Chapter 31
Ben
Itapped my pen against the notepad on my desk, the computer screen showing rows of words and numbers that had blurred into one. From the minute I’d arrived at work, I hadn’t been able to think about anything but Tristan.
He’d messaged this morning to say he was still unwell and needed another day to rest. I didn’t think he was lying about being ill, but there was a part of me that wondered if he was avoiding seeing me so he didn’t have to break the news and tell me we were over.
Around midday, a knock on my door dragged me from my thoughts, and I called for whoever it was to come in. Rob shuffled inside, holding a stack of papers.
“Here are this month’s accounts for you to review and sign off,” he said, placing the papers on my desk.
“Right. Thanks.” He nodded and turned to head out, only to pause when I addressed him. “Actually, before you go. I’ve decided to close the office tomorrow. You and Alice can spend Christmas Eve with your family.”
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Usually, the only day I allowed my staff to have off over the Christmas period was Christmas Day, and that was with some reluctance. But with how exhausted I was—thanks to another sleepless night—I was close to saying we’d remain closed until the New Year.
“Oh, thank you. That’s very generous of you,” Rob replied.
I hummed in response, dismissing him by picking up the paperwork he’d dropped off.
In my periphery, though, I could see him hovering by the door, and when I met his gaze, his shoulders slumped.
“May I?” he asked, waving to the seat opposite where I sat.
Curious as to what he wanted, I nodded, watching him with a furrowed brow as he sat nervously, his hands resting on the table before dropping into his lap. For as long as I’d known Rob, I’d always found him to be a nervous character, but this was worse than ever.
“Mr. McScroodge,” he started, his gaze not quite meeting mine.
“I…uh, I don’t know if you know this, but when Tristan was five, he contracted meningitis.
” My jaw almost hit the desk, my chest restricting as if an invisible hand had reached in and clenched my heart.
“He’s fine now,” Rob added as if sensing my rising panic.
“He was very ill as a child, and there was a time when we thought we would lose him. But—” an affectionate smile pulled his lips up “—Tristan can be very stubborn.”
I couldn’t stop myself from snorting. “You’re telling me.”
He met my gaze, unspoken words passing between us. He knew. I didn’t know how, I didn’t think Tristan would have told him, but as Rob stared back at me, I realized he knew what his son meant to me.
“Anyway,” he continued. “He fought back and was lucky enough to make a full recovery. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” I asked, the invisible hand clenching harder in my chest.
“Yes. When he was seventeen, he became ill again. He was in a lot of pain, and no matter how much he slept, he was constantly exhausted and suffered from migraines. The doctors ran tests and eventually diagnosed him with fibromyalgia. They said it was likely a result of the meningitis.”
My brain raced to keep up. I had a little knowledge of fibromyalgia; Tony Summers, one of the kids at the home I grew up in suffered with it. I knew it wasn’t life-threatening, but I remembered the impact it had on him; he was always ill.
“Did he recover?” I asked. An ache settled in my hand, and I dropped the pen I’d picked up at some point and had been squeezing.
“It took several months, but yes, he managed to get through it. Since then, he’s had several flare-ups, but he manages it quite well with diet and exercise.
” He paused again, his lips pursing. I waited, my gut telling me he had something else to say that I wasn’t going to like.
“I was worried. When Tristan started doing the work for you, I wanted him to tell you about the fibromyalgia so you would know the importance of him having some time to rest, but he didn’t want you to know. ”
“Why?”
Rob shrugged. “I don’t know, only Tristan can answer that.” He suddenly stood, brushing his palms down his trousers. “I’d best get back to work, but I wanted to let you know why Tristan hasn’t been to see you for the last few days. I…I know he’s been enjoying spending time with you.”
I swallowed, his statement confirming that he knew something was going on between Tristan and me. Instead of the fear I thought I would feel, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. There was no judgement from Rob.
“Thank you for telling me,” I replied, gratitude rolling through me.
He nodded and took several steps to the door, pausing once more. “Just so you know, the girls are at their friend’s house for the day, and Emma has gone to do some last-minute shopping. Tristan is at home on his own and will be for a few more hours.”
The door hadn’t even closed behind Rob before I was grabbing my car keys and storming out of the office.
