Page 179 of My Unfinished Heart

Not one more day apart.

TWENTY-NINE

Antidote

The problem with giving several people keys to my house—Connor, West, Joey— is they think they can come and go as they please and also do whatever they want with the place.

This was a bold move.

A surprise Welcome Home Tristan party.

“You set him up. What if he’d walked? What if he said no?”

Connor blinks up at me with his lined eyes and lazy grin. “Why would he have done that? The plan was fool proof. Even Archer proof.”

I don’t know about that.

But here Tristan is, dressed for a party—oh, I’m sorry, I mean a date, holding Kate in one arm while his other arm side-hugs West.

Connor and I are also in my living room, holding this conversation at a volume loud enough for anyone to hear beneath the welcome home banner amidst too many balloons. Yellow and white balloons, which I have to assume harken back to piña coladas. We walked in to the song playing, clued in a little bit that we wouldn’t be alone by the fact that Joey’s minivan is parked three houses down.

I’d been running my hand up and down Tristan’s leg in the car. He and I were both very hard and ready to make a night out of celebrating all the things we figured out in my studio, but when I saw the white van, I took back my hand and pressed the heel of it down on my erection, warning him to try and do the same.

He’d only laughed, which, I’ll grant, was the best sound ever.

The song ends and starts again. “Oh, fuck no. Is this coming from your phone?” I ask my brother.

He smiles. “Nope.”

Tristan hand lands on Connor’s shoulder. “You. We need to talk.”

Connor’s eyes widen slightly as he turns to look up at his friend. “Screen porch?”

Tristan glances at me then nods at his friend.

I wish them luck as they head out back. Kate launches herself at me, and I catch her. She giggles without restraint and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “Someone change the song,” I call out.

Eliza rises from the sofa with her phone in hand and sidles my way. “This was a dumb idea.”

“I cannot argue that,” I tell her.

“Is he really back?”

“Not yet. He’s gotta move and everything.”

“But he’s going to move? Where’s he planning to live? Here?”

We talked about that in the car, too, and yes. Tristan will be living here. “Yeah. Hey, you were right by the way,” I say to head off whatever less than enthusiastic thing she wants to say about this latest development—this fucking miracle.

“About what?”

“He needed to hear I loved him.”

She sighs. “Obviously. What stopped you from saying it before?”

“Well, for one, I’m not as good at saying it as you guys are. But also, I get a lot distracted around him, and sometimes my mouth doesn’t cooperate with my brain.”

She purses her lips and thinks this over. “I like this song. I think I’ll let it play a few more times, then maybe I’ll think about changing it.”