I watch the man in the expensive navy suit and perfect posture—the big-time city businessman who looks so out of place here. He slowly lifts the cigar to his lips and inhales deeply. He says something to the young boy he’s with, then exhales the smoke in a thin stream. His hand rests on the boy’s shoulder as they continue their conversation.
My heart constricts.
I lean up against the tree in the cemetery. Their silhouettes blur through tears as I watch Harrison and Tristan standing over Wade’s grave.
If someone cut my heart open with a knife, it would be less painful than watching this.
The man whom I love, taking my son to see his dead father . . . smoking a cigar with them. And I know that Harrison is too young to smoke, and they shouldn’t be doing this. I should be furious. I should be appalled . . . but then . . .
Wade loved cigars.
My chest shudders as I try to get a hold on my emotions.
This would be so special to Wade . . . having a cigar with his son.
I close my eyes, the pain unbearable.
I went to pick up Harrison from school so I could try to talk to him alone, and then I saw him getting into Tristan’s car, and I followed them here.
This is the last thing I expected to see.
I don’t want them to see me. I turn and walk back to my car, the tears streaming down my face. I get in, and without looking back, I drive home in tears.
I’m in love with a beautiful man.
I toss the salad in the bowl and glance at the clock. Seven o’clock. The boys have done their chores and are watching television.
My heart is bursting with love, and I am totally in awe of Tristan.
He did something, he did something very special for me . . . and for Wade—and to know that he has Harry’s back when I didn’t cuts my heart wide open.
I’ve just realized that he has a specialized skill that, no matter what, I couldn’t give my boys.
Perspective.
This is what they’ve been craving. This is what they’ve been missing in their lives.
No wonder I was struggling so hard with them. I couldn’t see the forest for the trees.
Harry didn’t mention going to the cemetery, and I haven’t brought up anything about the weekend. I’m acting normal because I’m not sure what to say. Whatever he and Tristan have talked about, he wants to keep to himself. If he wanted me to know, he would have told me.
The Aston Martin pulls up in the driveway. “Tristan’s here!” Patrick yells as he runs for the front door.
Fletcher caught the subway home. I’m not actually sure where Tris has been since then. I watch through the window as Patrick opens Tristan’s car door and talks a million miles per minute. Tristan listens and laughs. He’s so patient with him. He passes him his laptop bag, and Patrick proudly carries it in. Fletcher goes to the door to greet him, and Harry stays sitting on the couch.
“Hello,” Tristan says as he walks into the living room. His eyes find Harry across the room, and he gives him a nod.
Harry gives him a lopsided smile, and my heart soars.
It’s going to be okay . . . it’s all going to be okay.
“Hello, Anderson,” he purrs in his oh-so-sexy deep voice.
I take him into my arms. “Hello, Mr. Miles.” I lean up and kiss him softly, and he frowns, surprised I’m kissing him in front of the boys.
“Where have you been?” I ask.
“I had a meeting this afternoon and . . .” He hesitates as he thinks of a lie. “I had a busy afternoon.”
“Oh.” I smile up at my gorgeous liar. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”
“Good.” He kisses me softly again. “I’m starving.”
Chapter 22
Tristan
I stand in the elevator and turn up my nose.
What is that smell?
I got up and left early, trained with my personal trainer, and got dressed in the bathroom at the gym. I look around at my surroundings. This elevator stinks. What the fuck cleaning products are they using?
The doors open, and I stride out. “Morning,” I say to the girls at reception.
“Morning,” they all reply.
I can still smell it. Ugh, it’s horrendous. Must have permeated my nostrils.
It’s foul.
What the heck is it?
I walk into my office and begin to sniff around. Is it the carpet? I push the intercom. “Sammia, what is that godawful fucking smell?”