Neither Park scoffed at his dire pronouncement. They didn't brush it off as dramatics. Instead, they each gave a sober nod. He must have shown his surprise, because Ella gave him a small smile. 

"Two accidents seem like coincidence," she began.

"Three feels like a pattern." Taemin crouched down, sorting through their tangle of still-damp clothes. Grimacing, he pulled on the loose black t-shirt he'd been wearing.

Con tossed the note into a wastebasket by the dresser, then sat on the edge of the bed. A wink of silver drew his eye, and he picked up Taemin's necklace from where it rested on the bedside table.

"Let's go out."

Startled, Con looked over his shoulder at Ella. She was still at the window, staring down at the front lawn. Blue and red played over her face, washed out by random, white cracks of lightning.

"Out where?" Taemin asked.

Ella shrugged. "Just into town. We can do whatever. Shop around for a little while. Get a late lunch. Just something not here. I don't want to be here right now."

Pursing his lips, Con exchanged a glance with Taemin. "Do you think they'll let us leave the hotel?"

Taemin lifted his eyebrows. "I don't see how they could keep us here. All they've asked is we don't leave town."

"Then let's go." Ella cast a pleading look at Con. He found himself nodding before he'd even thought over whether he'd like to go out. Ella clapped her hands together. "Okay, you two get dressed. I'll meet you in the lobby."

She scampered out of the room, leaving Con gaping after her. Taemin—used to his sister's high-energy—just laughed. "You heard her," he said. "I've learned it's better not to argue."

"All...all three of us?" Con asked, glancing down at the still-rumpled bed. 

It was an odd predicament—he wanted to be around both of them. He wanted...both of them. He just didn't think it was very fair of him to not stand by the choice he'd quite obviously made.

Taemin fell quiet, his head bowing. "I don't know, Con. I..." He grimaced. "She told me you kissed her, and...I've seen how you look at her. I know she likes you. But I've also seen how you look at me, and I know how I feel about you."

"And..." Con blushed. "She obviously knows what...we've done."

That earned him a smile that sent chills through his body. Taemin nodded.

"She doesn't mind?"

"I told you." Taemin pulled at a loose string on his shirt until it gave with a subtle pop. "It doesn't exactly bother either of us. Which, honestly, that weirds us out more than the fact that we're both attracted to you. We don't...I guess we don't know why. It's easier not to talk about it." He looked at Con through his lashes. "Does it bother you?"

Con held his dark gaze, trying to sort through his chaotic feelings. He gave up with a helpless shrug. "I don't know." He licked his dry lips. "And...I'm not...entirely sure it matters."

Hurt flashed over Taemin's face before he tucked it away. "Because after this week, you go back to your life and we go back to ours."

Con could barely force himself to nod, an ache building beneath his sternum. A thoughtful hum came from Taemin, accompanied by the sound of the door opening. He looked up to find Taemin watching him.

"Then maybe we shouldn't worry about it," he said. "Maybe we should all just...let this unfold however it's going to. No guilt. No hard feelings. Just...a fond—or, you know, weird—memory in the making."

Con blinked, something inside him leaping at the idea. It was immediately crushed by a rush of doubts. He couldn't help but think that would end poorly, and the last thing he wanted to do was affect the relationship the siblings had.

"Get dressed," Taemin said. "I'll meet you down there. We both will."

The door shut, the dull sound making Con flinch. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't deny his feelings, but at the same time he couldn't wholeheartedly accept them. It was just too confusing—unsettling, even.

Maybe we shouldn't worry about it.

How could he not?

When he looked down, he found he was still holding Taemin's necklace. The silver caught the light, the white stone in its center shimmering. Con brushed his thumb over the smooth, round gem, staring at the flecks of silver, gold and blue deep in its center. Impulsively, he looped it over his own neck before he ambled to his suitcase. The metal sat warm against his skin.

A dull buzzing echoed through the room. Con straightened and spun, looking around for the source of the noise. It took three more rings before he was able to locate his phone in the pocket of his peacoat. Wrinkling his nose at a faint metallic odor clinging to the wool, he tugged his phone free.

