It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Usually, the only day I allowed my staff to have off over the Christmas period was Christmas Day, andthatwas with some reluctance. But with how exhausted I was—thanks to another sleepless night—I was close to saying we’d remain closed until the New Year.
“Oh, thank you. That’sverygenerous of you,”Rob replied. I hummed in response, dismissing him by picking up the paperwork he’d dropped off. In my periphery, though, I could see him hovering by the door, and when I met his gaze, his shoulders slumped.“May I?”he asked, waving to the seat opposite where I sat.
Curious as to what he wanted, I nodded, watching him with a furrowed brow as he sat nervously, his hands resting on the table before dropping into his lap. For as long as I’d known Rob, I’d always found him to be a nervous character, but this was worse than ever.
“Mr. McScroodge,”he started, his gaze not quite meeting mine.“I…uh, I don’t know if you know this, but when Tristan was five, he contracted meningitis.”My jaw almost hit the desk, my chest restricting as if an invisible hand had reached in and clenched my heart.“He’s fine now,”Rob added as if sensingmy rising panic.“He wasveryill as a child, and there was a time when we thought we would lose him. But—”an affectionate smile pulled his lips up“—Tristan can beverystubborn.”
I couldn’t stop myself from snorting.“You’re telling me.”
He met my gaze, unspoken words passing between us. He knew. I didn’t know how, I didn’t think Tristan would have told him, but as Rob stared back at me, I realized he knew what his son meant to me.
“Anyway,”he continued.“He fought back and was lucky enough to make a full recovery. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”I asked, the invisible hand clenching harder in my chest.
“Yes. When he was seventeen, he became ill again. He was in a lot of pain, and no matter how much he slept, he was constantly exhausted and suffered from migraines. The doctors ran tests and eventually diagnosed him with fibromyalgia. They said it was likely a result of the meningitis.”
My brain raced to keep up. I had a little knowledge of fibromyalgia; Tony Summers, one of the kids at the home I grew up in suffered with it. I knew it wasn’t life-threatening, but I remembered the impact it had on him; he was always ill.
“Did he recover?”I asked. An ache settled in my hand, and I dropped the pen I’d picked up at some point and had been squeezing.
“It took several months, but yes, he managed to get through it. Sincethen, he’s had several flare-ups, but he manages it quite well with diet and exercise.”He paused again, his lips pursing. I waited, my gut telling me he had something else to saythatI wasn’t going to like.“I was worried. When Tristan started doing the work for you, I wanted him to tell you about the fibromyalgia so you would know the importance of him having some time to rest, but he didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
Rob shrugged.“I don’t know, only Tristan can answerthat.”He suddenly stood, brushing his palms down his trousers.“I’d best get back to work, but I wanted to let you know why Tristan hasn’t been to see you for the last few days. I…I know he’s been enjoying spending time with you.”
I swallowed, his statement confirmingthathe knew something was going on between Tristan and me. Instead of the fear I thought I would feel, a weight I didn’t know I was carrying lifted from my shoulders. There was no judgement from Rob.
“Thank you for telling me,”I replied, gratitude rolling through me.
He nodded and took several steps to the door, pausing once more.“Justso you know, the girls are at their friend’s house for the day, and Emma has gone to do some last-minute shopping. Tristan is at home on his own and will be for a few more hours.”
The door hadn’tevenclosed behind Rob before I was grabbing my car keys and storming out of the office.
I rapped on the door of Tristan’s house, instantly regretting it. What if he was asleep and I disturbed him? What if he told me to fuck off? I should have at least texted first to see if he was okay with me coming round.
Footsteps sounded behind the door before it was pulled open, revealing Tristan. His hair was scruffy, his shirt crumpled, and heavy bags lay under his eyes. Fuck. He had been asleep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He smirked.“You didn’t. Ijustfinished having lunch.”He pulled the door wider, indicating for me to come inside. My gaze darted around the small hallway of the Crutchens’ home, taking in the wall covered with photo after photo of the family.“I’m guessing my dad told you about the fibromyalgia?”
“Yeah,”I replied, turning back to him.Evenin his disheveled state, he was still hot as sin.“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Weariness crept over his features.“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”
I moved without thinking, gently pushing him until his back was against the wall. My hand came up to cup his cheek, my thumb stroking over his soft skin.“Bug, you’re the strongest person I know. How could you thinkthat?”
He nuzzled against my palm, seemingly needing the contact as much as I did.“You wouldn’t have thoughtthatwhen we first met.”
“I was a dick when we first met,”I replied, resting my forehead against his.
“Justwhen we first met?”He raised an eyebrow, grinning at me.
I couldn’t stop a laugh from breaking free, and unable to resist, I brushed my mouth against his. His hands clasped my hips as his lips parted, allowing my tongue to find his. He groaned as we kissed, slow and passionate, so unlike other kisses we’d shared.
“I’ve missed you,”I confessed between kisses.
