“You still love him.”
It wasn’t a question, but Josiah answered anyway. “A part of me will always love him. There’s... we went through a lot. Being with you helps.” He wanted to say more but knew he couldn’t. He should have known his emotions would get involved, but he could be strong.
“There are things I’ve done I will probably never be able to tell you,” Tristan said. “I had a hard childhood. We lived on the streets sometimes. Even when we had a home, that’s all we had. My mom sold her body and was hurt by men. I saw it and couldn’t save her. But I know in a way I had no control over those things. The things I did after, when I was older, were my choice. My mistakes, but I wouldn’t take those back, either, because they gave me what I have now. Control over myself and my world.”
Somehow, Josiah knew what he was saying. And shocked that Tristan opened up to him. “And loving someone would make you lose that control.”
Tristan didn’t answer that. “I can’t give you what he did. I can’t give you everything you deserve. But pretending I don’t want you, that I can handle not having you, isn’t something I can do anymore, either. I can give you my body, if you haven’t gotten your fill. Not because I have to, but because I want to, if you want to continue to give me yours. I can give you my home—”
“Your friendship.” Because he did. Tristan gave him that.
He nodded. “Yes, that, too.” And then he paused before speaking again. “There’s something so addicting about you.” He touched Josiah’s hair, but then pulled back and ran a hand down his back instead. “Something so good and kind.”
Josiah fought to snuff out, to extinguish, the spark that Tristan lit inside him. Friends. Friendship and sex. He could handle that. He had to.
Chapter Thirteen
Tristan
“Tristan, I want you to meet someone. This is Oliver. Can you say hi for me?”
Tristan eyed his mom. Eyed the tall man standing next to her with the expensive looking coat. Watched as he latched hands with his mom, something he’d never seen before.
“Tristan?” his mom asked.
“Hi,” he mumbled.
His mom let go of Oliver’s hand and kneeled in front of Tristan. His eyes didn’t leave Oliver as the man smiled and backed away, as if to give them space. And then he winked at Tristan, who didn’t know what that meant. It made his skin feel tight.
“Sweetheart, Oliver is mommy’s friend. He’s been coming to the restaurant to see me every night. I love him, Tris. And he loves me, too. Can you believe that? He’s going to save us. Oliver is going to save us.”
Tristan jerked himself out of the dream and sat up in his bed. He glanced at the clock to see he’d only left Josiah’s room about an hour before.
He didn’t try to go back to sleep. It never worked, anyway. He didn’t attempt to close down his mind, either.
“How...how can you ask me to do that, Oliver?”
“I don’t want you to. Don’t you see that, beautiful? Not you. I want you all to myself... but I’m taking care of you, and your son, too. And you know I have my parents and sister I’m helping out as well. Things at work are slowing down. It’ll just be a few times. I couldn’t handle to share you more than that. And you’re so beautiful. Everyone will want you. My beautiful Rhonda. Don’t let me down, Rhonda. You know I hate asking you this. I just want to take care of you...”
“Okay. I’ll do it for you. For us.”
Tristan stood outside the room, not knowing what was happening, but knowing it was wrong.
Tristan pushed out of bed and headed straight for his shower. When he got out it was three thirty. Despite the early hour, he dressed for work. Tristan could always find something to do when it came to work. When he got downstairs, he heard movement in the kitchen. His skin pricked with awareness, which he immediately tried to stamp down. Eagerness at seeing Josiah made no sense. He’d only left his bed two hours ago.
Tristan made a stop in the kitchen, where Josiah stood, pulling his bag onto his shoulders. Him and that damned bag.
“What are you doing up?” he asked.
Josiah whipped around to face him. “You’re always able to sneak up on me. Mateo used to tell me I had to be more aware of my surroundings. I try to do that, but it never works with you.”
Tristan opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he touched his tongue behind his teeth. Curiosity tugged at him. Why would he need to be so aware? But then, in a way, he knew. Knew Josiah had lived some form of darkness the same way Tristan had growing up. Asking only opened wounds. Made him vulnerable, when he couldn’t allow himself to be. He’d inadvertently given that to Josiah last night when he’d sworn he would never leave himself vulnerable to a human being the way his mom had.
