Chapter 17
RIX
T here’s a shift with Tristan after our date night.
He’s the first person to text me in the morning and the last person to text me at night.
And he’s more affectionate. Or as affectionate as he’ll allow himself to be.
He’ll come up behind me and wrap an arm around my waist. His other hand ends up around my throat.
He’ll nuzzle into my hair and press his lips to my skin.
At first, I expected him to whisper something dirty in my ear, but he just stands there, breathing me in for a minute. Then he kisses my cheek and walks away.
As the first game of the season approaches, I hold off on looking for an apartment, like Tristan asked. Eventually this has to end, but I’m in no rush to get there. And it seems he isn’t either. We’re definitely not hate-fucking anymore. But qualifying it as anything else seems like a bad idea.
It’s a Saturday afternoon, and Tristan is working out with Dallas and Roman. I’m prepping meals. I want them eating the right food for peak performance.
Flip walks into the condo looking like he needs a nap and a shower. “Hey, sis.” He gives me a side hug, and points to a freshly made yogurt parfait. “Can I eat this?”
“Of course.” I pass him a spoon and the box of granola.
“Thanks.” He takes a seat across from me, and dumps granola on top. “I haven’t seen much of you lately,” he says before he digs in.
“That’s because you’ve been keeping the bunnies happy.” I squeeze lemon juice on the apple chunks and add those to another parfait. The apple cinnamon ones are Tristan’s favorite, whereas Flip prefers melon.
“Fair. You got plans this afternoon? You want to hang out?” he asks.
I stop cutting fruit. “You and me?”
“Yeah. We haven’t done much of that since you moved in. Hell, we haven’t done much of that since we were kids.” He frowns, like this bothers him.
“To be fair, when we were kids, you were forced to bring me along until I could stay home on my own,” I point out.
“You got dragged to a lot of street-hockey games and arcades,” he muses.
“The street-hockey games I didn’t mind. The arcades were boring as hell.”
“Wanna play a round of mini putt and eat some East Side’s?”
“I could be convinced. I just need to finish up here.”
“You want help?”
“I’m good, but thanks.”
“Cool. I’ll hop in the shower. Then we can roll out.”
I put away the prepared food while Flip showers, and when we’re both ready, we take the elevator to the parking garage. I bring a cooler bag with an ice pack for my leftovers. I’m always prepared.
“The job is still a good fit? You liking it okay?” Flip asks once we’re on the road.
“Yeah. It’s so much better than my old job, and more interesting. Thanks for letting me tweak your financial portfolio. It helped during the interview.”
“My investments are up more than fifteen grand since you did that.”
“That’s great!” I can’t imagine making fifteen grand in a span of weeks from investments, but it’s all relative.
“I had no idea how much I was spending on takeout and bars. Well, I could’ve guessed about bars, but the takeout was a lot.
I’m gonna miss all the good food when you get your own place.
And having someone do all the shopping and food prep.
..” He runs a hand through his hair and frowns.
“How are you getting all that shit done and working full time?”
I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I like grocery shopping and making meals. It’s my happy place, and I’m not paying rent, so this is one way I can contribute.”
“We’re giving you enough for the groceries? I don’t want you spending your money on food when you’re doing all the prep and shopping. I know you’re used to taking care of that stuff on your own, but I can help,” he says.
“Between you and Tristan, there’s always more than enough.” I don’t say anything about my own food budget.
“I noticed the OJ from concentrate, Rix, and the fakle syrup. You don’t need to buy separate stuff.” That’s what we always called fake maple syrup.
“I like it better.”
“No you don’t.” He stops at a light. “You can and should be using what’s already there.
I get where you’re coming from. Logically, unless I develop a serious drug problem, I have enough money to last a couple of lifetimes.
Sometimes I worry, but I don’t need to. So let me and Tristan take care of the groceries while you’re staying with us. ”
“I never want to go back to the way we were,” I admit.
“Me neither. It’s why I have all the investments and endorsement campaigns. You’re making okay money now, though? They’re paying you well?” he asks.
“Yeah. Eighty thousand a year to start, with end-of-quarter bonus opportunities. I should be able to afford a nice studio.” I just have to get over paying two thousand a month for four hundred square feet of space.
“How’s the hunt for an apartment going?” he asks.
“Okay. I’m probably looking at a November first move date, though.” Because Tristan has asked me not to get a place before then.