I rapped on the door of Tristan’s house, instantly regretting it. What if he was asleep and I disturbed him? What if he told me to fuck off? I should have at least texted first to see if he was okay with me coming round.
Footsteps sounded behind the door before it was pulled open, revealing Tristan. His hair was scruffy, his shirt crumpled, and heavy bags lay under his eyes. Fuck. He had been asleep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He smirked. “You didn’t. I just finished having lunch.” He pulled the door wider, indicating for me to come inside. My gaze darted around the small hallway of the Crutchens’ home, taking in the wall covered with photo after photo of the family. “I’m guessing my dad told you about the fibromyalgia?”
“Yeah,” I replied, turning back to him. Even in his disheveled state, he was still hot as sin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Weariness crept over his features. “I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”
I moved without thinking, gently pushing him until his back was against the wall. My hand came up to cup his cheek, my thumb stroking over his soft skin. “Bug, you’re the strongest person I know. How could you think that?”
He nuzzled against my palm, seemingly needing the contact as much as I did. “You wouldn’t have thought that when we first met.”
“I was a dick when we first met,” I replied, resting my forehead against his.
“Just when we first met?” He raised an eyebrow, grinning at me.
I couldn’t stop a laugh from breaking free, and unable to resist, I brushed my mouth against his. His hands clasped my hips as his lips parted, allowing my tongue to find his. He groaned as we kissed, slow and passionate, so unlike other kisses we’d shared.
“I’ve missed you,” I confessed between kisses.
“I missed you too,” he replied. His hands trailed up my chest before sliding back down to skate over the front of my pants.
My cock twitched, but before it could awaken fully, Tristan broke away.
“I’d love nothing more than to take you up to my room and let you fuck me senseless, but I don’t have the energy. ”
I stroked his cheek again. “It’s fine, you need to rest anyway. I just needed to see with my own eyes that you’re okay. I’ll leave you to sleep.”
“Don’t go,” he replied, grabbing my hand. “Can you stay for a bit. Maybe until I fall asleep?”
A relieved smile lifted my lips. “Yeah, Bug. I can stay.”
He guided me into the small living room, which only had space for one couch and the television. I glanced around, imagining the five Crutchens gathered in here. Although the room was tiny, it felt cozy. Homely. Something I’d never experienced until recently.
Tristan collapsed on the couch, and I took the seat next to him. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but I didn’t know where to start. Instead, I remained silent.
“Well, this is awkward as fuck,” Tristan chuckled, shifting closer to me. “Come here, lie down with me.”
The couch was far too small for both our broad frames, but somehow, we managed to fit on it with me lying on my back, and Tristan almost lying on my chest. My hand wrapped around his back, my fingers lifting the hem of his shirt to stroke his soft skin as he rested his hand on my stomach.
For a few blissful moments, my world felt right again.
“I messaged Mike after you left the arcade on Sunday,” Tristan blurted.
My body tensed. “Oh.”
He nuzzled his cheek against me. “Told him that I wasn’t interested in going on another date with him.”
Thank fuck.
I pulled him against me tighter. “I was jealous,” I admitted. “When I saw you two talking, and then he hugged you. I was jealous.”
“I know.”
“Cocky little shit.”
“You love it.”
My smile faltered. I did love it. I loved everything about him. And I was determined to tell him. “Bug-”
“Don’t,” he said, cutting me off. I lowered my gaze, but he didn’t lift his head to meet it when he continued speaking. “I think I know what you’re going to say, and if I’m right, then it’s something I want to say back to you.”
I swallowed. “But?”
“But I can’t hear it. And I can’t say it. Because it’ll make everything so much harder.”
Tears stung in my eyes as that annoying lump of emotion I was becoming too familiar with clogged my throat. I swallowed, but it refused to go. “Why does it sound like you’re ending things with us, Bug?”
“I don’t want to.”
“But?” I asked again.
He sighed, his finger tracing a circle on my stomach. “I never thought for one second that what started as a casual arrangement between us would lead to me wanting more.” Tristan laughed humorlessly. “But here we are.”
“What if I said I wanted more?”
He didn’t reply for several tense beats, and all I could focus on was the way my heart was shattering into a million pieces.