Chapter 39
Tristan
Bobbie tells me she’s going to spend the night at the hospital with Dad, and she refuses my offer of bringing them dinner.
“Some of the ladies in my book club already offered,” she said. “You need to get some rest before your shift tomorrow.”
I hug Bobbie and do my best to hug Dad while he’s lying down, and then leave the hospital—much more calmly than I was when I entered it.
Instead of going straight home, I decide to make a stop. The address is still saved in my GPS, and I make it there without any trouble.
Nick lives in an adorable townhouse that I sometimes wonder how he affords, but we’re not quite at the stage of fuck-buddy friendship where you ask the other about his investment portfolio, so I haven’t let myself be nosy.
I knock once, and then wonder if I should’ve pressed the doorbell, and then I’m debating if I should even be here—won’t Abigail be here?—when an older woman with brown skin and curly black hair opens the door.
“Who are you?” she asks.
I blink at her, at the townhouse number, and then back at her. Then it clicks. Nick has mentioned his mother several times. This must be her.
“Mrs. Gutierrez?” I ask.
“Pena,” she corrects. “But who are you?”
Just then, a young girl with dark, bouncing pigtails in her hair runs up and grabs at Nick’s mother’s skirt.
“Abuela Carmen!” she shouts. “Dad says to tell the Jehovah’s Witness to go away and come play dress-up.”
Carmen Pena squints at me. “Are you a Jehovah’s Witness?”
“No, ma’am. I’m Tristan Cavanagh. I work with Nick at the station.”
Carmen cocks an eyebrow at her granddaughter.
“What do we think, Abbie? Should we let him in?”
Abbie looks over her shoulder and bellows in a voice louder than what any eight-year-old should have, “DAD! HE’S NOT JEHOVAH’S WITNESS. CAN HE PLAY DRESS-UP WITH US?”
Nick’s voice comes from inside the house, “IS HE SELLING VACUUMS?”
Abbie gives me a once-over. “I DON’T SEE ANY.”
“MAMá? WHO IS IT?”
This whole family must get their pipes from Carmen, because she shouts, “TRISTAN CAVANAGH. HE SAYS HE WORKS AT THE FIRE STATION. WANT ME TO TELL HIM TO GET LOST?”
There’s a scuffling sound from inside the house, and then Nick appears behind his mother and daughter, dressed in—
I can’t believe I’m seeing this right.
I blink a few times, wondering if maybe I’m actually experiencing a hallucination.
But, nope.
Nick Gutierrez, firefighter paramedic extraordinaire, who only earlier today was spanking me and telling me that my hole feels so fucking good, that he can’t wait to breed me, whom I’ve seen run into burning buildings, lift an unconscious person on his shoulder, rappel through broken windows, that very same Nick Gutierrez is standing there wearing a pink tutu, a much too small My Little Pony T-shirt, and a matching tiara.
“What?” he says blithely when he sees my shocked expression. “It brings out my eyes.”