TRISTAN
NINE
What the hell am I doing?
I’ve been asking myself that question over and over, and I still don’t have an answer.
Feeling dazed seems to be my new normal since Myles and Phoenix visited me at the station.
When I spotted them, I felt like I was walking on air, caught up in a feeling of pure happiness.
I was seeing the two people who’ve quickly come to feel like family to me hanging out and laughing with the people who are already the closest thing I have to a family.
I took the teasing and joking all in stride.
But then again, what the hell am I fucking doing?
Almost stumbling over my feet as I hoist the bag of trash over my shoulder, I mutter some choice words under my breath. Since the crew seems to be getting a break from battling fires at the moment, I’m getting some housework done at the station.
After nearly knocking myself in the head for the fifth or sixth time while cleaning equipment, I heard my best friend’s voice. It was slightly raised, like she’d called me more than once already.
“What’s up, Chief?” I try to defer to my best friend’s position while we’re at the workplace… most times.
She straightens her petite, five-feet-four-inch frame and folds her arms. “A word with you in my office, Tristan?” The words are phrased like a question, but I know she’s not really asking.
Simultaneously raising a brow and tilting my head to the side, I say, “Sure.” I toss the rag on the bench and dust off my hands on my pants.
I have to wonder why my best friend wants to speak with me in the privacy of her office rather than right here since I’m the only one in the room.
My brain quickly conjures up possibilities, most of them not good.
I follow Steph into her tiny office, stomach churning. Steph slams the door, folding her arms across her chest. "Spill. What's going on with you?"
"Nothing. I'm fine." The lie tastes bitter as I stare at the scuffed linoleum floor.
"Bullshit. We've been friends too long for that." Steph sighs, collapsing into the chair. "Look, I know you like to keep your personal life private, and I try to respect that. But you haven't dated anyone in over a year, and now you're moping around here like a lovesick puppy. Is it Myles?"
My face flames. I shake my head, quickly looking at her and then glancing away.
"Tristan," she cajoles, her voice gentle. "It's okay if you have feelings for him."
"I don't." My jaw clenches with the lie.
"Then look me in the eye and tell me that."
I meet Steph's gaze, but the words stick in my throat.
"Ah." A knowing smile tugs at her lips. "I see."
"Nothing's going on." I rake a hand through my hair. "He's not even into guys, and he has a kid to think about. I'm just being there for him as a friend."
"Uh-huh." Skepticism drips from Steph's tone. "Just remember to be careful, okay? I don't want to see you get hurt."
"I know, I know." I wave a hand. "Now can we get back to work? Some of us have floors to mop, you know."
Steph rolls her eyes, shooing me out the door. "Get out of here before I assign you latrine duty for a week."
I escape with a laugh, grabbing the mop.
But Steph's words echo in my mind. Be careful. If only it were that easy. I really like Myles, and I’m pretty sure he likes me too.
Whether that’s just as a friend or something more, I don’t know.
I honestly don’t think Myles even knows at this point.
He’s never been with a man before, and presumably never even thought about it.
His wife’s been dead less than a year, and then there’s Phoenix to consider.
I adore that little boy, but how would he handle his dad and I being more than friends?
And even if he were fine with it, what if Myles and I didn’t work out?
What would that do to Phoenix? I’d sooner cut off my own arm than hurt him.
So, Myles might not be completely straight (if our recent kisses and our one incredible night together are anything to go by), but two things are abundantly clear: 1) he’s off-limits—he has to be, and 2) his being off-limits doesn't stop my heart from wanting what it can't have.
It’s V-Day. I pace my apartment, nerves twisting my stomach into knots. Should I go over to Myles's or not? I don't want to intrude, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes my chest ache.
Before I can talk myself out of it again, I grab my keys and head over. Myles answers the door in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it.
"Tristan." Surprise colors his tone, but he steps back to let me in. "What are you doing here?"
"I just thought I'd keep you company." I shrug, shoving my hands in my pockets. "If you want to be alone, though, I can go."
"No, it's fine." A small smile touches his lips. "Nix is staying with his grandparents, so I really appreciate the company actually.”
The knot in my stomach eases at his words. "So, uh, want to watch a movie or something?"
"Sure." Myles nods. "That sounds good."
“Want us to make some hot chocolate?”
“Sounds good too.”
We settle on the couch, some action flick playing in the background. And we each have a cup of hot chocolate cradled in our hands. An easy silence falls over us. Glancing at Myles, the shadows under his eyes stand out in the flickering light of the TV.
"You okay?" I ask softly.
He blows out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. "It's been a long day."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Myles is silent for a long moment. "Not really. I just—thank you for coming over. It helps more than you know."
My throat tightens. "Anytime."
As the movie plays on, I find myself watching Myles more than the screen.
The urge to wrap him in my arms and comfort him is nearly overwhelming, but I squash it down.
I'm here as his friend—nothing more—no matter what my traitorous heart desires.
Be careful, Steph's voice echoes again. I really, really wish it were that simple.
About midway through the movie, Myles shifts, leaning into my side. I freeze as his head comes to rest on my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck. My heart leaps into a gallop, pulse racing. Does he realize what he's doing?
"Thank you for coming over," he murmurs. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Tristan."