He slid his thumb across the screen and put it to his ear. "Hey, Merce."

"Jesus, finally!" The restrained panic in her voice made his chest grow tight. A million terrifying thoughts flooded his mind. His lips parted to ask what was wrong, if anyone was hurt, but she kept speaking. "Why didn't you answer your phone? I've been calling for two hours. Are you okay?"

He sagged against the wall, closing his eyes as he tried to wrangle the fear galloping in his chest.

"I'm fine, Mercy. I've been..." Several memories flickered to life, none of which he felt like sharing. "In the springs. I just forgot my phone."

"You're literally the only person in existence who does that," she growled. "Why can't you be normal and have the damn thing glued to your hand?"

"The box does not control my life, Mercy," he said, diving into a common thread of teasing between them. "We survived a world before cellphones. Turns out we still don't actually need them to keep breathing."

Mercy groaned in frustration. He considered asking why she'd been so worried, then decided he didn't really want that answer.

"How're things?" he asked. "How are the kids?"

Mercy was quiet, and he could tell his sister was debating pushing the conversation about why he hadn't answered his phone. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when she said, "Pretty much the same—running me and Roman ragged. Why I agreed that all four being able to do whatever extracurricular they wanted was a good idea, I'll never know."

Con laughed at that. He'd been emergency transportation for enough practices, games and recitals to know Mercy actually kind of meant that. Wandering back to his suitcase, he tapped the speaker button and put the phone down as he ruffled through his clothes, torn between a dark blue button-down, and a black sweater with a white and yellow diamond-pattern.

"So, you're enjoying yourself out there?" Mercy asked.

The question made him freeze, the image of Mrs. Marino's body all too clear in his mind. But there was no way in hell he was going to tell Mercy about any of that. 

"It's been all right," he said, knowing the vague answer would not satisfy his sister. 

Mercy let out a disappointed sigh, and he resisted the urge to snap at her that this trip hadn't exactly been his idea. 

Instead, he said, "I've been feeling a lot better." All that got him was a skeptical silence. "Seriously," he added, making sure his voice was light, but fairly sincere. "You were...right about, you know, getting somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, what?" Mercy said, unable to stifle a giggle.

"I'm not saying it again."

In the background there was the sound of shrill voices shouting. Mercy swore under her breath.

"You gotta go," Con said. "Hug them for me. I'll try to remember my phone from now on."

"You better," she threatened. "Bye, Con."

The call disconnected. Con hung his head. He hated lying to Mercy. Out of his six siblings, he was closest to Mercy and he loved her the most. And it was because of that love he couldn't bear to confide in her about everything that had been happening.

He didn't want to worry her.

Deciding on the sweater, Con fished out the black jeans he'd watched Mercy throw into his suitcase. He shaved as quickly as he could and ran a comb through his hair before finding the black shoes he'd worn the last time he'd eaten with Ella.

He grabbed his Carhartt jacket, made sure he had his key and his phone, then left. 

The door to Taemin's room opened just as he was passing. Taemin stopped, still fighting with an earring. Con looked him up and down. His jeans were dark-wash—not quite black—with artful rips in the knees, and he had on a loose button-down with a dramatic, abstract pattern of red, black and white.

"Cute," Taemin said, wrinkling his nose as he smiled. He finished securing his earring and shut the door behind him. A chain studded with the phases of the moon hung from his ear. 

The glint of the metal reminded Con, and he slipped Taemin's necklace over his head. Taemin's eyes widened almost comically, the blood draining from his face.

"You left it in my room," he said.

"I what?" Taemin said faintly, lifting his hand to cradle the necklace.

"You just forgot it." Con shrugged, dropping the chain over Taemin's head. The pendant gleamed against the silky material of his shirt and Con touched it, tracing the delicate lines. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes it is," Taemin snapped, startling Con. He blinked rapidly. "I...Sorry. It's just...important to me. I usually never leave it anywhere. I always wear it."

