She faced the window rather than him, but Tristan could see her cheeks lift in a smile. “You are, and I can’t tell you what that means to me. It’s because of those boys.” She paused for a second. “Pull up a seat and sit with me before you go to work.”
Tristan grabbed one of the white, high-back chairs and slid it beside her. They were both quiet for a few minutes after he sat down, and Tristan wondered if she somehow knew he had something on his mind. If she realized he wanted to speak to her but had to talk himself into it. He wasn’t used to this—trying to open up. Trying to let people in. But he knew if he ever wanted to be truly happy, if he ever wanted to be who Josiah and Mateo needed, he had to figure it out. This is something he should have spoken to her about before. Yes, she knew the deal with himself, Josiah and Mateo, but she deserved for Tristan to be open with her about it.
“I know it’s not traditional...and it’s hard to understand.”
“Who says I have to? Who says anyone has to besides you, Josiah and Mateo? That’s all that matters.”
Tristan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“They give you what you need. Pardon my language, but fuck anyone who has a problem with that.”
A laugh jumped from Tristan’s mouth. Christ, he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that word out of his mother’s mouth. And as much as he agreed with her... “It’s not that simple. In some ways it is. I won’t lose them, but...” Mateo’s past... Tristan’s job... Poor Josiah, who happened to fall in love with two equally, fucked-up men.
His mom played with the ties on her robe before turning to face him. “You’ll figure it out. I have no doubt about that, Tristan. You should give yourself more credit. You came from nothing, and look at you now. I’m not sure there’s anything you can’t do. Your only problem is not believing in yourself. Those boys do, though. And I do as well.”
Those words settled into his chest, a comforting hug that he hadn’t let himself really feel in way too long. They did believe in him, and Tristan wouldn’t let them down, no matter what he had to do. The most important thing was to ensure a future for them. “They are my world,” he forced the words out of his mouth, shutting down his thoughts so he couldn’t wish to retract them.
He flinched when his mom grabbed his hand, but then held hers just as tightly as she held his. “I know they are. You let yourself become too wrapped up in my mistakes for so long—”
“No—”
“Yes. We’ve discussed this before, so let’s not insult each other by arguing about it now. It’s true. And now you’re trying to live. I told you in the hospital, that’s all I want for you. Do you think you would have said any of this to me a few months ago?”
They both knew he wouldn’t have.
“You’re a good man, Tristan. And you love two good men. That’s all I care about, that they’re good, because it’s what you deserve.”
And they were. Everyone knew that about Josiah, but regardless of what Mateo had done, he was good, too. Good for Josiah. Good for Tristan. The things he’d done to get there didn’t matter to Tristan. He knew they mattered to Mateo, though, which was another reason why he wanted to be the one to take care of the things that could threaten them. The man needed his hands clean; the blood and death and everything else he’d done that made him feel he didn’t deserve them. For Tristan, it was the opposite. He would know he gave them what he needed if, for once, it was him who went into the trenches, took on the world, and took out who or whatever threatened to break them apart.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mateo
Mateo was dead on his feet.
He’d gone to Rhonda’s this morning for breakfast. He knew she invited him over so he could talk with her. The voice whispered in the back of his head the whole time, giving him shit for needing it. For needing anyone. But fuck, why couldn’t he need something? His whole life, he never let himself care, especially after he lost his mom, and now he wanted that. Wanted to fucking need people so it made him feel human.
Made him forget that he’d taken life and seen life taken in more ways than he could say. Each time, those things chipped away at his soul. It was only Josiah who’d made him feel complete in any way, who’d made him feel solid, patching those holes inside him that broke what felt like his humanity. So yeah, he fucking needed Jay, and now he needed Tristan because Tristan did the same thing. And maybe he needed Rhonda, too, because if he could make her proud, maybe somehow it would be like doing that for his own madre.
