Chapter Twelve
TRISTAN
Tristan’s thoughts churned as he headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. The shower had helped. Or at least it felt like it had until he got dressed, and his brain remembered how to be a racetrack again, worrying around and around in circles about Matt and whether he’d treat Colby fairly.
Still, scrubbing off the last clinging stink of Cale’s pack had felt like reclaiming something. His self. His right to not smell like fear and mildew.
But he felt a flicker of regret every time he caught the detergent scent from his clean shirt, knowing that, along with the stink of the brig, he’d washed away the last traces of Colby’s scent on his skin—warm cedar, just the faintest thread of it, like the ghost of safety.
He missed it instantly, ridiculously. Who missed someone’s smell? He did, apparently.
He’d go see him again after dinner. That would help. And maybe Colby’s scent would end up on Tristan again.
The kitchen was full of pack members. When Dave turned and caught sight of Tristan, the enormous grin that spread over his face explained the crowd.
“Tristan!” Dave scooped him into his arms—gently, because that was how Dave did everything—and showed no sign of letting him go again. The others practically formed a line waiting to hug him, to touch him, to check that he was okay.
He was passed from packmate to packmate, and the welcome from them all was filled with relief and love. Even Riley smiled broadly. “Glad you’re safe,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it.
It was everything Tristan had dreamed of, everything he’d missed while Cale had held him captive. Yet somehow, it didn’t fill him with his usual uncomplicated happiness. Something felt wrong.
Jason started plating up the food, and Tristan took advantage of the pack’s sudden interest in that to slide over to where Matt was standing, leaning back against the counter, mug of coffee in his hand.
A stance Tristan knew by heart. No day was complete if he didn’t see Matt like that at least once.
But something today was off. There was a tension in Matt that he could feel rather than see. And that made him all the more worried.
He’d intended to ask if Matt had decided to let Colby go, but the quiet authority in Matt, that air of alpha, was strong enough he thought twice.
“How did you get on with Colby?” he blurted instead, then winced, because what even was that phrasing? Like Matt had taken Colby out for a nice brunch or something.
Matt tilted his head in recognition of Tristan’s question but took a while to answer. “He gave me names, timelines, pack structure. If it checks out, we’ll talk again.”
And if it didn’t? Tristan found he couldn’t ask that question.
“It will,” he said, pouring confidence he didn’t entirely feel into his voice. Because Colby was telling the truth, but that didn’t mean he knew enough to satisfy Matt.
Matt shrugged slightly. “He said all the right things. Whether they were true, we’ll see.”
“He’s not like the rest of them,” Tristan said firmly. “He’s definitely telling the truth.”
Matt’s gaze on him was steady. Just as Matt was. He always knew his own mind, and that was what was terrifying Tristan. If he decided against Colby, there’d be nothing Tristan could do or say to sway him.
“You’re not objective in this, Tristan. That’s not a criticism—it’s just true.”
And the worst of it was, Matt was damn well right. Like he always was. “I know,” Tristan said, “but you have to remember, he helped me. I’d never have gotten away without him.”
“And if it turns out he acted in good faith, then I’ll be beholden to him for that,” Matt said. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could eat.”
Everyone settled around the long table, Jason serving the food as Dave swatted Christian’s hand away from the pie. “For after, not before, damn it.”
“If it’s edible,” Jason muttered. “Someone”—and he looked around, hunting for guilt—“moved the cinnamon. You nearly got cumin with your apple instead.”
“Could’ve been interesting,” Jesse said. “How come Christian’s got more potatoes than me?”
It was warm and familiar and smelled like home—roasted chicken, herbs, and pastry. And yet, something in Tristan didn’t settle. His mind was on Colby in his lonely, cold stall.
Eventually, he hauled his attention back to the bright kitchen, and looked around the table, studying each welcoming, loved face in turn, and thankful beyond words that he was back here.
Bryce was missing, no doubt out patrolling, as was Karl. He’d still be guarding Colby, he thought with a shiver. Karl was intimidating. He’d be a lethal enemy, but he was an amazing ally. He was beyond competent, and caring in a way that would be easy to miss.
He wasn’t like Bryce, who wore his heart on his sleeve and was always right there whenever any of them were upset.
Karl was much quieter, less obvious in his care, but Tristan still remembered Karl finding him, supposedly by accident, when he’d been off in the depths of the woods, upset from bullying at school.
