30. Chapter Thirty
30
CHAPTER THIRTY
August
Present Day
Samantha sat in her car in the empty parking lot staring at the sun-bleached outline where the Montgomery Pool Service sign once sat. Her heart pinched, and a dull ache formed in the pit of her stomach. S he must have been at the wrong building —but she wasn’t. She got out of the car and spun around in the parking lot as though the action would somehow change her mind. But she’d been there at least a thousand times, and she knew it like the back of her hand. On weekends to help wash trucks, or onweekdays to surprise Tristan with lunch. This was the correct building—yet all the trucks were gone from the lot, and nothing that was vaguely familiar remained.
She turned on her heels, got back into her car, and drove out of the parking lot. Tristan lived less than five miles away, but the drive to his home passed in a blur of sporadic thoughts. She’d stopped by his office intending to show him the new sonogram photo after her doctor's appointment, but now she could hardly think clearly enough to drive.
A white Honda was parked in the driveway when she got to his home, and her heart picked up pace as she stopped at the curb. She threw the car into park, grabbed her bag from the front seat, and walked up the driveway—but a woman’s voice stopped her in her tracks, prompting her to turn toward the garage. Breathless, she stepped closer, only stopping when she saw Penny, Tristan’s secretary, sitting behind a desk. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this wasn’t it. Pool supplies now took up the space where his old Mustang once sat, and a row of desks sat in the center of the room.
Samantha couldn’t breathe. What the hell was going on? Penny rose from her desk and walked closer—the smile fading from her face with each step. “He never told you, did he?” she asked.
Samantha's mouth opened to speak, but she closed it again and glanced around the garage. It wasn’t cold at all, but she shivered. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and hugged herself, hoping the action would calm her nerves, but it was useless. “What happened?” she asked.
“Maybe we should wait for Tris?—”
“Tell me.” She shook her head.
Maybe it was the desperation in her voice, or the fact that he’d kept her in the dark for too long, but Penny nodded. She moved back to her desk, opened a drawer, then slid a brochure across the top. “Sit,” she ordered.
Samantha did what she was told, taking the brochure off the desk and flipped it over. It was an ad from another pool service company. “What is this?” she asked, her brow drawing tight with confusion.
“He lost everything, Sam.”
Hearing those words took her breath away. “What do you mean? How?” She felt weak, dizzy, like she was going to throw up.
“Jerry started his own business. He took Tristan’s suppliers. Half his crew.”
“When?” She glanced at the brochure, needing to understand. How had this happened without her knowing? Why had he hidden this from her?
“It’s been going on for months,” Penny confirmed. “But it came to a head after your gallery opening.”
Sam clasped her hand over her mouth.
“I told him to tell you.”
But all Sam could hear were the words her mother had said at the baby shower: There are always two sides, Samantha.
She closed her eyes as the air seemed to dissipate from the room. Memories from the past few months flooded her mind, coming at her from every direction. They were all clues—things that should have made her stop and question. His stress level, the way he tensed every time his phone rang. She had assumed it was about his father. But now, it was painfully clear—it could have been about this.
“He kept things afloat for a while,” Penny continued. “He took on all the extra shifts that came with losing his crew, price matched to the best of his ability, but eventually he couldn’t keep up. Jerry’s dad backed his entire operation, and his prices were unsustainable. The day Tristan returned from your trip to New York was when collectors came to the office. He and I went back to our roots. He sold his Mustang to help afford another truck, and we came back here. Where it all started. Him cleaning pools, me answering phone calls in the garage.”
“Where is he now?” Sam asked. But the hum of his work truck silenced her. She stood, feeling as though she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. But before she could even turn around, she heard his boots hit the floor behind her. She shifted slowly, finding him standing in the doorway, his large frame taking up the entire space.
“Can you leave us, please?” he asked Penny.
He wore blue jeans, a black work shirt, and a five o’clock shadow, which made his jawline even more prominent. But his eyes never left hers, even as Penny gathered her belongings and called to her kids inside from where they played in the backyard. “Kenny, Josh, it’s time to go!”
They left without saying another word, the boys only giving Tristan a sideways glance as they slipped on their shoes.
