He swallows hard. “Because I’m tired.”
“And you need to rest.”
A bewildered expression appears on his face. “Can it be so simple?”
“Simple isn’t the word I would use, but there is a difference between release and respite. Perhaps that difference is what allowed your mind to… take the night off, so to speak.”
“I can learn to do that.” Tristan stands to walk the length of the path. “Respite,” he mutters. His eyes are unfocused and there’s a wildness to his expression that seems born of relief but looks wrong somehow. “I never have to let go—not completely.”
“No, that’s not true,” I rush to clarify. “I created that meditation to give people like you room to breathe. It’s not a long-term solution.”
“It can be for me. I can make it work.”
“Not forever,” I insist. “If you want to cure your insomnia, you need to deal with the underlying guilt causing it in the first place.”
His gaze clashes with mine. “No.”
I put myself in his path, forcing him to stop pacing. “Tris, whatever it is you feel guilty for, don’t you think it’s time to forgive yourself? You’ve suffered enough.”
He makes a scoffing sound. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I do know everyone has something they need to be forgiven for. No one is innocent.” I slide one hand around the back of his neck, keeping a ferocious hold on his gaze. “And no one is so far gone they don’t deserve forgiveness when they ask for it.”
“I’m not asking,” he snaps, stepping back to remove himself from my touch. “I don’t want it.”
“But you need it.”
“And I will forever be denied. As it should be.”
We stand in silence for a long moment. I have no idea what to say. Nothing will change until Tristan’s ready and he’s not ready. He may never be.
Sucking in a deep breath, he releases it slowly through clenched teeth. “Look, if this is too much, if I’m…” he stops, a flicker of remorse passing over his face. “I think it’s probably better if I go.”
“Don’t.”
He stops, half turned away.
“You arenottoo much—not for me.” I step forwards, eliminating some of the distance he put between us, but not all of it. “I think it’s better if you stay.”
Without hesitation, he takes the step that bring us back together. His hands reach for mine, threading our fingers together down by our sides. “I’ll stay if you want me to,” he murmurs, not quite meeting my gaze. “I’ll stay as long as I can.”
SIXTEEN
______
TRISTAN
A glimpse in the bathroom mirror at work is all it takes to stop me in my tracks. I prefer to avoid mirrors as a general rule, except to ensure my tie is straight and my teeth are clean. Today, I’m unable to look away.
The sullen, worn shell of a man I’ve come to associate with my own reflection is gone. Instead, I have colour in my cheeks, a hint of smile on my face, and my eyes damn near sparkle. Mostly rested, and definitely well-fed, I could pass for a completely normal person. Worse than that, I look happy.
This is what I get for spending the last couple of weeks sleeping with the most incredible man in existence. Sam’s gone and fucked the life back into me.
Tempering my smile, I finish washing my hands and return to my office to gather what I need for this morning’s staff meeting. I’ll be sitting at a table with my father in less than half an hour. Granted, there’ll be a dozen other people there too, but his gaze will search for me first. It always does.
I can’t bear for him to see me looking like this.
The boardroom is still empty when I arrive and claim a chair at the end of the table, as far from my father’s traditional place as I can get. Opening my laptop, I settle in to get some work done while waiting for everyone else to arrive.
