Chapter 15
Tobias
We met at a diner halfway between here and the city.
Vance waited in the parking lot. Close enough to see through the window, far enough to give us privacy. I had asked him to come, then to stay back. He understood.
My hands shook as I pushed through the door.
Tristan was already there, sitting in a corner booth with a cup of coffee he didn't seem to be drinking. He stood when he saw me, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
He didn't look like someone who had spent weeks not knowing if his brother was alive. No dark circles, no frantic energy, no relief flooding his face at the sight of me.
He looked like someone who had been waiting.
I walked toward him, my legs unsteady. He met me halfway, and the hug he pulled me into was fierce. Almost too tight, his arms locked around me as if to ensure I was real.
Then he pulled back and hit me on the shoulder. Hard.
"Ow."
"That's for making Mom cry every night for three weeks." Another hit. "That's for making Dad look like he's aged ten years." A third. "And that's for not calling me."
"Tristan..."
"Sit down." His voice was cold. "We need to talk."
The waitress came and went. I ordered coffee I didn't want, just to have something to do with my hands.
Tristan sat across from me, arms crossed, jaw tight. The anger radiated off him in waves.
"I'm sorry," I started.
"You're sorry." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You're sorry. That's great, Tobias. That fixes everything."
"I didn't know what else to do."
"You could have talked to me." His voice rose, then he caught himself, glanced around the diner, and lowered it again.
"Before the engagement. Before the wedding.
Before you decided to disappear off the face of the earth.
At any point in the last two years, you could have picked up the phone and said, 'Hey Tristan, I'm miserable, I don't want this life, help me figure out what to do. '"
"I didn't think you'd understand."
"No. You didn't think." He leaned forward. "You never do. You disappear into your own head and make these decisions alone, and the rest of us have to deal with the aftermath."
The accusation stung, mostly because it was true.
"Do you have any idea what the last few weeks have been like?
" Tristan's voice was rough. "Mom barely sleeps.
She blames herself, keeps saying she should have seen the signs, should have known you were unhappy.
Dad's been calling in every favor he has, hiring investigators, threatening people, trying to find you through sheer force of will. And me?"
He stopped and shook his head.
"I've been lying to them. Watching Mom cry herself to sleep, seeing Dad age ten years in three weeks, knowing I could end their suffering with one sentence. But I couldn't, because I was protecting you. Do you know how that feels? Choosing between my brother and my parents every single day?"
"Tristan, I'm sorry."
"Stop saying you're sorry." He rubbed his face with both hands. "I don't want sorry. I want to understand why you didn't trust me."
The words hit like a blow. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. He was right. I hadn't trusted him. Not because he'd done anything to lose my trust, but because I'd grown used to handling everything alone.
"I didn't know how to explain it," I said finally. "I didn't even understand it myself."
"So you just ran."
"Yes."
"Without telling anyone."
"Yes."
"Without thinking about what that would do to the people who love you."
I had no answer for that.
Tristan was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer but still hurt.
"Do you remember when you broke Dad's golf trophy? The one Grandfather gave him?"
I blinked at the change of subject. "I was eight. I was trying to practice my swing in the living room."
"You hid in your closet for three hours. I found you curled up in the corner, convinced Dad was going to send you away." His eyes met mine. "Do you remember what I said?"
"'We'll figure it out together.'"
"And what did I do?"
"You told Dad you broke it. You got grounded for a month."
"I was twelve and took a month of punishment for something I didn't do." He leaned forward. "Because that's what brothers do, Tobias. They help each other. They protect each other. They figure things out together."
My throat tightened.
"When you were scared of thunderstorms, who sat with you all night?"
"You did."
"When those kids at school made fun of your drawings, who told them he'd break their arms if they didn't stop?"
"You did."
"When you came home from college that Christmas, drunk on Dad's scotch, and told me you'd never felt about anyone the way I talked about feeling... who just said 'We'll figure it out' and never brought it up again until you were ready?"
"You did."
"So why didn't you come to me this time?" His voice cracked. "Why did you run without telling me? Why did I have to find out my brother was missing from a phone call at 3 AM while I was in Singapore?"
"I don't know." The words came out small. "I was scared and ashamed. I'd spent so long pretending everything was fine that I didn't know how to ask for help."
"That's not good enough."
"I know."
We sat in silence while the diner buzzed around us. The clink of dishes, the murmur of conversations, the hiss of the coffee maker. Normal sounds felt very far away.
"I have something to tell you," Tristan finally said. "And you're not going to like it."
I looked up.