Con glanced down at the necklace, wondering why it was so important. When he slid a finger over the mirror-smooth curve of the stone in the center, Taemin let out a shaky breath. Con hadn't noticed how close he'd drifted until Taemin's hand slipped around his waist and he was pulled easily into a kiss. One hand still on the pendant, he lifted the other to cup Taemin's face, fingers splayed over the line of his jaw and throat.

"What the fuck?"

Con turned, startled, and shifted so he was between Taemin and the newcomer. A young man had just come out of a nearby room and was looking at Con like all his skin had been stripped off. Something inside him relaxed and he turned back toward Taemin, giving him a subtle eye-roll. 

The young man was Latino, his dark eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched like he'd eaten something nasty. A stylized cross hung from a gold chain around his neck. Con wasn't the least bit surprised when he spat, "Why don't you save my eyes and go to hell already."

Con couldn't stop his snort of laughter. Taemin leaned against the door, his face supremely bored. The younger man's mouth opened angrily, but Con beat him to the punch. Tugging his St. Michael medal free of his shirt, he said, "Jesus is the only reason we all aren't headed south, kiddo."

He turned to Taemin, lightly grabbing his chin. Playing along perfectly, Taemin parted his lips, his eyes growing heavy. There was the sound of cursing and heavy footsteps.

"Remember," Con yelled after him. "Judge not. I think Jesus said something about not casting the first stone, too!"

The kid all but ran down the stairs and Con couldn't help but laugh. Taemin was less amused, but all he did was grab the saint medallion. He frowned, running a thumb over the engraving. Then he looked in the direction the kid had gone.

"He was Catholic too," he said.

Con shrugged. "Probably."

Taemin tucked the medal away and started down the hall. Keeping pace with him, Con watched the other man from the corner of his eye.

"How do you stand it?" he said suddenly.

"What?" he asked, even though he knew exactly where this conversation was going.

"Belonging to something that hates part of who you are."

Con rubbed at the medal where it sat beneath his sweater and shrugged. "Not all Christians think the same way. And I don't define myself by who I like to sleep with. If they're going to be that shallow, that's their problem."

"Until it becomes your problem," Taemin said.

Con flexed his fingers, but ignored him and continued his defense of his faith. "They'll have to try explaining to God why they thought carrying that kind of hate was okay." 

He sighed. "Look, we're all sinners one way or another. It's just as much a sin for me to run around sleeping with a bunch of women. But Christ also preached loving your neighbor and not passing judgement on others. That's the kind of Christian I try to be." He laughed. "It actually bothers me more that he's one of those bastards who gives Christians a bad name. He's why everyone says we're intolerant assholes."

Taemin's expression turned thoughtful. 

Sensing victory, Con pressed his advantage, though he let his tone lighten. "And, I mean...I couldn't tell you the last time a Christian cut off a gay dude's head. Or threw them off a building. So, you know...perspective, I guess."

Now Taemin laughed. "Better to be Buddhist. Your next life is your punishment. No need to worry."

Con raised an amused brow as they went down the stairs. "Until your next life, that is."

"I don't worry about it," Taemin said, a secret, mischievous sort of smile on his lips. "It's a long time away. Maybe it'll never come."

"It might come sooner than you think if you don't hurry." Ella's voice floated up the stairs from where she waited at the base.

Her eyes wandered over Con, and she bit her lip, obviously approving. She looked lovely as ever in a red sweater-dress over black leggings and grey boots. Her hair was half-up, the ebony waves spilling over her shoulder.

When they reached the landing, she looped one arm through Con's and one through Taemin's, pulling them toward the door.

"I already spoke with the sheriff," she said. "He says we're free to go. And yes, Con, you can drive."

They cut across the soggy lawn in order to stay out of the forensics team's way. 

Con couldn't believe how little the scene seemed to affect him. It was hard to care about a perfect stranger who'd made such terrible accusations only hours before. Especially when Ella was pressed against his side and Taemin had that smile on his face.

As he got into the driver's seat, he wasn't thinking about the death hovering over the hotel. He was thinking about what Taemin had suggested concerning his feelings toward both Parks, and their feelings toward him.

He was considering how much he'd hate himself. He was thinking over how much they would end up hating him.