Chapter 19 Burning Love
NINETEEN
Burning Love
I have some trouble processing the image of Tristan sleeping in my bed. Four years’ worth of fantasies and wishes coalesce into a single image: his head against my pillow.
I’d love to say I’m a total gentleman and let him sleep while I whip up an omelet, but instead I’m nudging him saying, “Tristan… hey. Tristan,” until he opens his eyes.
I’m immediately ready for round four at the sight of his hooded gaze, messy hair, and the leg he’s still got draped over my hips.
His frowning pout turns into the biggest smile when he sees me. My heart warms, and then it melts at the sight. I lean in to kiss him, my lips barely brushing his before he pulls back and scrambles away from me, out of bed. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I have to brush my teeth!” He hurries out of the room, still naked.
I shake my head and go after him. He’s not getting away that easily.
I find him at the bathroom sink. “You’re using my toothbrush,” I note.
“I didn’t know who the other one belonged to,” he replies, his mouth full of toothpaste.
My eyes land on Gretchen’s pink Oral-B. Shit.
“About that—”
He puts his hand over my mouth and spits into the sink. He hands me my toothbrush when he’s done rinsing it, then straightens and looks at me, taking his hand off my face.
Hooking his fingers through the waistband of my boxer shorts and tilting his face up to mine, he says, “I can’t believe I’m standing here. With you. Looking like this.”
“You look amazing.”
He shakes his head. “I meant you. You look…” He shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “Anyway, wow. So, your phone wasn’t broken. You have a new girlfriend.”
“Tristan…”
“It explains why you never came looking for me. Good thing we keep running into each other, I guess. Lucky you…”
Christ. “Do you have a boyfriend?” It’s probably the closest I’ll get to asking him what the hell the deal is with him and my brother these days.
A dismayed twist of his mouth is the response I get for that.
“I mean it’s not like I’m the only person you’ve ever been with,” I say. Even if he hadn’t told me his number, it was clear he has a lot more experience in the bedroom now. It’s probably not the right thing to say, given the toothbrush situation, but I guess my chest still has some things on it.
He gives me a curious look I can’t fully interpret. “Are you planning to break up with her, or are you wanting to date us both for a while? See which of us you like better?”
I blow out an unsteady breath and draw in a fresh one. This is to avoid grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. There’s no way I wasn’t extremely clear about what I want. “I already know who I like better.”
“So you’ll break up with her?”
“I already did.”
He brows draw together, genuinely confused. “Then why did you just say you have a girlfriend?”
“I didn’t, I—you—” Guilt floods me. The toothbrush was a mistake.
I cleaned the bathroom. I took two showers yesterday.
I brushed my teeth at least four times. Why didn’t I throw it out?
What else will he find that could push him away again or break this fragile trust?
How many more ways will I have to learn I’ve fucked this all up before we even had a chance.
This is a disaster, and I don’t have any idea how to fix it.
I’ve wanted this chance with him so much for so long that the thought of losing it over a fucking toothbrush has me about to lose my shit.
“I what?” He waits for me to string some words together—the expression on his face an impatient mix of confusion and expectation—huge expectation I doubt I can live up to. Anxiety rises like steam inside me. This is where things get a little emotional on my part.
And when I say a little, I mean I completely break down. All the years I’ve spent disappointing him are like a pillow smothering my face, and I panic. There’s far too much to atone for. There’s no way I’m capable of making it up to him.
My unhinged fear bursts forth in a slew of haphazard words.
I crowd him, putting my hands on his face and making him look at me.
“It’s over, Tristan. I only want you. Tell me what to do.
Tell me how I get to keep you. Tell me how to make you trust me.
Just fucking tell me, and I’ll do it. I promise you, I’ll do it.
I’ll do anything. I can’t lose you again. ”
His eyes go wide with alarm, and there’s another cracking open inside of me.
It makes it so hard to breathe. I can’t believe I just said all that.
Just fucking spilled…everywhere. My eyes sting, and I blink them over and over to beat the burning back.
The broken person I really am—the one without a clue how to care for anyone—the coward who runs from everything that might hurt—the poisonous person I kept hidden from him as well as I could—stares back at him now, completely exposed.
I let go of him. This was not supposed to happen. I leave the bathroom, struggling with a feeling I haven’t felt since I watched that blanket burn and wished it was me in the fire instead.
