Tears pricked Tristan’s eyes at the affirmation, the knowledge Colby didn’t think he was a terrible person.
“But I wish I didn’t feel this way when it’s not her fault, not really. It’s just there’s a part of me that wishes she’d fought harder. Sometimes, I’m furious with her that she couldn’t stay clean, not even for me. That she wasn’t the kind of mom other kids had. She handed me over to a guy she barely knew. And yeah, it turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me, but still.”
Words were tumbling over one another, and he paused, trying to calm himself.
“And then I remember her making me pancakes in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep. She used to read me stories. She tried to give me what she could, even when it wasn’t enough. Yet I’m still angry at her.” The confession slipped out, sour and shameful.
Colby leaned in, his hand warm and comforting in Tristan’s.
“Sounds like she did what she could,” he said softly. “It just wasn’t enough. And that’s not fair on you, and it’s not your fault. Not your fault that it happened, and not your fault you’re angry about it.”
Tristan swallowed, and something deep inside him eased. “Yeah,” he said, and for that moment, it felt like he believed it.
COLBY
He didn’t know how much time had passed when Tristan stood up and stretched. With difficulty, Colby kept from staring too hard at the way his shirt rose up, exposing a sliver of skin.
He’d meant what he said earlier about wanting Tristan. There was no denying how much Tristan turned him on. But that didn’t make the fear disappear.
He wasn’t afraid of Tristan hurting him—he knew that he wouldn’t. It was what might happen. What if, somewhere in the middle of it, he looked up and saw the wrong face? Heard the wrong voice? What if all the gentle things Tristan gave him got tangled up with something else?
He was terrified that, just for a moment, it might feel likebefore.Like being powerless again. And if it did, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to see Tristan the same way again.
“Lunch?” Tristan offered, blissfully unaware of his thoughts.
They walked slowly through the trees, back toward the house. Unexpectedly, leaving the clearing didn’t mean the intimacy between them was gone. It stayed with them, swirling around them as Tristan shot him a sideways grin full of happiness.
* * *
The afternoon passed that way, in a kind of golden haze of perfection.
They sorted out and cleaned a pile of tack Tristan swore had been dumped there centuries ago. At some point, someone had left cake in the kitchen with a sticky notereadingEat me— J, and they’d devoured it leaning on the porch rail, side by side, watching a hawk circle lazily overhead.
Tristan talked most of the time. About the ranch, the horses, the pack. Nothing too personal, not like earlier, but it was enough to help Colby piece together more about this place and Tristan’s world, so different from the one Colby had known.
One of the pack passed by in the distance, leading a pair of horses. He raised a hand in a casual greeting. “Dave,” Tristan murmured. “You’ll like him.”
Colby nodded. Something about the way Tristan said it made him believe it could be true.
They didn’t talk about what came next. It was enough that Colby was staying. For a while, anyway.
Once, as they passed each other in the tack room, Tristan brushed his hand along Colby’s spine. A small, fleeting touch, gentle and warm.
And for a second, Colby closed his eyes and breathed.
Chapter Twenty-one
TRISTAN
The sun was sinking when the bell rang once, announcing dinner. They washed up and headed over to the house.
Tristan had been full of excitement at introducing Colby to his pack, but as he opened the back door and saw Bryce standing at the counter, talking to Riley, his stomach flipped over. In the joy of spending the day with Colby, he’d somehow managed to forget the argument with Bryce.
Not just an argument. It was a difference so profound that the only way it would be sorted would be by one of them changing their mind. And it wouldn’t be Tristan. There was no way he could change his mind about Colby. He let his hand drift against Colby’s and smiled at him.
The relaxed happiness that had been slowly but surely growing in Colby through the afternoon had disappeared. He was holding himself tensely, shoulders curved down, as if he wanted to disappear.
“Heard you beat Leather Mountain,” Jesse said, not even glancing their way. He was too focused on his silent but deadly battle with Jason over the Hasselback potatoes.