"You'd be fine," I say, even as I savor the feel of him against me. "You're stronger than you think."
"Not today." He sighs, the heat of his breath seeping through my shirt. "Today would have been a mess without you here. You always know the right thing to say to make me feel better."
"I try."
The weight of the world hangs heavily between us. I can feel the ache in Myles's heart even before he begins to speak.
"Tristan," he starts, his voice trembling, "you know today marks one year since my wife passed, but..." He takes a deep breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It was also her birthday."
I'm stunned into silence, my heart sinking as I absorb the magnitude of his loss. What should've been one of the happiest days of the year for their family had become a day etched in sorrow.
Myles continues, his voice filled with a mixture of grief and admiration. "Cara is… was incredible. She was not just an amazing wife but also the best mother to Nix. She made every day special; she was like… like magic.”
I reach out and place a comforting hand on his shoulder, struggling to find words that can offer any solace. "Myles, I can't even begin to imagine how tough that must have been for you and Nix."
Myles wipes away a tear, his voice trembling. "It's been... it's been a rollercoaster. I miss her, and I don't know how to fill the void she left behind."
I squeeze his shoulder gently, my own emotions welling up. "Cara may not be here physically, but her love—her memory—will always be with you and Nix. And you'll get through this, together. And I’ll be here too… to see you through this."
Swallowing hard, I give in to the urge to wrap my arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer. He comes willingly, nestling in with a contented hum. The knot in my stomach comes undone, replaced by a surge of warmth and affection for the man in my arms.
I should move away, put some space between us before I do something I’ll regret… but I can't. Not yet. I want to hold him and offer what comfort I can, even if it's only for a moment.
Myles sobs into my chest, his tears soaking through my t-shirt. I hold him tighter, rubbing his back to soothe him.
The ache in my chest nearly brings me to tears too.
A desperate urge to ease this man’s pain surges through my veins, and before I can contain it, my lips crash against his.
I'm overwhelmed by a wild need to end his suffering and fight off all his demons, even if it means having to sacrifice my own sanity in the process.
The fire inside me is uncontrollable, and I cling onto him, intoxicated by his presence but wanting to be a distraction for his pain.
He freezes.
Shit. What did I just do?
I pull back, panic rising. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—"
But then his mouth is on mine, hungry and desperate, his hands fisting my hair.
Heat explodes in my belly and shoots straight to my dick. I moan into his mouth, sliding my tongue against his.
He tastes like the hot chocolate we were drinking and something more, something intoxicating—something that’s just him.
I break the kiss to trail my lips down his neck, and he tilts his head back with a groan.
"Tristan." His voice is wrecked. "Please."
"What do you need?" I mumble against his skin.
"Make me forget."
My heart clenches. I know what he's asking for, what he needs to quiet the demons in his head, if only for a little while.
I grip his waist and lift him onto my lap, settling him so he's straddling me.
Then I take his mouth again in a bruising kiss. My hands roam under his shirt, memorizing the feel of his skin and the ridges of his abs.
He whimpers into my mouth and grinds down onto my cock.
"Fuck," I gasp. I'm so hard it hurts.
I trail one hand down to cup him through his sweatpants. He's just as hard.
"Let me make you feel good," I whisper.
Before he can answer, I yank down the waistband of his sweats and shove my hand in to grip his cock.
He shouts, bucking into my fist.
I stroke him fast and rough, swallowing his cries with my mouth. His hands twist almost painfully in my hair.
"Come for me," I growl. "Come in my hand."
With a broken sob, he shudders and spills over my fingers and onto both of our shirts.
I gentle my strokes, drawing out his pleasure until he collapses against me, panting.
We stay like that for a long moment, his head tucked under my chin as I hold him close.
I'm shocked when Myles pulls back and slides off my lap to kneel between my legs.
He looks up at me through his lashes, eyes glazed and cheeks flushed, and licks his lips.
"Your turn," he says, his voice rough.
Before I can respond, he undoes my fly and pulls out my cock. I groan at the feeling of his hand wrapped around me.
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet, and I nearly come undone.
"Fuck, Myles," I gasp, tangling my hands in his hair. “Are you sure?”
He slowly pulls away until my dick plops out of his mouth. I miss his warmth immediately. Myles raises his eyes to me, lips swollen. “You’re the first.”
And the fucking last.
What the hell? I don’t have the right to make that claim.
Myles didn’t wait for me to respond, just dips his head and claims my dick again. He bobs his head, taking me deeper with each pass. The suction is incredible, the sight of him on his knees in front of me even more so.
I guide his movements with my hands, thrusting into the welcoming heat of his mouth.
The pressure builds low in my gut until I'm writhing under his ministrations, chasing my release.
"Gonna come," I warn, trying to pull him off, but he bats my hands away and redoubles his efforts.
With a shout, I climax, spilling down his throat.
He swallows around me, milking me for every last drop until I become too sensitive and have to push him off.
Myles sits back on his heels, cheeks flushed and lips swollen, looking thoroughly debauched.
A surge of possessiveness rises in my chest at the sight. I did that. I made him look like that.
He's mine, a voice in my head whispers. And I have to agree, because I don’t think I can ever let this man go.