Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
I want to stay calm, but my voice is a growl as I ask, “Were you?”
Tristan shakes his head emphatically. “No, I never even kissed her properly. Just hugs and holding hands. She wanted to . . . do more, but I wasn’t . . .”
“It’s okay. There’s no rush. Learning to trust someone takes time—especially with your body, but also with your heart.”
He sighs. “It happened a few weeks ago at school, and by last weekend, my social media was blowing up with people saying I was . . .” He trails off, and I can see that he’s replaying whatever hurtful things he read about himself. “Anyway, that’s when we went to the gala. I had some champagne, and you were up on stage, holding us up like puppets for everyone to look at and pity. I was . . . mad. I wanted . . . want . . . what you have.”
“Autumn? You can’t have her,” I say evenly.
His laugh is mirthless. “No, not Autumn. But a girlfriend, a life, a career, a purpose. I feel like there’s this big black void inside me.” He grips his shirt right over his chest as if he can feel the nothingness inside. “Other kids at school are talking about university, trips, stupid shit like that. And I’m worried about where I’m going to live and how I’m going to survive.”
“You’ll survive with help. You don’t have to do it alone, Tristan. Nobody does. I will help you.” I’m making a promise to him, one that carries a heavy meaning to us both.
“Thanks, Simon.” He clears his throat and then does it again as though what he wants to say is stuck there like a frog. “Uh, I’m sorry to Autumn, but I’m sorry to you too. I said some shit.”
“I know. It’s already forgiven.” I hold out a fist, and he bumps it with his own. “If it means anything, I brought the fundraising check to Madame Brittanie today. She’ll be able to help a lot of kids here, make their lives better.”
He presses his lips together, nodding in acceptance. “That’s good. Good for them.”
I stand, and he does the same. “Is this where we hug?” I ask, grinning. “Big back slapping hugs like on television?”
“Fuck no,” he answers, a smile of his own brightening his dark eyes. He taps on my shoulder, my chest, and I do the same to him . . . not fighting but play-fighting in a bro way of affection. Finally, I catch him and grab around his shoulders, patting his back hard.
He does the same, arms wrapped around me and slapping my back.
“Thanks, Simon.”
“No problem, man.”
For two orphans who haven’t known love, acceptance, or affection, I’d say we’re doing pretty damn good.
We walk up toward the main building and I remember one more thing, “Hey, make sure you go to school tomorrow too. Walk in there, hold your head up high, and ignore what anyone says about you.”
Tristan scoffs. “Yeah, right. Is that what you’d do? Hell, I bet you’d work your way down the hall . . . bop, bop . . . pow, pow . . .” He feigns throwing punches to invisible taunters.
I chuckle. “Yeah, no, they tend to frown on that sort of thing at board meetings.”
“Huh, yeah, I guess they would.” Tristan shrugs like that thought had never occurred to him before, and I can’t help but smile. “Okay, no fighting. And ignore the shit-stirring girl.”
CHAPTER 23
AUTUMN
As we drive back into Paris, Simon is smiling. I don’t think he even realizes it, but I’m enjoying seeing the joy radiate from him.
“How’d it go with Tristan?” I ask carefully.
He tilts his head, one way then the other, thinking. “Really well, I think. I punched him in the nose and jaw, and he got me in the kidney with a killer knee.”
I look at him in wide-eyed horror, and then, realizing that he’s kidding, I swat at his shoulder. “You ass!”
He laughs. “I shared some stuff. He shared some stuff. We slapped each other on the back. It was your basic bro emotional breakdown.”
I scan his face, seeing whether he’s serious this time, and it seems he is. “That’s good?”
“Yeah. I’m going to help him figure out some next steps, and I gave him some advice for dealing with some stuff at school.”
The anger from Saturday night is completely gone, and while the possessive fuck in a closet was sexy as hell, I don’t want Simon to feel like we’re ever in jeopardy or I’m in danger.
“I’m proud of you. Handling Tristan with kid gloves couldn’t have been easy.”
Simon shrugs, feigning ease. “So, where to now? What adventure awaits?”
He’s changing the subject, intentionally moving the conversation away from Tristan. Whether it’s because he wants to keep Tristan’s secrets private or doesn’t want the praise, I don’t know. But if he’s satisfied with where the two of them left things and is going to help Tristan moving forward, then I’ll let it go too and not be my nosy self that wants all the details of their conversation.