Karl hadn’t hugged him, assured him he was better than them, or offered to tear their throats out—well, he may have done that last one, but he gave the impression that was more for fun than anything else.
He’d simply listened, then spent the afternoon teaching Tristan how to track.
Tristan hadn’t thought of that afternoon in years.
Wondering why he was thinking about it now, it came to him—he was frantically clutching onto anything that might save Colby.
Any hint of kindness, of understanding. Because while Matt’s word was law, he listened to Karl.
To Bryce too, as pack beta, but Bryce would always follow Matt’s lead.
There was a respect between Matt and Karl that went deep, like Karl was almost his equal and his loyalty was something freely given, not expected.
And Tristan had never once seen Matt take that for granted.
Maybe Tristan’s next step should be convincing Karl of Colby’s innocence.
“Asfaloth’s pacing, and her udder’s filling,” Dave said, glancing at Matt. “I moved her to the bottom pasture, but I don’t love her foaling in the open at this time of year. She should be in the barn.”
“Fucking ridiculous name. Sounds like someone sneezed,” Christian grumbled, as he did whenever the mare was mentioned. Asfaloth was the first—and last—horse Dave had been allowed to name.
“Just cause you want to do your caterwaulin’ in comfort,” Jesse said.
Dave grinned, unbothered. “Damn straight. She likes my singing.”
“Must be the only one that does,” Christian muttered, and laughter rolled around the table, easy and familiar. Even Matt huffed in amusement. It hadn’t even been funny—this felt more like the release of tension.
“She really should be in the barn,” Dave repeated, looking to Matt.
Christian scooped up a forkful of potato. “Well, one stall’s gonna be free soon. Can’t imagine Matt keeping that particular guest in five-star accommodation much longer.”
There was more easy laughter, recognizing the truth of Christian’s statement, but something inside Tristan froze. He stared down at his plate as the conversation went on around him, the same as ever. But for the first time, he was listening to it, not part of it.
He darted a quick glance around and saw only easy smiles. No one had meant it cruelly. But somehow, that was worse.
Not worse than Cale’s pack. God, no. That was a trash fire in a war zone. But still, this stung in a different place, somewhere raw and unexpected. They were relaxed about Colby being kept locked up, being kept prisoner the same way Tristan had been. They were laughing about the fact he might die.
Riley was the only one who hadn’t laughed.
He was entirely focused on Jason, sitting beside him.
And Tristan realized that what the pack was doing to Colby, making him an outsider, someone who didn’t belong, was exactly what he’d done to Riley.
He still hated the way Riley had tricked Jason and hurt him so badly.
It had been three weeks since Tristan had thought he’d witnessed someone’s heart literally break.
But now, Jason was quietly and completely happy.
And Riley was still here, still with him, still part of the pack—and God, that had stuck in Tristan’s gullet when he realized Matt was letting him join.
Yet here Tristan was, expecting the pack to accept Colby when he hadn’t extended that same understanding and forgiveness to Riley.
He couldn’t ask for grace without giving it.
And if Riley could belong, then maybe... maybe Colby could too. Maybe Tristan wasn’t completely delusional for hoping.
“Hear you picked up my shifts at the diner, Riley,” he said determinedly.
Riley glanced up, shock all over his face, and Tristan tried to remember the last time he’d spoken to him when he hadn’t had to. He couldn’t.
“Thanks for that,” he added. “Bad enough it all happened, without Sam having to struggle.”
Riley nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and then looked at Jason as if he didn’t know what to do. Well, that was a first. Usually, Riley was as cocky as they came. Or at least, that’s what Tristan had thought.
“I hope you got some cupcakes out of the deal,” Tristan said, knowing how heavy-handed he was being, but trying to make some sort of connection with the guy sitting across from him. Because if Jason had forgiven him, Tristan had no right to bear a grudge.
Riley’s eyes suddenly lit with humor. “With Jason baking about five times as many as usual, she was begging anyone who walked past to take one,” he said.
The conversation died, but Tristan was hopeful it was a start. And the happiness in Jason’s eyes when he looked at Tristan confirmed he’d done the right thing.
Conversation flowed around him, easy and familiar. Tristan smiled and answered when spoken to, but he felt distant from it all, like he was only half there.