“No. Oliver got angry one day. He and my mother got into a fight and he burned all of my things to get back at her, because he knew hurting me would do more damage to her than hurting her would.” There was a pause. Josiah opened his mouth to say something, but then Tristan started speaking again before he had the chance. “I hated myself for that. For letting him get ahold of their dream. It wasn’t mine to take, but I did, and then watched as he lit fire to it.”
With that Josiah reached over and set a hand on Tristan’s leg. “You know you didn’t take their dream. They still did those things.”
“Not the point.”
“It is to me.”
Tristan smiled, but Josiah could tell it was forced. “The forever optimist. What would we do without you?” Before Josiah could reply, Tristan nodded his head. “Look, we’re here.”
Josiah gave his attention to the beige house in front of them. The paint looked weathered, but in a way that made it more comfortable. Like it was lived in. Like it wasn’t perfect, the way the three of them weren’t either.
A large porch wrapped around half of the house, part of it facing the water. When Tristan pulled up beside it, he saw that almost the entire side of the house that looked toward the ocean was made of windows. Water lapped at the shore, and even looking through the window, it was obvious the air outside was even colder than at home.
He didn’t care about that. Josiah loved it.
Tristan turned off the engine. “Hey.”
Josiah looked his way.
“Thank you. For listening. For everything.”
Everything was finally going right. They might still be a mess, but to him, they were perfect.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Tristan
Tristan watched Josiah and Mateo walk around the house, checking everything out. He waited for the past to shove its way in, waited to experience the fear that often grabbed ahold of him when he had to open up, but it didn’t come. He almost felt...calm after what he’d shared with Josiah in the car. Josiah and Mateo were such a part of each other’s pasts. They’d experienced so much together, and neither of them feared opening up the way he did. But he wanted to be a part of their past as well. Wanted them to know his, and what he’d done in the car was the only way to do that.
Josiah ran a hand along the back of the white couch that faced one of the wall-sized windows. “It’s gorgeous, Tristan.”
“I’m scared to touch anything,” Mateo added with a laugh.
If he was that nervous here, wait until he found out what Tristan had in store for them later. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. What do you want to do?”
Josiah said he wanted to walk around and explore the city a bit. Tristan and Mateo both agreed. In some ways, they were easier than Josiah in that they were both okay as long as he was happy. Josiah was the one with stars in his eyes, who wanted to see and experience so many things. They just enjoyed him. They lived through him.
Once they brought their bags into the house, they made the short drive into the sleepy beach town. Tristan parked the car and the three of them got out and headed for the sidewalk.
“Look at the street signs.” Josiah pointed to the aged, wooden pole with ragged points on the square slab on top. Painted on the end of the sign was a faded seashell, the only updated piece of metal with the name on it.
Tristan wasn’t surprised when Mateo took out his camera and snapped a picture.
The streets were quieter than Tristan suspected they were in the summer, which worked well for him. The chill didn’t bother him, and it didn’t seem to upset his men, either, as they walked up and down the streets for hours. Josiah would duck into shop after shop, Tristan and Mateo behind him. They went into a homemade caramel shop and tasted the different flavors.
It was so...normal. None of them had had much of that in their lives. He couldn’t promise it would continue, but he damn sure knew he wanted to enjoy it while they could.
Mateo, he noticed, lingered behind them more often than not. Tristan eyed him, raising a brow in a silent question...what’s wrong?
Mateo shook his head, staying close to the door as he looked at knickknack things people cluttered their homes with too often. He didn’t touch any of them, just looked, and it took Tristan back to a few days before, in his office—when Mateo had come in and shared his dream of blood on his hands.
He knew Mateo didn’t feel like he belonged with them. Most of the time he hid it well, but the longer Tristan watched him, the more he realized the man must feel it more deeply than he shared.
“He’s always been like that,” Josiah said from beside him. Tristan looked over, not having noticed his lover approached. “He used to get a lot of crap. The time he defended me at school, he was automatically the one they blamed. One time some boys attacked us outside of the mall. They held me as Mateo fought them on his own. He got hurt, but he wouldn’t let me tell because he thought they would blame him. I think he waits for it all the time. For someone to tell him he doesn’t fit, or for them to wonder what he’s doing or why he’s trying to make something of himself. That’s part of what he loves about you so much. That you look at him and don’t see his past, the scars on his body, or the ink. He never expected that from someone like you.”