"You think I didn't know where you were?" His expression was unreadable. "My people found you a week after you ran."
The words didn't make sense at first. "What?"
"The investigators Dad hired are useless. They've been chasing bad leads for weeks: airports, hotels in Europe, your college roommate in Chicago." He paused. "I've been making sure of that."
I stared at him. "You've been misdirecting them?"
"Yes." He took a sip of his cold coffee. "I knew where you were and made sure no one else did."
"But why?"
"Because you ran for a reason. If Dad found you before you were ready, he would have made everything worse." His jaw tightened. "And I figured if you wanted to talk to me, you'd reach out. I wasn't going to force it."
I tried to process this. My brother had known where I was, had been protecting me from a distance, and had waited for me to come to him instead of showing up uninvited.
"You could have called me," I said slowly.
"I could have. But you didn't call me when you ran. You didn't trust me enough to tell me your plan." He looked away. "I waited to see if you'd trust me enough to reach out on your own."
"And if I hadn't?"
"Then I would have come to you eventually. I wasn't going to let you disappear forever." His eyes met mine again. "But I wanted you to choose to let me in. I was tired of always being the one to force my way through your walls."
The hurt in his voice was raw and real, not just anger about the wedding or the running, but something deeper. Years of me keeping him at arm's length, handling things alone, never asking for help even when he offered.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Not for running; I had to do that. But for not telling you, for not trusting you, for making you wait and wonder if I'd ever let you back in."
He was quiet for a moment, then reached across the table and gripped my hand.
"Don't do it again. Whatever happens next, with Mom, with Dad, with everything, you talk to me first. You don't disappear. You don't handle it alone."
"I promise."
"I mean it, Tobias."
"I know. I promise."
"Now." Tristan's voice shifted, some of the tension easing. "Tell me about the guy in the parking lot who looks like he's about to break down the door."
I couldn't help but smile. "His name is Vance."
"The security guard from the hotel."
"Former head of security. He helped me escape and gave me a place to hide."
"And now?"
"Now he's..." I searched for the words. "He's the reason I figured it out."
"Figured what out?"
I met my brother's eyes. "Why I couldn't marry Elizabeth. Why I never felt what I was supposed to feel." I took a breath. "I'm gay. I think I always knew, deep down. But I couldn't see it until I met him."
Tristan nodded slowly, as if this was confirmation rather than news.
"I wondered. That night with the scotch." He squeezed my hand. "I'm glad you finally know."
"You're not surprised?"
"Tobias, you showed no interest in every woman who crossed your path for twenty-six years. I had my suspicions." A small smile. "I'm just glad you found someone who makes you happy."
"He does. He really does."
"Good." Tristan leaned back. "Then I want to meet him properly."
We walked out to the parking lot together. Vance straightened when he saw us approaching, his whole body alert.
"Tristan, this is Vance." I reached for Vance's hand, lacing my fingers through his. "Vance, my brother."
Tristan extended his hand. Vance hesitated, then shook it.
"Thank you," Tristan said. "For helping him. For giving him a safe space."
"He doesn't need protection. He just needed space to figure things out."
Tristan studied him. The guarded stance, the watchful eyes, the way he positioned himself slightly in front of me.
"Former Army," Tristan said. "Head of security at the Grandview for six years. No criminal record. Good credit." His mouth quirked. "You check out."
Vance's expression didn't change. "You did your homework."
"My brother was living with a stranger. Of course I did my homework."
"He has a habit of not asking for help," Tristan said. "Of handling everything alone. Don't let him."
"Working on it."
"Good." Tristan turned to me, pulling me into one last hug. "Call me this week. Not when you're ready. This week. I want to know how you're doing."
"I will."
"And think about Mom and Dad. They're scared, not angry. When you're ready to face them, let me help."
"I will. I promise."
He held me for another moment, then let go, nodded at Vance, and walked to his car.
We watched Tristan's car disappear down the highway.
Vance's arm was around me, solid and warm. I leaned into him.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." I turned to face him. "He knew where I was this whole time. He was protecting me while I thought I was hiding."
"That's a good brother."
"The best." I shook my head. "I should have trusted him. I should have called him instead of just running."
"You did what you had to do."
"Maybe. But I hurt people. Him, my parents, Elizabeth." I took a breath. "He's right. I can't keep handling everything alone."
Vance pulled me closer. "You're not alone anymore."
"I know." I looked up at him. "That's the part I'm still getting used to."
He kissed my forehead. "Take your time."
We stood there for a moment, watching the empty road.
"Let's go home," I said.
"Let's go home."