After the door closed, Tristan walked to his desk and hung his clipboard on the wall. “I wanted to tell you so many times,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, as though shame had stolen his ability to look at her again.
“Why didn’t you?” she choked out, her voice raw. Emotion tightened her throat, making it nearly impossible to force the words out.
He walked to his desk, picked up a paperweight, then set it back down, his movements tense, as if he were a teenage boy fighting the urge to throw it. His fingers lingered on the smooth stone, and for a moment, she could almost see the man inside him trying to rein in the headstrong child. The reckless teenager who had driven too fast and jumped off buildings on a dare.
“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice heavy with something she couldn’t quite name.
Her heart squeezed and she thought she might pass out. “What happened?” she asked, glancing around the garage. She’d heard the answer from Penny, but now she wanted to hear it from him. In his words.
He was quiet for a moment, but then he lifted his chin. “I trusted the wrong people,” he said. “I took him under my wing, and he used it against me. His voice was quiet, haunting, and it reminded her of the words he’d used when he left her in her apartment in New York. I. Trusted. You. It all made sense––why a perceived betrayal would have hit him so hard when he was dealing with this back home.
“I thought that if I just hung on a little longer, things would balance out,” he continued. “I’d been through hardship before—things always settled after a while, but this time was different. Jerry’s father didn’t care about losing money. His plan was to choke out the market and monopolize it. To make the competition so great that I, as well as other companies, couldn’t compete. It didn’t matter how much money I spent, he had more, and I lost everything so fast.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice.
“I don’t know.”
That was the second time he’d said it, and she couldn’t take it anymore. “Why, Tristan? After all we’d been through?—”
“Because you would’ve come back!” His voice was loud, booming, and she took a step backward.
His face instantly twisted with regret, and he came closer. “I was ashamed,” he finally whispered. “I was so fucking embarrassed. You were getting your big break, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you giving that up just to watch me fail.”
She inhaled deeply, her chin trembling. “You didn’t fail, Tristan. You’re still here.” Her voice was soft, almost breathless, but he heard her.
“How can I take care of a family”—he gestured vaguely around the garage, then stopped himself—“never mind.”
She stepped closer, her tone gentle but firm. “No. What were you going to say?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, grabbing a stack of papers and straightening them unnecessarily on his desk.
“Tristan,” she said, pausing as if searching for the right words. “Tell me.”
His hand hovered over the paperweight before picking it up again. He squeezed the smooth stone in his palm, his knuckles whitening. “I can barely afford the roof over my head, Sam. How am I supposed to take care of a baby?”
She stepped closer, pulled the sonogram photo from her bag, and laid it gently on his desk. “She”—her voice trembled, but her words were strong—“doesn’t need your money.”
She waited for him to look up before she continued. “She needs a father. A man to show her what unconditional love looks like.”
Her chest tightened as memories surfaced, each one of a man who somehow taught her self love. “She needs you to support her dreams when no one else does.”
A vivid image flashed in her mind: him sitting beside her at the bar, his boot hooked on the rung of her stool, his voice steady and sure as he told her not to give up on her art. It wasn’t just encouragement—it was belief.
“She needs you, Tristan,” she finished—her voice shaking with emotion.
“And what do you need, Sam?” he asked softly.
She fisted her hands at her side and looked down at the ground.
He stepped closer, his fingers wrapping gently around her arm, and tilted her face up toward his. “What do you need?” he asked again, his voice firmer this time, pleading. “Please, tell me.”
She swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she reached into her purse and pulled out a tri-fold brochure her OB had given her in his office. It was for a birthing class she’d convinced herself she didn’t need. They were so late in the game she thought it would be useless, but standing here now, in front of him, she reconsidered.
“There’s a class tonight at seven,” she said. “I’m supposed to have a partner, and I really don’t want it to be my mom.”
It was barely an olive branch, but it didn’t seem to matter. His entire face softened.
“I’ll be there,” he said without hesitation, his eyes searching hers as though asking what it all meant.
“I’ll text you the address when I get home,” she said, pivoting on her heels before he could say more.
The moment she was alone in her car, she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, resting her forehead on her fists, which gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were white.
“Please don’t let this be a mistake,” she whispered. “Please don’t let me fuck everything up.”