression turns shocked. It’s Wyatt’s turn to look at me strangely.
    “What happened?” she asks, then she flushes. “I’m sorry. That was nosy of me. If you’d rather not talk about it, I understand.”
    I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. It was seventeen years ago.”
    I can feel the calluses on Piper’s hand, the cuts and burns that a chef earns, almost a badge of honor in the profession. The rest of her is soft. There’s a gentleness about Piper and a kindness that is so much a part of who she is. Sitting here, holding her hand, with Wyatt on the