Chapter 7 Temptation #2
It wasn't until after the seventh-inning stretch that Tristan said thoughtfully, "I haven't watched much baseball, but I get why you like this.
I like basketball because it's fun and exciting, but there's constant tension.
Baseball is almost serene. There's time for reflection and strategy, but it's still exciting when the pitch is thrown and you're waiting to see what happens. "
Cocking his head to the side, Cade considered that observation. He'd never really heard it explained that way, but Tristan had totally nailed his views on the sport, and he didn't know what to say.
"Yeah," was all he managed as he turned back to the screen.
When the game ended, Tristan tossed the blanket over the back of the sofa and stood. "I think I'm going to sleep. Do you want to take the bed tonight? The sofa can't be comfortable."
"I'm fine. I've slept on the streets. A sofa is a luxury."
As soon as he said it, he mentally kicked himself. What the actual fuck? The thought just popped into his brain and inexplicably escaped his mouth.
Nervous fucking breakdown, alright.
As Tristan studied him with a strange expression, Cade felt exposed and raw.
He hated it.
"Go to sleep. I'll beat your ass at backgammon tomorrow."
Tristan smirked and teased, "In your dreams," clearly oblivious to the fact that Cade's dreams prominently involved him, but no board games.
Unless Naked Twister counted.
After taking turns in the bathroom, they flicked off the lights, and though Cade lay still and quiet, sleep eluded him.
The day had fed him a constant stream of emotions, from lust and temptation to frustration and confusion to empathy and tenderness, and it was dizzying for someone who rarely experienced all these sensations in a month, never mind eighteen hours.
He was used to anger, and because of his asshole coworker, Tag, annoyance, but soft emotions were mostly a mystery to him, except maybe his affection for Annabeth. Overall, all these feelings were too foreign, and he didn't know what to do with them all, how to process and make sense of them.
And it was all because of Tristan.
Cade didn't know what to do besides accept the anxiety that pressed on his chest, because for now, he had no choice.
He couldn't do anything until he was free from Tristan's constant presence, so he'd just suck it up.
Compared to situations he'd endured, this should be easy, and surely he was strong enough to survive this shitstorm of emotions for a few more days.
An agonized scream pierced the silence of the cabin, jolting Cade from sleep. He bolted from the sofa and flicked on a light. Tristan sat up in bed, his hands clasped in his hair, shrieking.
Cade rushed to him. "Tristan, wake up!"
The wails continued, so he sat down and grabbed the other man's wrists, speaking harshly and loud enough to be heard over the noise. "Tristan, Wake up!"
The sharp words seemed to penetrate the redhead's haze, and he clamped his mouth shut. He breathed hard through his nose as his eyes focused on Cade's face, where they lingered for a moment before darting around the room.
The tension in his muscles leaked from his body, and he mumbled, "Fuck." Tears pooled and then spilled onto his cheeks.
Cade dropped his hands to his lap and breathed deeply to steady himself and to calm his pounding heart.
"I'm sorry," Tristan muttered.
"It's okay."
Tristan blinked a few times, his features pinched and his expression distraught. He ran his hands through his hair and down over his face before dropping them to his lap.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Cade asked, surprised at the gentleness in his tone.
Tristan hung his head, and the silence stretched on for several quiet seconds.
Finally, he croaked, "They had Natalie. They were … hurting her."
Cade understood what that meant, even though Tristan hadn't said it.
"And it was one of those dreams where you can't move, like no matter how hard you try, you're frozen. I saw what they were doing, but I couldn't get to her, so I was yelling, trying to make them stop. But they wouldn't. They wouldn't stop."
Cade's chest constricted as Tristan spoke the last sentence in a tortured whisper. Yet again, he felt the impulse to comfort the man in front of him.
"That's horrible."
"Yeah."
"It wasn't real," Cade felt compelled to point out.
"It could be," Tristan whispered.
Cade frowned, not knowing how to respond. This is why he didn't like to talk. He never chose the right words, never knew what to say, or what not to.
Struggling to be comforting, he offered, "We're doing all we can. We'll find her soon."
Tristan pressed his lips into a line and nodded. "I wish we could do more."
"Me too."
Taking a deep breath and letting it whoosh out, Tristan said, "We should probably get back to sleep."
"Yeah," Cade agreed, pulling himself to his feet.
But before he could walk away, Tristan glanced up, flushed and shy. "Will you, um, stay with me?"
"Huh?"
