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“Fuck, this is hard.” Tristan releases a large breath. “You’re the one who knows the words or the actions to soothe us, to reassure us that everything will work out. Well, no. Matt does too. I’m the only one that’s not good at it. I have no idea how to make you see that no matter what happens to Silver Moon, I’ll take care of you. You have us—Matt and me.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and the pounding of my heart slows down as he confirms what my gut told me earlier.
Tristan reaches for his jeans pocket, pulls something out, and walks to me. He takes my hand, flips it, and places the crystal I gave him on top of it. Closing it into a fist, he kisses it, and his dark eyes focus on me.
“I’ve been alone for years, but you make me want to be a part of something—of someone. I want to be a part of you.” It shocks me that he says that with such conviction. As if he loves me.
Like Matt.
Unlike Matt, this man is secretive—private. But not much with me, which makes me want to let him inside my world, including the bad parts where no one is allowed. As I did with Matt.
Why is it that these two men have me tied into bunches of knots?
He must have seen me kissing Matt. Am I reading this wrong? Is he offering himself as well? In competition to Matt, or is this something altogether different? Unconventional. No…
Both are so different, and yet, so similar.
One is a book of riddles I want to solve, while the other is an open encyclopedia I want to read from cover to cover. Every day I work hard to be in control of myself, of my world. These two make me feel as if I’ll never attain my goal. That it’s safer if I lose myself between them and throw the control out the window.
How is this possible?
God. Someone. Whoever can hear me, get me out of here before I do something stupid, like falling in love—with the two of them. Then crashing hard because I lost myself in them.
ChapterForty-Seven
Tristan
I wantto be a part of you? Where did that come from, fucktard?
I can’t figure out what it is about Thea that gets me all the time.
It’s the eyes.
The big, expressive eyes with a unique color that remind me of a lavender-tinted sunset. They play me like a fiddle. When they smile, I smile. The moment Thea’s world crashed by the future plans of Silver Moon, my world crashed too.
Guilt, worry, anger, remorse—they all sit on top of my chest like a boulder constricting my airway.
We talk about Thea’s editing for Matt and becoming a receptionist while working toward her counseling license, but I don’t know if either will pay enough to rent an affordable apartment and cover her expenses.
She might be right. There are other apartments and jobs, but there’s that indescribable need inside me to protect her.
“It’s an amethyst,” Thea says, her deep-set eyes never leaving mine. “The stone of sobriety.”
Thea’s hands wiggle out of my grasp, and she touches the butterfly pendant she wears. One that happens to have a smaller version of the crystal I carry.
“That night, a nagging feeling told me you needed to believe in something. Also, you were losing yourself to alcohol. Some unknown force inside me wanted me to give you that little piece of hope.”
Thinking about that night, I can’t recall many details but her face and the pull she exercised over me. Fuck, even back then, that magical energy that swirls between us existed.
I kiss her temple. “It’s one of those quirks that makes you incredible. Just today, I thought that the herbal-incense scent at your home relaxes me. I’d rather be in this little space than my own house.”
“You might change your mind.” Thea studies me, takes my hand, and guides me through the stairs as if I need assistance or to ensure I don’t get lost. She opens the door to her apartment and gives me another glance. “Do you want to come inside?”
“Yes, Butterfly, I’d love to.” I hold the door open as she walks inside, following behind. The tightness in my chest recedes, but I still have many questions for her, for me, and maybe a few decisions.
When we’re inside, she makes me some tea. Then tells me why Matt had to stay last night with her. “I’m clean,” she sighs. “Some days are harder than others.”
“I hate to do it,” I blurt. “Drink myself to oblivion because my mind can’t handle sex.”
