33. Tristan
THIRTY-THREE
TRISTAN
I lie in bed, sinking into the mattress. My bedroom is a mess, clothes strewn about, and I don't care. My heart aches, and there's no reason to get up.
Myles.
His name echoes in my head, drowning out any other sound.
Myles and me.
So many memories.
His laugh, vibrant and contagious, filling the air with warmth.
His sexy, raspy voice that sends tingles up my spine.
Cooking together, our hands brushing as we moved around the small kitchen.
Sneaking bites of food in between sizzling pans and chopping vegetables, grinning at me with that mischievous glint in his eyes.
Remembering Nix, a curious kid, always asking questions and trying to help.
My heart swells, remembering how he'd climb onto a chair to reach the counter, determined to be part of our culinary adventures.
And when the meal was ready, we'd gather around the table, a little family stitched together by love.
The taste of those memories lingers on my tongue, bittersweet. Nights spent binge-watching TV shows, wrapped in each other's arms, have been replaced by cold sheets and an empty apartment. My chest constricts, and it's hard to breathe.
God, I miss them so much.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, but I ignore it. I know the guys at work are worried about me, but I can't face them right now.
Too much pain, too many unspoken words.
Three days pass before a knock on my door drags me from my self-imposed isolation.
Steph stands outside, concern etched on her face. "You look like shit."
"Thanks," I mutter, running a hand through my unkempt hair.
"Seriously, though, what are you doing to yourself?" She pushes past me into the apartment. "Wallowing isn't a good look on you."
"Maybe I deserve it," I reply defensively, crossing my arms.
"Is that what you think?" Steph raises an eyebrow, challenging me.
"I don't know, okay? Everything's... hard right now." My voice cracks.
"Tristan, talk to me. What's going on in that head of yours?" Her voice softens. I know she genuinely cares. "Running away won't help. You need to face them, not hide."
"Face what, exactly?" I snap, frustration bubbling over.
"Your feelings, your issues," Steph replies calmly. "You can't keep avoiding them."
"What in the world are you talking about?"
"You're not gonna bluff your way out of this convo." Her voice is firm, but gentle.
I release a shaky breath, feeling exposed by her words. Pain stabs at my chest, sharp and relentless. "You don't understand," I mutter, unable to meet her gaze.
"Then make me," she insists, sitting on the sofa and leaning in, her eyes searching mine.
"I need time to process some things I've been going through, but I'll be fine."
"There you go again, Tristan. Just deal with the shit head on."
Well, here goes. "I'm pansexual and while I'm not ashamed of my sexuality, I never cared about making an announcement.
Never heard of the straights having to come out; they just live their lives and fuck whoever they want.
I deserve that right, too. We all do. It's nobody's business but mine and the person I'm fucking. "
"Agreed." Steph chuckles. "And about your sexuality? You didn't tell me anything I hadn't suspected already."
I smile, my first real smile in days. "Was that good enough, Chief? I admitted I'm pan."
"Not finished with you, Carrington." She waves her pointer finger at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Before I can open my mouth to give a snarky reply, she raises a warning hand at me. "And don't bullshit me. Tell me the fucking truth. Why haven't you ever been in a serious relationship?"
My breath catches in my throat. The words spill out, raw and jagged. "Because I've always been alone. Because I didn't think I could bear losing another person I love. Because I prefer to leave first or give someone an out to leave me if the relationship is getting too serious."
Steph's expression softens. She reaches out, gripping my hand tightly.
"And yet, Myles and Nix saw who you are, and they chose to love you anyway.
I saw it clearly when I met them. You found something beautiful and real.
Don't let it slip away because of fear. You're amazing.
" Steph reaches out and clasps my hand in hers. "It's easy to love you."
I hesitate for a moment, then let out a shaky breath. I better go all out and tell my best friend everything. "But it's easier to leave me," I say, thinking about the way Myles and I ended things.
Silence falls between us, heavy with unspoken hopes and fears. My heart races, caught between the desire to fight for what I had and the crippling doubt that holds me back.
"Listen," Steph says, her voice full of conviction. "If you really give a damn about Myles and Nix, you'll fight for what y'all have. But no matter how it ends up, you need to be brave enough to claim what makes you happy… because you deserve it."
Her words burn through me—a searing, undeniable truth I can't ignore any longer. The question is, will I ever get the nerve to do something about it?
Sunlight pierces my eyelids. My first thought is Myles. Does he still love me? Is he even thinking about me? Missing me? What has he told Nix about us? Does the little man even understand what's going on?
God, my mind is a fucking mess.
I groan, forcing myself up. A shower, that's what I need. Stepping under the water, it cascades over me like warm silk. I scrub off yesterday's blues and dress in jeans and a button-down. Grocery shopping—normalcy—is my mission today.
The store's fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I pick out fresh produce, feeling the weight of each item in my hand.