"Will you stay with me, in the, um, bed? You know, in case I wake up again."
"The sofa is just a few feet away," Cade reasoned.
"I know," Tristan admitted, his voice low. "But it would make me feel safer."
Cade wavered. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to retreat, to get as far from this temptation as possible.
"Please."
The single word and the fear in Tristan's expression triggered some primal need in Cade that compelled him to protect the other man, to make him happy, to keep him safe.
As if it were his duty to do so.
What the fuck was happening to him?
Instead of pondering that question in any detail, he pointedly set it aside and climbed into the bed. Tristan flicked off the light, and Cade felt the mattress shift and the covers rustle. He could feel Tristan's breath on his cheek and resisted the urge to reach out and pull him close.
It was difficult.
Neither spoke, but Cade couldn't manage to close his eyes and instead listened to Tristan's breathing for signs he was asleep.
The whispered words startled him. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being here."
Cade paused, feeling awkward, before softly replying, "You're welcome."
He waited, sensing there was more, until Tristan rasped out, "If I came face to face with one of those monsters who took her, who did those things to her, I'd kill him. Does that make me a bad person? That I want them dead? All of them?"
"No. I think that makes you normal."
"I would kill them all if I could. For what they did to Natalie and those other girls." Cade could hear the venom in Tristan's voice.
"You won't have to. I'll do it for you."
"You will?"
"I promise you I will kill them all. I'll make them pay." Cade did not take the vow lightly. He meant it. His mission in life would be to take out these scumbags, to eliminate every one of them. However long it took.
Because, sometime in the last few days, this case had become personal. Tristan's suffering was too close, too tangible, and Cade would dole out justice for him rather than some abstract, faceless victims.
"You can't promise that."
"I can. We won't give up. We won’t stop until we make sure they can never hurt anyone else."
Tristan didn't respond right away, and they lay there lost in their own thoughts. Finally, he whispered, "Thank you. That means a lot to me."
The simple words flustered Cade. He didn't think anyone had ever expressed real, heartfelt thanks to him before.
He cleared his throat. "Just doing my job."
Tristan chuckled softly. "Okay," he said, and Cade suspected once again that he saw through his facade, even in the darkness.
After that, they both fell silent and slept.
Cade woke early the next morning and cursed the sheer curtains of the cabin that did nothing to block the brightness from outside. Lying on his back, he threw an arm over his eyes. It took him a minute to remember who slept next to him, and he lifted his arm and peeked over.
Tristan lay on his side, facing Cade. The sunlight glinted off his hair, forming a halo of light, and his copper eyelashes, usually difficult to make out in normal lighting, appeared long and delicate. At this distance, he could count the freckles dusting Tristan's nose and cheeks.
He looked relaxed and innocent, and it reminded Cade why he needed to rein himself in. Tristan was kind and gentle. He appreciated the beauty in butterflies and trees. He took care of his sister and mourned their mother. He was smart and capable and could do anything he wanted in life.
In other words, too good for Cade and too decent for the world he lived in. That was why he needed to push his obscene thoughts aside and store them in a box he could never open.
Feeling sullen and irritable, Cade threw off the covers and got out of bed. He showered and made breakfast. He sat at the table eating cereal when Tristan padded in with a yawn.
His hair stuck up in a tousled mess, and his eyelids drooped. His shirt hung off one shoulder, and his face sported a grumpy expression. As always, Tristan was adorable in his sleepy state.
Cade's gaze traveled down past Tristan's boxers to his flawless thighs, showcased in all their tanned, muscled glory. Like the skin of his back, they were unblemished.
What a shame. Thighs like those deserved to be worshipped and bitten and branded.
Realizing his thoughts had wandered into inappropriate territory again, Cade lowered his head and stared at his bowl, willing his dirty thoughts into nonexistence.
Tristan mumbled, "Good morning," and got himself a bowl of cereal as well. He plopped into a chair, and they crunched without speaking. After breakfast, Tristan stretched his muscles and walked toward the window, staring into the trees while Cade washed the dishes.
"I want to help Annabeth, but there's nothing I can do. It makes me feel … I don't know, antsy, anxious."
Cade had no response to that.
Tristan spun around and declared, "Ugh, I need to do something. I'm overflowing with energy. I need to move or run or … something."
Several thoughts about how Tristan could burn off energy, not all of them innocent, danced through Cade's brain.
Without giving himself time to question his decision, he offered, "I have an idea."