34. Myles
THIRTY-FOUR
MYLES
I'm suffocating. A crushing weight presses down on my chest, stealing my breath. I stare at the ceiling as I lie in bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin. My heart aches, but it's not the physical pain that torments me, it's the emptiness inside.
Why did I do it? Why did I push Tristan away?
I thought I was protecting Nix. I thought keeping Tristan at arm's length would shield us both from more heartache and loss. But now, each day is a constant reminder of what I've lost.
But the memories of our time together creep in, unbidden. The taste of his lips, the heat of his body against mine—it's all so vivid, like a cruel joke.
What is even crueler is the memory of the conversation Nix and I had a couple of hours ago.
Nix and I had stepped into our home immediately after speaking with Tristan in the hallway. The sound of the door clicking shut had echoed through the apartment. His face had been etched with confusion, his eyes searching for answers.
"Dad, why don't we see Tristan anymore?" he asks, his voice soft and hesitant.
My heart twists, and I force a smile. "He's just busy, buddy."
"Is he working more hours like you used to before Mom… before Mom died?" Nix's eyes drop to the floor, and I can see the pain in them.
Cupping his dimpled cheek, I say, "He cares about you, Nix. Tristan will never stop loving you."
How is my son so intuitive? So wise beyond his eight years? I did my best to hide the tension between Tristan and me, but somehow Nix sensed it. And yet, when we saw Tristan in the hallway earlier, Nix didn't mention any of his fears. He simply invited Tristan to his Little League game.
"Son, no matter what happens," I say, my hand on his shoulder, trying to convey the sincerity of my words, “Tristan, will always be there for you."
Nix's eyes meet mine, searching for reassurance. I swallow hard, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto my chest.
I shake off the memory, focusing on the here and now.
Today is about survival, about making it through another day.
And I need to find a job. I'd made a lot of money as a sports agent, but it's been well over a year since I'd called it quits, and money doesn't grow on trees.
It takes one mishap to lose everything you own, including your savings.
And Nix deserves stability. Unlike my old life as a sports agent, I need to find something that gives me both the time and the means to prioritize him.
As I browse job listings online, I have to wonder if this void in my chest will ever be filled. The bedroom feels suffocating, the silence only amplifying my thoughts. I glance at the clock—Nix should be napping by now, his energy finally spent after an emotional morning.
Shaking my head as if trying to dislodge the thoughts, I sit up, taking deep breaths and trying to regain control.
You can get through this, I remind myself. One step at a time. One moment at a time. Focus on Nix. Focus on being a good dad.
Needing a change of scenery, I leave my room and find myself drawn to the front door. That's when I notice it—a folded piece of paper that’s been slipped beneath the door. Curiosity piqued, I pick it up, my fingers tracing the edges.
I unfold the note, and shock floods through me when I realize it's from Tristan. My heart races, anticipation and dread mingling in my chest. I read the words, each one hitting me like a punch.
The note is simple, yet its impact is profound. Guilt washes over me; in my haste to protect Nix, I hadn't considered how much it would hurt Tristan to be shut out of his life. Tristan, who'd been nothing but kind and supportive to both of us.
My fingers tremble as I clutch the note, my vision blurred by unshed tears. As much as I want to shield Nix from the complexities of adult relationships, I can't deny him the love and support that Tristan offers. It's not fair to either of them.
But how do I navigate this new reality? How do I maintain boundaries while still allowing Tristan to be a part of Nix's life? The thought is overwhelming, but I know it's a challenge I must face… for Nix's sake, and for my own.
I stand there, note still in hand, the weight of my mistake heavy on my chest. I didn't even consider how much this would hurt Tristan.
My breaths come in short gasps as I realize that I've been so focused on protecting Nix and myself that I've lost sight of what really matters. It's time to set things right.
My fingers tap nervously on the screen of my phone as I type out a message to Tristan, trying to convey my sincerity:
Me: Tristan, I'm sorry. I never meant to make you feel you couldn't be around Nix. You're always welcome to be a part of his life. Please come to his Little League game. We both want you there.
I hit send, heart pounding, hoping I've managed to undo at least a little of the damage I've caused.
The reply comes sooner than I expect, and I can't help but hold my breath as I read it:
Tristan: Thank you, Myles. I appreciate that. I'll be at the game. - T.
The response is polite, distant, but I sense a glimmer of relief in those words. It feels like we're taking a small step toward healing the rift between us.
But now the real challenge begins: finding a way to navigate our new reality. The thought sends chills up my back, but I know I owe it to Nix—and to Tristan—to at least try.
Swallowing hard, I text back.
Me: See you at the game. Take care.
The reply comes in.
Tristan: See you then. You too.
With that, there's the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to make this work.
As I put away my phone, I glance over at Nix's bedroom door, picturing his sleeping form behind it, oblivious to the turmoil in my heart. And I make a silent promise to him, and to myself, that I'll do whatever it takes to make sure he has all the love and support he deserves.
"Whatever it takes," I whisper, steeling myself for the challenges ahead. "For you, Nix."
