They sat together long enough for the shadows to move and for the barn to breathe around them, and Tristan was still there, quiet and accepting beside him. Slowly, that messy, dirty thing that writhed inside him whenever he thought about the past stilled. Tristan’s touch, his acceptance, stopped it from taking over. Because Tristan hadn’t looked at him in disgust, as he’d feared.
He breathed. And for the first time in too long, he didn’t feel like he was about to come apart.
Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at Tristan.
Tristan was watching him, his eyes warm, as if he wasn’t repulsed by what he saw. His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead, and his face was soft, yet still full of that strength and life that had so captivated Colby from the moment he’d seen him.
For the second time, Colby listened to his instincts over his brain when it came to Tristan. And his choice now felt just asdangerous as the night they’d run. He swayed closer, almost enough to cross that fragile distance between them.
He didn’t know what he was doing, not really. Only that something in him reached for Tristan like it had always been waiting for him.
He hovered there, his breath mingling with Tristan’s. Waiting. Offering.
Chapter Ten
TRISTAN
Tristan moved without conscious intent, leaning in until his lips brushed Colby’s. The softest press of mouth against mouth, not demanding, not even asking for more.
It lasted a second, maybe two, but it cracked something open in Tristan’s chest that hadn’t been touched before.
Colby pulled back, and Tristan saw fear in his eyes, like he regretted it already. Like he thought he’d made a mistake.
Tristan reached up, gentle and slow, and cupped the side of Colby’s face.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and Colby’s eyes fluttered closed.
The stall door creaked open, but Tristan was so lost in Colby, he scarcely noticed. Not until he heard the deep growl. Colby flinched, and Tristan jerked back to see Bryce glaring at them, eyes sparking with fury.
“What the hell?” Bryce’s voice was low and ominous. A threat, not a question.
Tristan surged to his feet, glaring back at Bryce.
“What in God’s name—” Bryce started.
“Don’t,” Tristan said fiercely. This was the first thing that had feltgoodin days. Even worse, Bryce was upsetting Colby, who was now rigid where he sat.
But before Bryce could respond, Colby was on his feet, sliding between Bryce and Tristan.
“It’s my fault,” he said, his voice urgent. “Not Tristan’s.”
Bryce’s head went back and he leveled a long, assessing stare at Colby. The fury cooled, replaced by something harder to read—calculation, maybe. Or confusion. Like he was starting to doubt what he thought he knew.
“Itwasn’this fault,” Tristan said, because it had been both of them, and he didn’t know why Colby was trying to take the blame.
But Bryce wasn’t looking at Tristan anymore. He was still watching Colby like he was seeing him through a new lens, and not sure yet what the hell he was looking at. Colby stood frozen, not moving a muscle under his scrutiny.
Bryce finally shifted his attention back to Tristan.
“Come on,” he said quietly. Not quite an order, but it wasn’t a suggestion either. “We need to talk.”
Tristan glanced at Colby, reluctant to leave, but Bryce gave him a look that saidnow, and he had to leave Colby in the middle of the stall, looking stricken.
Closing the door sharply behind him, Bryce slammed the bolt home before turning on Tristan. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
Tristan didn’t meet his eyes at first. Part of him was still back in that quiet moment, and Bryce’s anger was confusing. It was like falling from sunlit skies into a storm. An instant ago, everything had been perfect. More perfect thananythinghe’d known, and something about that fact nagged at him. He needed space andtime to follow the thought through. But Bryce was waiting impatiently for an answer.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he said at last. “I was feeling. And it felt right.”
