by T L Swan
I stare at her.
“Think about it. The staff that you yourself hire always have an issue that they need to overcome.”
My mind instantly goes to Fletcher.
“The companies that you want always are in trouble.”
“That’s my job, Mom.”
“No, Tristan, nobody ever told you that you need to buy companies in trouble. You took that on yourself. Are you in love with Claire because she needs you to fix her?”
“No,” I snap, annoyed.
“Her sons, do they have problems? Because I can guarantee the bigger the problems they have, the more you will be attracted to them.”
I clench my jaw as I watch her.
“Every girlfriend you have ever had has needed fixing . . . except Mary.”
My nostrils flair at the mention of her name. Mary was my second girlfriend. I grieved her for years after we broke up.
“You loved Mary, Tristan. With all your heart you loved her. But she didn’t need fixing, so you felt that you had to leave her.”
I drop my head and stare at the carpet as a piece of my puzzle falls into place . . . the world begins to spin . . . is she right?
“Why do you think you were so heartbroken breaking up with her? And yet you couldn’t take her back,” Mom says. “Could you?”
My eyes search hers.
“You are about to perhaps give up the chance to have your own children for a woman you think you need to fix. Those boys will never be yours, Tristan. They are hers and his.”
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. “I love Claire, Mom.”
“I know you do, darling. There’s a lot to love.” She smiles softly and cups my face in her hand. “But before you go any further with her and her children, I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“You do this for me, and I will never ever bring this up again, and I’ll embrace Claire and her boys as if they are my own.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to go and see Mary.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t think I can. It hurts me just to think of her.
“After seeing her, if you can honestly tell me that you don’t have any feelings for Mary and what I am saying isn’t right, you have my blessing with Claire.”
“Mary’s probably married by now, Mom.” I sigh.
“She’s still in love with you, Tristan. She never got over you.”
My chest tightens, and I frown in pain.
“I speak to her often.” She hands me a card with her name and address. “She’s expecting your call today.”
Claire
I read the text and frown. That’s weird.
Hi babe,
Something has come up tonight.
I’ll see you tomorrow.
Love you
xoxox
He’s never texted me before about not seeing me. In fact, he’s never not seen me. From the day that Patrick asked him not to leave, he never has.
Uneasiness fills me. I spoke to him this morning in his limo, and he was going postal about Muff—no mention of anything going on tonight, though. I frown and text back.
Okay, have a good night.
Love you,
xoxox
It’s late, ten o’clock, and I stare at my phone as I sit at the kitchen counter.
Tristan hasn’t called me to say good night. Something feels off, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Fletcher has been hovering around me all night, and I wonder what went on at the office today. He’s now pretending to make a drink and not wanting to go to bed.
“How was Tristan at work today?” I ask.
His haunted eyes meet mine.
What is that look?
“Is something wrong, Fletch?”
He twists his hands in front of him, as if nervous. “Where did Tristan say he was tonight?” he asks quietly.
My stomach drops. “Something came up.” My eyes search his. “Do you know where he is tonight?”
He nods, but he stays silent.
“You can tell me, baby. Nothing bad is going to happen. Tristan and I are adults.”
He tentatively sits down beside me at the counter. “His mother came to see him.”
I frown.
“I shouldn’t have, but I listened at the door.”
“Why?”
“Because last time she was there, I heard her warning Tristan that he wouldn’t have his own children if he stayed with you.”
My heart drops. “What did Tristan say to that?”
“He said he knew, but he wanted you more.”
I get a lump in my throat, overwhelmed that he would make that sacrifice to be with me. “What did she say today?”
“She said that Tristan only wants things that he can fix.”
I frown.
“She said that it’s part of his personality, that he’s drawn to people who need him.”
He is—I already know that.
He drops his head and frowns, as if not wanting to elaborate.
“Go on, baby.” I smile. “It’s okay.”
“She said that she thinks Tristan is still in love with his ex-girlfriend and that he only left her because she didn’t need to be fixed.”
My heart drops. I know which ex-girlfriend she’s talking about. He’s talked about her often.
“She thinks that Tristan is only with you because we are all so damaged, and he wants to help us.”
Ouch . . .
My eyes fill with tears, and I blink to try to get rid of them before Fletcher sees.
We stare at each other for a moment.
“Where is he?” I whisper.
“He went to see Mary. He went to see if he still loves her.”
I sit in the dark on the front porch in the seat swing and rock gently back and forth.
It’s 12:40 a.m. I can’t sleep. How could I?
It’s quiet and still; only the creak of the chair can be heard.
Elizabeth is right.
In my heart of hearts, I know she’s right.
Tristan isn’t a soul sucker . . . he’s a savior.
An angel in a perfect suit, he hides behind his asshole title.
He’s a good man who takes no credit.
I rock back and forth as I think. He came in here like a white knight, against all odds, and even though he knew we weren’t right for each other, he saw how damaged I was, and so he fought for us. He fought to save me.