With renewed determination, I turn my focus back to my job search, knowing that my next steps have never been more crucial. As the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders, I find strength in the knowledge that I'm not alone in this journey—Tristan is with us, too, in his own way.
And that knowledge, despite the pain and uncertainty, brings me a small measure of comfort.
Nerves gnaw at my insides as I step onto the field. The grass, freshly cut, tickles my fingers when I bend down to touch it. First coaching gig, first Little League game, first time seeing Tristan since the hallway encounter.
Breathe. Inhale, exhale.
"Alright, kiddos! Let's win this thing!" I clap my hands together and smile, trying to mask my anxiety. Nix beams at me, bouncing on his toes, ready for action. My heart swells with pride.
"Okay, Dad!" he shouts, sprinting towards the dugout. I catch glimpses of the other kids, their faces a mix of excitement and nerves. It's contagious.
"Play smart, play hard, have fun!" I remind them as they take their positions on the field. The sun beats down on us, sweat already prickling the back of my neck. My eyes dart around, scanning the bleachers. Where is he?
"Coach Madden," a timid voice calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. A dark-haired boy with glasses stands before me, uncertainty in his eyes. "What if I mess up?"
"Hey, buddy. We all make mistakes. Just do your best, alright?" I straighten his baseball cap, pulling it down snug against his head (like the real baseball players wear them), hoping to instill some confidence. He nods, his face brightening, and runs off to join his teammates.
"Game on!" the umpire yells, and the crack of the bat echoes through the air. My pulse races, my palms dampen. Focus on the game, not on Tristan.
"Nice hit, Tommy!" I cheer as one of our players rounds first base. The energy is electric, the crowd's cheers filling the air. I glance at the scoreboard; it's a close game. My stomach tightens, but I plaster a grin on my face.
"Way to go, Nix!" My son slides into second base, dirt clinging to his uniform. I can't help but smile, my heart swelling with pride once more.
"Thanks, Dad!" he calls out, grinning ear to ear. But there's still that gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, the anticipation of seeing Tristan again.
"Strike three!" The umpire's call signals our victory. I can't contain my excitement as I whoop and cheer.
The final whistle blows, and the kids go wild. Cheers echo through the air as our team's victory sinks in. Nix, my heart on legs, jumps up and down, his face a beacon of pure joy.
My eyes sought out Tristan for the nth time.
He'd been trying to sit unobtrusively before the game had started, but soon enough, he was cheering for Phoenix just as loudly as everyone else cheering for their kids and the team.
Cynthia and George couldn't make it today, so it was nice to have a friendly face in the crowd.
But now... now that the game had finished, I was more acutely aware of his presence in the bleachers. My breath catches in my throat as I take in his smile, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. I wish I could stop staring, but I can't…
Until the kids, the winning team, converge on me.
Scooping as many of them as I can into a hug, I boom, "We did it!"
"Best game ever, Dad." Nix's voice is full of joy. As the team celebrates, I scan the bleachers one last time, but—
"Great game, Coach!" Tristan calls out, walking toward me with that signature smile that sends shivers down my spine. I hadn't realized he was making his way toward us.
"Thanks," I reply, trying to sound casual, but my voice betrays me, shaking ever so slightly.
Tristan turns to Nix, giving him a high five. "You're amazing, kiddo!" Nix beams, his pride swelling like a balloon ready to burst. Tristan grabs my son in a bear hug. And then the two of them carry on an animated conversation that no one but them could hear.
I force myself to look away, not wanting to encroach on their moment. I gather the other kids together to send them off with their parents and whatnot. But Tristan's image lingers in my mind, as vivid as if he were standing right next to me. He's beautiful, and it's maddening.
The two people who hold my heart in their hands are still standing where I left them. "Um, Tristan," I start hesitantly, "Would you like to join us for dinner? To celebrate?" The words tumble out before I can stop them.
Tristan's eyes flicker to mine, and for a moment, I see something there— spark, igniting our connection. But then, it's gone, replaced by a polite smile.
"Thanks for the offer, Myles, but I actually have some work to finish tonight. Rain check?" He glances at Nix apologetically.
"Sure thing." Nix nods, unfazed.
"Alright, then. Have a good evening, guys." With a wave, Tristan heads off, leaving me feeling lovesick and more confused than ever.
"Come on, Dad. Let's go eat." Nix tugs on my arm, snapping me out of my daze. I nod, forcing a smile on my face.
"Let's go celebrate, kiddo," I say, my voice strained. As we walk off the field, I can't help but steal one last glance at Tristan, my chest tightening with a mix of warmth and sadness.
As we walk to the car, I replay the day in my mind. The way Tristan cheered for us, how his eyes sparkled when he smiled, the warmth of his voice.
"Earth to Dad!" Nix waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Sorry, bud. Just thinking about the game." The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.
"Best day ever!"
"Absolutely," I agree, forcing a smile as we climb into the car.
I grip the steering wheel in desperation as I start the engine, my knuckles turning white with worry and dread.
Tristan's face flashes in my mind and I feel a longing deep within my bones for the connection we once shared.
The fear of losing him forever is like a vice around my chest, squeezing me into submission.
How can I undo the damage I've done when I don't know how to move past these fears?