“Don’t worry about it. The season’s starting. I want you in a nice place, and I want to help you with that,” Flip says.
“You helped with university. I can cover my own rent.” He already helps our parents. I can make my own way.
“I know you can, but I can make it easier on you, Rix. So let me, okay?”
“We’ll see.” I hate taking money from Flip, but he has a point. A little help would open options for a better apartment. “I’m sure you guys would like your game room back.”
“Eh, it’s been nice having you around—and not just because you’re a master at meal prep. We haven’t lived in the same house since I was called up. It’s been cool seeing you rocking it at life.” He taps the steering wheel. “You and Tris seem to be getting along okay. Or at least being civil?”
“Oh yeah. Mostly, we stay out of each other’s way.” When he’s not busy turning me into a human pretzel, anyway.
Or taking me on the most thoughtful date I’ve ever had.
“He’s not a bad guy.” Flip sounds defensive.
“I didn’t say he was.” I honestly think he’s a great guy. He’s thoughtful, and the way he is with his brothers makes my heart melty. He’s a caretaker. Maybe not on purpose, but I see it.
“His mom leaving really fucked him up.” Flip stops for a red light. “Like, more than I think he’s willing to admit.”
“I vaguely remember when that happened, but I was only eight, I think?” I try not to sound too eager for information. Tristan is pretty closed off when it comes to talking about any emotion apart from lust. And sometimes anger or jealousy.
“Her leaving was probably the best thing that happened to that family. She was…not a good mom.” He taps on the steering wheel. “Not like ours. I know we struggled a lot, but we were loved. Are loved.”
“Yeah, we really are.” I message my mom daily, and we talk on the phone twice a week. Though I haven’t said anything about Tristan for obvious reasons. My parents couldn’t give us financial stability, but they gave us love, and a lot of it.
As if she knows we’re talking about her, Mom messages. I set the phone in Flip’s holder and take the opportunity to call her.
“Well isn’t this lovely! My two babies spending time together.” Mom says. “Are you in the car? What are you two up to?”
“Heading to East Side’s for lunch.”
“You’re still doing that once a month?” Mom asks.
“We try.”
We chat for a few minutes, Mom asking Flip about the upcoming season and me about my job. My dad has taken a cash job over Thanksgiving weekend, so we’ll have to figure out another time to see them. They only have two days off, anyway, so the drive would have been hard to manage.
After we end the call, I ask, “What was Tristan’s mom like?” I only met her a few times. His dad would come by and have beers with my dad sometimes, but his mom never came.
“She had a short fuse, and she was hard on everyone. She was always yelling. Always. I don’t remember ever being at Tris’s house when there wasn’t a fight.
Not until after she left. She went off about anything and everything.
Once she even screamed at me. I think I left an empty pop can on the coffee table or something.
I remember being confused by how upset she was over something that wouldn’t have been a big deal in our house,” he says.
“I didn’t know it was that bad,” I muse.
“Yeah. It was messy. And Tristan took the brunt of it because he was the oldest. He hates yelling. Like, hates it. Last year he was seeing this woman for a while, not long, maybe a couple of months, and she threw this absolute fit about something. A picture someone took, maybe? It was out of context, as stuff often is. But she lit right into him. I’ve never seen anybody shut down the way he does.
” He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head at the memory.
“She was screaming her head off, and he went into his room, got all her shit, tossed it into the hallway, and told her to get the fuck out. And that was it. He blocked her contact and never spoke to her again.”
“Yeesh. Sounds like she needed some anger management.”
“Yeah, she was on fire for sure. But he doesn’t deal with conflict well.”
“Maybe he has his reasons.” And it explains so much—like his reaction to me getting upset over the ice cream and cake. Tristan and I push each other’s buttons, often on purpose, but he never yells. He gets agitated, and cruel, but he doesn’t raise his voice.
“Yeah. And his brother’s eighteenth birthday is coming up. He’s stressing because he doesn’t think their mom will call Brody,” Flip confides.
“Why wouldn’t his mom call on his birthday? Is she off the grid or something?” Tristan never talks about her. Ever.
“She only ever sends Tris a Christmas card. He hasn’t heard from her in years. I guess she was better with his younger brothers, but the past couple of years she’s missed Brody’s birthday, and she stopped sending cards and calling Nathan a few years back.”