I frown at him.
“What?”
My pace slows. “That’s incredibly depressing.”
“Not you too,” he groans. “Aiden was on about this last week. Marriage is great, love is wonderful. I practically had to pop all the little hearts floating above his head.”
“So no love?”
He shudders and shakes his shoulders. “No love. You know my motto.”
“Which one? There are too many to count.”
“I can’t help being a very wise man.”
I scoop up an acorn from one of the many oaks on the property and wing it at his head. He dodges nimbly, grinning.
“Always be in control,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
“Not this again,” I mutter.
“Never take by force what you can win by cunning.”
“You’re like a bad book of sayings.”
“Ah, but it works for me.” He picks up the pace and gives me a teasing grin. “Let’s go.”
“You know, I don’t need to beat you. This isworkfor me, rich boy.”
His eyes crinkle at the edges. “You’re scared.”
I speed up, my legs still feeling fresh. “I bet you didn’trun at all while you were away. You probably spent all your time drinking and puttering around in the distilleries.”
He smirks and picks up his own pace. “The muscle I’ve put on says otherwise.”
I give him a flat stare. “I didn’t notice.” We round the corner and I pick up speed again, leaning into the turn, letting myself loose for the sheer joy of it. Tristan excels at pacing himself, at saving something for the final stretch, and I don’t. I’m like a dog let off the leash when I run. I want to go out in a blaze of glory—pumping arms, pounding heart, burning lungs. I want to feel bigger than myself for those few precious seconds.
“Let’s go,” he shouts from behind me as we run into the wind.
“Getting slow, old man,” I call back. The wind rips my words away, and then we’re both breathing too hard to talk. First one to slap the rock wins, another unspoken agreement.
My feet are barely touching the ground. Tristan can’t catch me. No one can.
I slap the rock before he does and collapse into the grass. It’s covered in dew that soaks into my shorts. Tristan lands next to me. We grin stupidly at each other. His chest is rising and falling in sharp pants.
“Damn, killer.” His eyes spark. He passes a hand over his face, starts laughing, and then falls backward into the grass. I sink into it next to him. His arms starfish out as we stare up at the lightening sky. “God damn.”
“I’ll miss this,” I say softly. “And don’t say things won’t change, because they will.”
He makes a considering sound in his throat. I watch two birds chase each other across the sky.
“I have an idea,” he says.
I snort, because half his ideas are bad and half are dangerous. “Leave me out of it.”
He barks a laugh.
“What? You think that’s funny?” I turn my head to see him with an arm draped over his face.