He thawed me from my frozen state.
I get a vision of him and Harry at Wade’s grave yesterday, and my heart breaks.
My boys are going to lose another man they admire and care about.
I screw up my face in tears. I really loved him.
It hurts to know why he loved me.
The tears roll down my face as I try to wrap my head around dealing with another loss.
He loved Mary, and he left her because he felt he had to.
I don’t want that for him.
I want him to be happy and live his life with his true love. He deserves that.
We all deserve that.
I wipe my eyes and take out my phone, and I call his number. It goes to voice mail.
I frown as I prepare to push the words past my lips. “Hi, Tris.” I smile sadly. “It’s me.” I pause as I try to get the wording right. “I hope everything went well with you and Mary tonight.” My face crumples. “I just want you to know that I understand and . . .” I drop my head. “And . . . thank you.” I screw up my face. “Thank you for trying with us. I appreciate it more than you know . . . but I’m letting you go.” I wipe the tears as they roll down my face. “I want you to be with her. Your mother is right.” I smile sadly. “She’s the one you really love.”
“No, she’s not.” The voice comes from behind me.
I turn to see Tristan standing behind me on the grass.
He puts his hands on his hips, indignant. “What fucking bullshit are you going on with, woman?” He fr
owns.
“What are you doing here?” I ask as I stand.
He puts his hands out wide, as if I’m a fool. “I’m coming home to sleep—what does it look like?”
“But . . . Mary?”
He takes me into his arms, and his lips softly take mine.
“Mary . . . ,” I whisper.
“Was like seeing a sister. Nothing there at all. Just like I knew it would be. I went there to mollify my mother.”
“What?”
“I love you.” He kisses me softly. “And to be honest, I’m glad I went, because it proved something to me . . . my mother’s got it all wrong.” He takes my face into his hands, and I stare up at him through tears. “You and the boys . . . are saving me. Not the other way around.”
His lips touch mine, and I screw up my face against his.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to be anywhere else. In fact I’ve decided that I want to move in here.”
Hope blooms in my chest. “You do?”
“I have some of my stuff in the car. I was actually at home packing a suitcase.” He gestures out to the street, and I see a brand-new black Range Rover.
“What is that car?” I frown.
He shrugs casually. “I got us a new car.”
I smile up at the beautiful man in front of me. “Are you sure about this . . . about us, Tris?” I whisper.
“Claire.” He smiles down at me as he pushes the hair back from my face. “I love you more than anything. This . . . is where I want to be.”
His lips take mine.
“And I’m going to kill Fletcher for listening through doors,” he adds.
I giggle through tears.
“And the Muff Cat is going fucking down. I’m going inside to piss in its bed right now.”
I laugh out loud as he drags me into the house. “And how dare you think I was in love with Mary?” he whispers. “I’m fucking your ass for that, Anderson.” He slaps me hard on the behind as I take the bottom step.
I giggle. My man is home.
Tristan hovers in the kitchen, making his coffee, and I brace myself. I have to talk to the boys. I just want to make it a casual conversation as they sit at the counter eating their breakfast.
“So . . .” I frown as I swallow the sand in my throat. “I wanted to talk to you boys.”
Tristan drains his coffee cup and rushes into the living room. He doesn’t want to hear this.
“Yeah.” They all keep eating their cereal.
“I was wondering if Tristan could move in.”
They all stop eating and stare at me.
“It would mean that . . .” I pause, feeling faint. “It would mean that he would live here with us . . . and that he doesn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore—that’s all. It’s beginning to hurt his back.”
“Okay,” Patrick says as he eats.
I look to the other two. “And of course, he would become part of our family now.”
Tristan reappears through the door, and Harry’s eyes rise to meet his. “Do you want to move in here?”
Tristan nods. “Yes.”
Harry shrugs and keeps chewing.
“What does that mean?” I ask nervously.
“Yeah . . . okay.”
I frown. “Okay what?”
“If he must.”
Tristan’s and my eyes meet. Surely it can’t be that simple. I turn my attention to Fletcher. “I’ll think about it.” He glares at Tristan, and I remember what he heard yesterday.
“Okay,” Tristan says. “Come on. We need to leave soon.” He turns to Harry. “You get your grade back today, don’t you, Wiz?”
“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “I won’t pass. I never do.”
“I predict you’re getting a one hundred,” Tristan replies with a smile. “That assignment was on point. I checked it myself.”
Fletcher goes up to get his things, and I follow Tristan out to the car. “Oh my God, Fletcher said no,” I whisper.
“It will be fine. I’ll talk to him today. He’s angry at me; he’ll be fine.” He smiles down at me. “I love you.”
I giggle up at my beautiful man. “I love you too.”
“What?” Tristan’s angry voice bellows through the entire house. “Thirty!” he yells. “A fucking thirty? Are you kidding me?” he cries as he holds the paper in the air.
“Tristan, language,” I snap.