Tristan finds me in the kitchen, leaning over the sink, my knuckles white where I’m gripping the edge of the counter. I’m shaking. I’m sweating. I’m salivating excessively and swallowing convulsively. I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.
He puts his hand on my back, moving to stand next to me.
His warm touch slows my pounding heart. The vice around my lungs lets up enough for me to take a deep breath.
I promised myself this wouldn’t happen. That I would fight for him.
That I wouldn’t let what happened to me come between us ever again.
I’m not useless. I’m not helpless, and I need to be strong here.
Overcome. Show that I’m okay, and I can handle a fucking toothbrush and a dream coming true.
This isn’t attractive. It isn’t manly. It’s weak.
In my defense, I didn’t grow up the way some boys did. With the pressure to be a man. Be a man meaning don’t cry. Don’t be a pussy. Suck it up. Be strong. Grow a pair. Man up.
While I was aware of those particular rules for little boys and influenced accordingly as I grew up in all boys’ schools, they never really applied to me.
The rules laid down for me had been different. Shut your mouth. Don’t ever speak. Don’t you dare touch anything. Don’t you dare touch me. Eyes down. Look sick.
Even if I could convince him to stay, Tristan doesn’t need this shit.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but the truth is I’m humiliated.
He slides his hand underneath my arm and presses it against my chest, over my racing heart. He turns me around to face him. “I’ll tell you how to keep me, Archer. Are you listening?”
I nod, but I’m having trouble looking him in the eyes.
“Buy me my own toothbrush. That’s it.” His other hand lifts to stroke my cheek. His thumb rubs along my jawline. Soothing. Apologizing.
I grab his head and bring it close to mine, brushing my nose alongside his, holding his forehead to mine. Breathing his breath is so much easier than breathing my own. Maybe that’s why I’ve missed him so much.
“I’d actually like an electric one. The sonic kind? I used to have one, but I left in it Houston the last time I was there.”
“Anything you want,” I promise him.
“So, what I think I’m hearing you say is, you feel a lot for me, too.”
I nod, gulping down some more of my overactive emotions.
“Okay,” he whispers. “That’s okay. We’ll do this, then. We’ll figure it out together.”
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
“Oh, I’ve always been sure. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He responds with his own whisper. “I’m not wearing any clothes.”
He’s not. I allow myself to appreciate this fact now that I know he’s not going anywhere. I run my hand down his back, settling on the curve of his ass.
“There you go,” he says. “Good boy.”
Fuck. My dick thickens as he steps closer to me.
I whisper, “You’re all I want, Tristan. It’s always been you. I didn’t understand… I get so fucking lost.”
“I know. I know you do. But then I just keep finding you.”
I hug him so tight, damn near falling apart again from his forgiveness.
“I don’t want to lose you again, either,” he says. “Not ever.”
“You won’t.” It’s a promise. “We’re stuck together now. Only one way out of this fishbowl.”
He huffs a laugh and presses himself against me. I feel his cock, hard against mine. “So, this is it then? We’re a thing? We’re like—Tristan plus Archer minus whoever’s toothbrush that is?”
“Will you please forget that fucking toothbrush?”
“I will if you will.”
“Obviously I already did, or I would have thrown it out before you got here.”
“Well, that’s reassuring. I guess I’ll be able to read between the lines if I ever come over, and my toothbrush mysteriously disappears.”
“Shut up, angel. Do you not feel my hand?” I move it between his ass cheeks with emphasis.
He draws in a short gasp at the reminder. His head drops forward and hits my chest. His thighs shake. His hands dig into my shoulders. “If it’s too much trouble, I could always just bring my own toothbrush,” he says breathlessly against my skin.
“If you want to keep talking, you should put on some clothes.”
“No, I’ll be quiet, I’ll be quiet… Oh…God…” He groans as I flatten my hand on his ass to make sure he feels how hard I am for him.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re not seventeen anymore,” I say as I maneuver him backwards, out of the kitchen. “I would feel absolutely terrible for what I’m about to do to you.”
So.
Sharing.
It’s a Kindergarten lesson.
I never got to go to Kindergarten because my mom kept me pretty busy feeding off my total helplessness.
She wasn’t ready to part with her only source of sustenance so soon, I guess, so I lack some fundamental basics.
Sharing is a tough one for me. Then, once I lost my blanket, I avoided getting attached to things, as I’ve mentioned.
So being forced to share the one thing I’ve let myself truly want in all this time—it’s a bitch.