It's mundane, grounding. I pay and leave, cradling my purchases.
Driving back to the apartment, I listen to the playlist with those damn 90s song Myles had shared with me all those months ago.
Shania Twain, belting out “You're Still the One.” Yeah, Myles Madden's still the one for me.
I love that man. Miss him a helluva lot. And want him.
But I'll never coerce him into wanting me back.
I reach home on auto-pilot. When I round the corner to get to the apartment, a familiar voice calls out.
"Daddy!"
God, I'll never stop loving the sound of that word.
Daddy.
Phoenix Madden's daddy.
My pulse races. I drop the bags on the floor, not caring if anything gets crushed, cracked, or broken.
Arms open wide, I brace for impact as Nix rushes over and slams his body into mine.
He wraps his slender arms around me and buries his head into my waist. Cradling the back of his head with one hand and hugging him with the other helps to ground me.
"Little man, you good?"
"Mmhm." He looks up at me, his eyes beaming. "Wow, you've got a lot there!" Nix exclaims. "Whatcha cooking?"
"Um, nothing special, just restocking."
I steel myself and sneak a look at Myles. He's beautiful as usual, dressed casually in navy-blue shorts and a white T-shirt—muscular legs, broad shoulders and buff arms on full display—but right now, he’s looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Guess what, Daddy?" Nix bounces, eyes shining like stars. "I have my first Little League game coming up. You gotta come."
"Of course, kiddo," I say, giving him a tight squeeze. "Wouldn't miss it."
Nix and I part, and the boy strolls back over to his dad.
Myles shifts his weight, awkwardness dripping from him. His lips part, but words falter. The silence crashes between us, leaving me breathless.
"Great to see you, Tristan," he mumbles.
"Y-yeah, you too." I pick the shopping bags up from the floor and clutch them tightly.
Can't take this tension. Just gotta go.
"Bye, guys," I say, darting inside my apartment. Heart racing like a freight train about to derail, I slam the door, drop the groceries on the kitchen counter, and collapse against it.
I wish my life wasn't so damn complicated.
Nix's excitement echoes in my head. I want to be there for him. But Myles... Can't avoid him forever. I'm not even sure if he wants me at Nix's game.
God, I still love him.
How do people navigate this mess called life?
Steph's words seep into my thoughts, stirring up a storm of emotions.
She's right, as much as it pisses me off to admit it.
I don't deserve to be kept from Nix. I love that little guy more than anything, and I'd be a complete shit heel if I didn't show up at his game just because Myles and I aren't talking.
Fingers tap rhythmically on the counter, anxiety bubbling beneath my skin. I need to do something about this, but the thought of confronting Myles makes my stomach churn. Texting seems too impersonal, too immediate. Heart pounding in my ears, I grab a pen and paper.
As the weight of my decision settles onto my shoulders, I feel something shift inside me. The darkness that has consumed me begins to recede, replaced by a flicker of hope. I'll not let my issues with Myles keep me from Nix.
I really love that kid.
"Okay," I whisper to myself. "You've got this."
I brew and pour some coffee since I need the liquid courage. With pen and paper in hand, I sit at the kitchen table. The ceramic mug presses against my palm as I take a sip of coffee. With the bitter taste still on my tongue, my hand shakes as I scrawl the words.
Dear Myles,
I know things between us are… complicated.
But I don't want our issues to affect my relationship with Nix.
I love that kid more than anything, and missing his game because we're not speaking isn't fair to him.
He means the world to me, Myles, and I want to be there for him.
I'm not asking for us to be best friends or even talk, but I want to be there for him.
Can we put our differences aside, for his sake?
Best,
Tristan
Each word feels like a weight lifted off my chest. I read them over, the pen tapping against the table. They'll do. I fold the note carefully, creasing the edges. Head over to Myles's apartment.
Deep breath, Tristan, I remind myself.
I crouch, hesitating for a moment before sliding the note under their door, careful not to make a sound and watching as it's swallowed by the shadows of their apartment. A chill runs up my spine as I stand. It's done. My heart thuds in my chest like a ticking bomb.
Alright. You did it. You put yourself out there.
I lean against the wall, the cold plaster pressing against my back. My mind whirls, thoughts colliding and crashing like waves on a rocky shore. What if Myles doesn't want me there? What if he thinks I'm overstepping?
"Shut up, Tristan," I mutter, shaking my head. "Focus on Nix. This is about him, not you."
But the gnawing doubt remains, sinking its claws into my chest. Will this make things better? Or will it only drive another wedge between Myles and me?
"God, I hope I'm doing the right thing," I murmur, closing my eyes and letting out a shaky breath.
If I can't have the other half of my heart, I still want to have a relationship with the boy who brought light into my life. So for Nix, I'll face my fears, even if it means dancing on a tightrope with my heart in my hands, exposed and vulnerable.