Fletcher and Patrick sit quietly on the couch as they watch, scared to speak.
Harry has just shown Tristan his grade for the space assignment they have done over the last week.
“There is no way in hell this assignment is a thirty!” he yells as he begins to pace. “What are these idiotic, stupid . . . incompetent assholes doing at this school?” he bellows.
“Mrs. Henderson hates me.” Harry sighs.
“Will you calm down?” I say to Tristan. “Stop swearing.”
“No. I will not,” he growls. “That’s it—tomorrow morning, nine a.m., I am at that fucking school.” He punches his fist. “Tick . . . tock . . . Mrs. Henderson.”
I roll my eyes. “Good grief, this is all I need.”
Chapter 23
The thing about loving a powerful man is knowing when to stand back and let him take the reins.
Today I’m doing just that.
“What is he doing out there?” Patrick frowns.
I dip my head to peer out the window and onto the front porch to see Tristan pacing, hands on hips, muttering to himself. He’s been up since five o’clock, dressed in his suit, and ready for battle.
Mrs. Henderson is going down . . . and to be honest I feel like calling ahead and warning her.
She needs to run.
It was his first official night here with me last night, and he didn’t even come to bed until well after I was asleep, and he was up before I woke this morning. I missed the entire thing.
He stayed up and went through all of Harrison’s past assignments and tests. He interviewed Harrison in great detail about the goings-on in class and when and why he has been sent out or suspended. I know that Harrison is a handful, and I’ve been sympathetic to the teachers about his behavior up until this point. But Tristan has assured me that there is more to this story than I realize. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Henderson is going to regret giving Harry such a low grade.
He sticks his head in the front door. “Are you ready?” he calls.
“Tristan.” I stare at him.
He raises his eyebrows impatiently. “What?”
“You’re not going to be passive aggressive to Mrs. Henderson, are you?”
He clenches his jaw. “Nope.” He gestures toward the car impatiently, and the boys walk past him into the front yard. “I’m going to be aggressive aggressive.”
I roll my eyes. “Can you not?”
“Claire.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I will not for one fucking minute have him treated in this manner, and if you are asking me to bite my tongue . . . it’s best you don’t come.”
“Christ Almighty,” I mutter under my breath. “Can you just be calm, please?” I ask. “You’re stressing me out.”
“I’m stressing you out?” He points to his chest incredulously. “Don’t come, Claire. Sit in the car. Because I am telling you right now: I’m not about to take shit from this fucking teacher.”
Oh jeez. I brush past him and get into the car. It’s big and black and has a new-car smell. Patrick and Harry bounce in the back. They love it and made Tristan drive them around the block ten times last night.
I watch Tristan leave the house and lock the door. He takes a deep breath, drops his shoulders, and undoes his suit jacket with one hand as he walks toward the car.
I smile as I watch him . . . Tristan Miles is here, the takeover king. The take-no-shit, get-what-he-wants man whom I used to hate is here batting . . . for us. Somehow, he has taken my naughty little boy under his wing.
I don’t think I’ve ever loved him like I do right now.
H
e gets in and slams the door. “Harrison, you will be coming to the meeting with us, please.”
Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “But—”
“No buts. You need to learn how to defend yourself.”
Oh jeez. I slide down in the seat in dread. I don’t even want to come to this meeting myself . . . maybe I can sit in the car?
Ten minutes later we pull up at the school, and Tristan parks the car. We walk into the office. The receptionist does a double take as she sees him. Her eyes flick to me and then back to him, as if questioning what he’s doing here with us.
She’s a real bitch, this one, and I’ve had run-ins with her before.
“Can I help you?” she asks flatly.
“Hello, I’m Tristan Miles. I would like a meeting with Mrs. Henderson, the principal, the vice-principal, and someone from the parent-teacher association, please.”
Her eyes flick to me, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
“When for?”
“Now.” He stares at her deadpan, and I really wish the earth would swallow me up.
“What is this in regard to?” she asks.
“Harrison Anderson.”
“About?”
Tristan glares at her. “Can you please just do your allocated job and book the appointment? This is a private matter.”
Harrison looks up at Tristan and gives him a hopeful smile, and Tristan takes his hand.
I wither . . . oh crap.
Aggressive aggressive, here we go.
She glares at him and then twists her lips in annoyance. “That won’t be possible. You need to book a meeting at least two weeks in advance.”
“All right.” Tristan fakes a smile. “I would like you to get the board of education on the phone for me immediately.”
Her eyes widen. “What for?”
“I would like to make a formal complaint to them. It is your duty to contact them on my behalf in the instance of a crisis, is it not?”
She stares at him, shocked, and I drop my head to hide my smile.
He’s such an arrogant ass.
He takes a seat in the waiting area, crosses his legs, and sits back, as if he owns the place.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m not leaving until I have that meeting or speak to the education board.” He shrugs casually. “The choice is yours.” He taps the chair beside him, and Harrison sits down.