He pulls his knees up against the fold of his arms. That gesture, along with the pained, apologetic, almost frightened look on his face as his eyebrows pull together and his eyes dart between mine cuts through the choking fog of my unwanted feelings, settling my stomach enough to make it safe to push up off the bed to sit beside him and open my mouth to try to reassure him.
“You didnothingwrong, Tris. You’reperfect. It’s just—”
I swallow hard, suddenly unsure what exactly to say. There’s no good way to explain something like this.
“I, um, lost someone.”
The look of sorrow that fills Tristan’s eyes is almost too much to handle. And I fucking hate that I’ll always worry I see a little bit of that sorrow—thatsorriness—there in his eyes each time he looks at me from now on. I have to tell him though.
At least he doesn’t look afraid anymore.
“He was my boyfriend. Stephen.” I can’t look at him now, and so I let my gaze drop to the empty space between us. “He died,” I add, completely unnecessarily. “A little over five and a half years ago, which sounds like a long time, but—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Tristan’s voice is low and soft as he edges back toward me again, slow and hesitant as he unfolds his arms and reaches a cautious hand out to brush against my wrist. Like he’s not sure I’d want him near me.
Jesus, it’sallI want—
Maybe he feels the way I relax into that small touch, because he scoots a bit closer so that we’re nearly chest to chest as he runs his hand up my arm, over my shoulder, and up to softly cup my jaw with his slightly calloused palm.
“If you want to though,” his thumb strokes gently against my cheek, and that place in my heart that’s been gradually filling with him expands suddenly, warm and bright in the midst of the suffocating heaviness that’s overtaken me. “If you want to talk about him or anything else, sunshine, I’m here for it.”
24
Tristan
Ihave no idea what the hell I’m doing or if anything I’ve said or done is right. I’m not even sure where I got the idea to say that last bit. The part where I told Jesse I’m here for him if he wants to talk.
It sounded right.Feltright.
And yeah, I’d definitely meant it.
But really, fuck if I know what I’m supposed to do in a situation like this. What it takes to be there for someone isn’t exactly something I was shown a whole lot of growing up, and it’s not like that’s changed since.
Until last night…
If you change your mind, I’m here.
Warm, gentle arms holding me. A long, soft kiss on the top of my head.
That dizzy, confusing butterfly-hurricane that only Jesse seems to be able to wake in me is back, and the longer I stare into his sad, soft grey-blues, the harder and faster it flutters.
Oh.
It washim.
Jesse showed me.
And just like that, the world tilts under me. Because whatthe hell am I doing?
A fucked-up, selfish part of my brain’s screaming for me to get the hell out of this.Now.To turn and run as far away as I can from the fact that what’s happening here hasnothingwhatsoever to do with the kind of no-strings fling I’d planned on. The type that should never have even included a second dinner or playing the fucking piano for him, let alone the way I’d opened my stupid-ass mouth and spewed all that shit I let slip about Mindy and Neal and being a foster kid.
Because what was all that even about in the first place?
Even if I could take back all that shit I never should have told him though, there’s not a chance of me turning and running.
I may be broken and useless at feelings and the last person Jesse needs for a moment like this, but I’m not a total dick. And only a total dick would run out on him right now.
Not that that changes the fact that I’m officially freaking the fuck out as the reality sinks in that, instead of evenwantingto run, all I really want is to wrap him up in my arms and hold him as long and as close as he’ll let me.
