“No one said I had to. I wanted to. And I don’t do it every day now.”
Tristan nodded as he followed Josiah down the hall. He’d managed to get dressed today, wearing a pair of jeans and a button-up, short-sleeved shirt, while Tristan still only wore his sweats.
“Italian. It smells good. I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
“Okay,” Josiah replied.
They sat at the table together, eating the baked ziti Josiah had made. They were quiet for most of the meal. No matter how good the food was, it didn’t sit right in Tristan’s stomach. He ached and cramped in a way he wasn’t familiar with. Because Josiah affected him. He’d known that, of course, but feeling the space between them tied him in unexpected knots.
When they finished eating, Tristan went to the sink. “I have the dishes.”
“Okay.” Josiah sat back down. Tristan felt his eyes following him as he cleaned the kitchen. They warmed his skin, and Christ, did he want to strip Josiah and take him right there on the table. To make Josiah his, because sex was the only way Tristan knew how to do that. No, it was the only way he chose to do it. The fault was on him.
He dried his hands after washing the last dish but didn’t turn around. He closed his eyes when he felt Josiah’s body behind him. Felt lips on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I know I’m not being fair to you. I’ll get better. It’s just—”
“You love him,” Tristan finished for him. And it hurt...but not as badly as he would have thought. The words weren’t as bitter as they could be because he’d always known Josiah loved Mateo. And as much as he had to hold himself back from hitting Mateo, from trying to make him hurt even a fraction as much as Mateo had hurt Josiah, there was a piece of him that knew that was wrong. That had always wondered about Mateo, having only seen him through Josiah’s eyes, but then had seen firsthand how much Josiah meant to the other man. Seen the fire there—the strength of it, knowing that Mateo would do anything if he thought it would protect Josiah.
Picturing it through stories Josiah told and seeing it were two different things. And somehow, he had seen it.
“I love you,” Josiah whispered.
Tristan turned around, placing his hand behind Josiah’s neck as his head rested on Tristan’s chest. “I do. I love you, Tristan. I don’t understand it. How I can love you both so much. How you both are so connected to me. But you are. I love you,” he said again, his lips pressing to Tristan’s chest.
Tristan’s fingers went to his pulse, but Josiah separated his hands. Turned his head so his ear lay over Tristan’s heart. “I’ll count them for you.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus, he loved Josiah, but still the words lodged in his throat, especially now that another man was threatening what they had. He may not be able to say it, but he loved him enough to do anything for him, the way Mateo had.
“I know you love me. I’ve never wanted anyone to love me besides you, and I know you do.” He slowly eased Josiah’s head from his chest. Cupped his cheeks in both hands as he tilted Josiah’s face upward. Tristan kissed the corner of his mouth, sick about what he was about to say. Still, he knew he had to. Knew that if he didn’t, the what-ifs would ruin them anyway. That Josiah needed to say goodbye...or be given the option of choosing Mateo...something he wouldn’t do without Tristan insisting. “I know you love me... But you need to go to him. Go to him tonight.”
Josiah stiffened. “What?”
Tristan held Josiah’s eyes with his own. “Go to him. If you don’t things will be even more fucked up between us than they would be if you do. Even if it’s just to say goodbye and get closure, you need to go.”
Josiah laid a hand on Tristan’s stomach, breathing deeply. “I don’t know if I can tell him goodbye, but I can’t walk away from you, either.”
Mateo’s words from that day by the water filled Tristan’s ears. “We’ll deal with the rest of it later.”
Because he knew Josiah had to do this. Knew he had to let him. He replayed the image of Josiah in Mateo’s arms. On the one hand, he’d hated it... but on the other, there was this part of him who thought they were beautiful together. The way they contrasted each other in every way—dark and light. Anger and love. Rough and smooth. Bitter and sweet. But yes, they’d been beautiful, too.
“It’s not right.” Josiah shook his head, but Tristan heard it in his voice. As much as this ate him up, he wanted it, too.
“I’ve shared you with him ever since I’ve known you. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be here right now. He’s always been a part of you, Josiah.” Which in a way meant he’d always been a part of them.
